Then, when the night comes, she has grown weary, and, like a child, she betakes herself to repose. High in the heavens the moon and stars appear, like faithful guardians, careful lest aught should harm her or disturb her slumber. She then sleeps a sweet and refreshing sleep, and gains strength and vigor, so that when night recedes, she stirs upon her couch, and, full of new and youthful life, she rises with her thousand children.”

"And does she rise with all her children so early? even with the smallest ?" asked Frederic, while he rubbed his eyes, as if to drive away the sleep which still weighed upon his lids.

"All, without exception," replied the father. "And many a one, the nightingale, for example, needs but a very short and transient slumber. This sweetest child of Nature, for whose approach we watch so wishfully in winter, tunes its enchanting notes, almost the whole night through, as if it sang a lullaby to its slumbering brothers and sisters. Hark, how plaintively its song rises from the valley below us! How it swells higher and higher, mounting and falling, as if upon a ladder of sweet sounds!"

"Oh, it is a dear, delightful bird, and placed just for our pleasure in the bushes!" cried William, joyfully. "I shall enjoy it many a night and many a day; and, in the evening, when I feel drowsy, while I ought to wake, I will say to myself, Yonder sings the nightingale in the bushes, and why can not I keep my eyes open for an hour longer?'"

While the three thus talked together, the dawn had come. The wind rustled noisily in the branches of the trees, red clouds, brightly reflected in the stream, rose upon the edge of the horizon, and spread themselves along the whole sky in forms of wondrous beauty.

"I should like to know what the wind is, and what is meant by those beautiful red clouds ?" said William to his father, as he drew closer to him.

"Of the wind," replied the latter, "the Holy Scriptures say, 'It bloweth where it listeth, and thou hearest the sound thereof, but canst not tell whence it cometh, and whither it goeth.' And David, the sacred singer of old, ascribed wings to the morning, to denote its swiftness. A beautiful image now rises to my mind, which I will at once impart to you.

Perhaps the sacred singer thought of it when he sang that psalm—and I am sure it will please you."

66

Oh, tell us, dear father, and quickly, that we may hear it before the morning glow has fled!" cried the boys with one voice.

And he began thus: "The sun, on account of his glory, splendor, and majesty, and from the many blessings which he dispenses, is usually represented under the noble emblem of a king. Now, you remember when our prince passed by, lately, how a great number of messengers rode before him, to announce his approach. The winged morning brings us such a message from the sun, since in a few moments it travels millions and millions of miles, and with its red banner gives to the world the long-expected signal. See! there he comes, the king! Fold your hands, and pray to the Creator who hath formed him so glorious, and hath given him such power to dispense blessings."

The father and his children sank in emotion upon their knees, and thanked God who gives us light and heat, while they beheld his masterpiece emerge in splendor from the chamber of his works.

Tears stood in the children's eyes when they rose again. "We thought it would be beautiful," they said, "but not so beautiful, so grand, so solemn and majestic! We could not have remained upon our feet; all our strength had left us from wonder and astonishment, and we fell involuntarily upon our knees, and would have covered our eyes, if it had not been for losing the glorious sight."

"It is thus that the aspect of the beautiful-the good-the sublime-influences even the human mind," said the father, with solemn earnestness-"we feel our littleness in the vast chain of existences with which the Divinity has encircled the universe, and in silent, humble devotion, we bend before the Being who has created all that moves and elevates the heart. As you prize your temporal and eternal welfare, my children, open often the two great volumes of God's revelation, the Bible and Nature, and read therein with earnestness and love."

The children embraced their father, and promised to remember this hour, and to treasure up his words.

ORIGINAL.

THE MARRIED DAUGHTER.

BY MRS. M. N. MCDONALD.

STILL turn I unto thee, my childhood's home, Though I am parted from the loved ones there; Oft to my heart delicious memories come,

Of thy green shades, thy valleys lone and fair. I am again within those hallowed walls,

And linger in my old accustomed seat;
I see the summer sunlight where it falls,
And list the caged canary's warbling sweet;
Look upon friendly faces, and again,
Catch the soft notes of some familiar strain.

