THE SPELLS OF HOME. By the soft green light in the woody glade, By the sleepy ripple of the stream, To the wind of morn at thy casement-eaves; By the gathering round the winter hearth, In that ring of happy faces told; By the quiet hour when hearts unite In the parting prayer and the kind 'Good-night!' By the smiling eye and the loving tone, Over thy life has the spell been thrown. And bless that gift!—it hath gentle might, It hath led the freeman forth to stand Yes! when thy heart in its pride would stray When the sullying breath of the world would come And the sound by the rustling ivy made, Think of the tree at thy father's door, And the kindly spell shall have power once more! GENEROUS BEQUEST. WHEN M. Bouvant was given over by the physicians, he sent for his old friend, the Abbé Blanchet, to whom he said, 'From the character I know you to have, you will always be poor; there is every appearance, my friend, that I cannot live long, and when I am dead, what will become of you?' The Abbé wished to reply, but the sick man, taking advantage of his condition, ordered him to be silent, and dictated his last orders. 'My will is, that you enjoy the interest of ten thousand crowns, which I have earned, for your life. Do n't make any difficulties, the principal will return to my family.' 6 M. Bouvant recovered. Sometime afterwards, the Abbé related this trait to the Duchesse d'Aumont, who was so delighted, that she urged him to tell it her again. Why, Madam,' said the Abbé, 'what I have related is nothing to what followed; for when my poor Bouvant was recovered, I found him quite sorry that he was well.' THE Earl of Clarendon passes the following high encomium on the brave Lord Falkland, who fell in the battle of Newbury. One thing,' says the noble historian, 'Lord Falkland never could bring himself to do, while Secretary of State; and that was, the liberty of opening letters, upon a suspicion that they might contain matter of dangerous consequence; which he thought such a violation of the law of nature, that no qualification of office could justify him in the trespass.' TO AN APRIL FLOWER. Ay, thou art welcome! the rough winds are rushing Over a stormy sea, and darkened earth; And not a sister flower is kindly blushing To greet the violet in its humble birth. Now the black clouds through the wide heavens are sweeping, In giant wrath the unchained waves are leaping, Now from his throne, the monarch sun is gleaming, Then thou, sweet flower, to life art gladly springing, Thus many a heart in this wide world is breathing, THE SCOTTISH MINISTER'S JUBILEE. 65 THE SCOTTISH MINISTER'S JUBILEE. I HOPE YOU will stay over Monday, and help me to thank my kind people for assisting in keeping my fiftieth anniversary among them. I am sure, Willie, I may count upon you, for auld lang-syne ! Ay, that you may, Sir, come what will of palette and pupils, exclaimed the young artist: and my acceptance, if less enthusiastic was not the less cordial. To see in the midst of a grateful and affectionate flock, the faithful pastor of half a century, is a sight not often to be enjoyed, or lightly to be forfeited—and I too would have periled fame or business, had they been mine, on the issue. A Scottish Sabbath has been often described, but never, methinks, so as fully to convey to a stranger its exquisite stillness, and the palpable elevation of all in nature above the diurnal level of our 'working-day world.' It is not alone the absence of all sounds of labor or revelry, the softened tread of the rude hind, the subdued laughter of unconscious infancy; but the very whisper of the brooks and waving of the woods, seemed attuned to soberer and holier harmonies. The busy highway and toilsome furrow are alike deserted, while a thousand quiet hedge-row paths teem and glitter with long files of holiday suited elders, and whiterobed youth and childhood. If airs of Paradise do indeed ever penetrate our world's dense atmosphere, and breathe sweet influences from on high on privileged mortals, it is |