Love in mine own abode hath built his nest,
And sings his sweetest lay to charm mine ear;
Affection at the hearth, a willing guest,

Bindeth with silken cord, my spirit here.
A cherub boy, beside his father's knee,

Lisps the dear name of "Mother," and I turn From all the cold world's heartless vanity, Unto an altar where pure fires may burn, And clasp anew the cherished idols there, Deeming no other shrine of earth so fair.

Blest am I, yet my heart will often go
On spirit-wings to each familiar place
Around my girlhood's home;—the sunset's glow,
On the acacia blossoms still I trace,
The red rose flings her incense on the air,

And the laburnum droops its golden flowers;
Through the old garden paths I wander, where

My fragrant treasures mark the smiling hours, Each perfumed cup, each odorous bell I see, Painted anew by Summer's hand for me.

Forth with a bound of welcome, Carlo springs,
And his young playmate, a true-hearted boy,
Follows with eager step, and high he flings

His tasselled cap, and shouts my name with joy; And my sweet sisters, in a glad surprise,

Haste at the summons, from some green retreat;

And with encircling arms, and love-lit eyes,

The long, long absent one, enraptured greet.
My mother clasps her child in fond embrace,
While tears of joy are on her gentle face..

Or haply, Winter reigns, and then I seek,

On Fancy's wing, the high-piled glowing hearth,
Where Christmas frolics flush each youthful cheek,
And echo oft the tones of unchecked mirth;
I mark them gathering round the cheerful fire,
Or pensive, musing at the twilight dim;
And hark! the soft notes of the household choir,
In the sweet cadence of their evening hymn;
My sire's loved voice ascends in fervent prayer,
Young heads are bowed, but one is missing there.

Ay, one is missing, yet for her they pray,

And ask of Heaven its best and earliest boon;
Perpetual sunshine for her earthly way—

A path with love's bright flowerets ever strewn :
Absent, but unforgotten!—I may dwell

Afar from all my childhood loved or knew,
Yet at my name, fond hearts will often swell,
And tears, perchance, some tender cheek bedew ;
And they will muse awhile, then, sighing, say,
"How lingers time, with dear ones far away."

Sweet home, where childhood's young affections rise,
Where first we learn what human love will be,
Though here fast bound by newer, holier ties,
Unchanging still, my foud heart turns to thee.
Still, still it haunts the fair, the hallowed spot,
Where throng the gentle memories of the past;
Its watchful tenderness all unforgot,

Still o'er my soul its chain of love is cast.
That love, which like the pole-star's constant ray,
Unfailing, cheers life's dark or devious way.

THE PEACE OF THE CHRISTIAN.-Amid the tears of grief, Peace keeps her silent place, like the rainbow upon the spray of the cataract, nor can it be disturbed so long as Jehovah's sunshine rests upon the soul." Night of Weeping."

ORIGINAL.

THE OLD QUEEN.

BY MRS. ANN S. STEPHENS.

In a small but magnificent cabinet of Hampton Court, sat Elizabeth, the stern old monarch of England. Upon her forehead-darkening the furrows of age-a frown lowered ominously. Her eyes were vivid in their expression, and her thin lips clung together with the tenacity of stern and longendured passion-the iron passion of age, in which there is so much pain.

Around her was every thing beautiful and costly enough to gratify even her queenly pride and fastidious taste: hangings of rare old tapestry-cushions glowing with crimson and goldebony tables carved to a network, and woven over with gold, supporting vases and caskets of the same precious metal, in which the royal jewels were occasionally flung-birds of Paradise, preserved in all the brilliancy of their flowing plumageand many a rare curiosity from the East filled the royal cabinet. A Persian carpet, gorgeous with arabesque and flowers, covered a small portion of the floor, and upon this stood the great ebony chair, cushioned with purple velvet, in which the old Queen was seated. The light from a large crystal window fell upon her wrinkled brow, shaded, not by the cold and wintry gray of age, but with false ringlets of sunny gold, surmounted by a small crown. Over her bowed but still majestic figure a robe of glowing crimson fell, wave after wave, till it lay a mass of mingled velvet, ermine, and jewels, over the cushion on which her foot was pressed. Her withered neck, and the small, pale hand, that rested on the arm of her chair, were one blaze of jewels that only kindled up the ravages of time they were intended to conceal Before her stood a small cabinet of silver, encrusted with a Mosaic of precious stones, whereon lay a jewelled pen and a roll of vellum that seemed to have been freshly written upon.