impiety, assume, as it were, the function of Providence. Who knows but that one of the very objects of this calamity, is to test the benevolence and worthiness of us, upon whom unlimited abundance is showered? In the name then of common humanity, I invoke your aid in behalf of starving Ireland. He, who is able, and will not aid such a cause, is not a man, and has no right to wear the form. He should be sent back to Nature's mint, and re-issued as a counterfeit on humanity, of Nature's baser metal. FROM S. S. PRENTISS.

XLIX. ABOU BEN ADHEM.

ABOU BEN ADHEM, (may his tribe increase!)
Awoke one night from a deep dream of peace,
And saw within the moonlight of his room,
Making it rich, and like a lily in bloom,
An angel writing in a book of gold.
Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhem bold,
And, to the presence in the room, he said,
"What writest thou?"

The vision raised its head,

And, with a look made of all sweet accord,

Answered, "The names of those who love the Lord!"
"And is mine one?" asked Abou. "Nay, not so,"
Replied the angel. Abou spake more low,
But cheerly still; and said, "I pray thee, then,
Write me as one that loves his fellow-men."

The angel wrote and vanished. The next night

It came again, with a great wakening light,
And showed the names whom love of God had blest;
And lo! Ben Adhem's name led all the rest!

FROM LEIGH HUNT.

L.-RESIGNATION.

THERE is no flock, however watched and tended,

But one dead lamb is there!

There is no fireside, howsoe'er defended,

But has one vacant chair.

We see but dimly through the mists and vapors, Amid these earthly damps;

What seem to us but sad, funereal tapers,

May be heaven's distant lamps.

There is no death! What seems so, is transition;

This life of mortal breath

Is but a suburb of the life elysian,

Whose portal we call death.

She is not dead; the child of our affection;

But gone unto that school,

Where she no longer needs our poor protection;
And Christ himself doth rule.

Day after day, we think what she is doing
In those bright realms of air;

Year after year, her tender steps pursuing,
Behold her grown more fair.

Not as a child shall we again behold her;
For when with raptures wild

In our embraces we again enfold her,
She will not be a child;

But a fair maiden, in her Father's mansion,
Clothed with celestial grace;

And beautiful, with all the soul's expansion,
Shall we behold her face.

FROM LONGfellow.

LI. THE BELEAGUERED CITY.

I HAVE read, in some old marvelous tale,
Some legend strange and vague,
That a midnight host of specters pale
Beleaguered the walls of Prague.

Beside the Moldau's rushing stream,
With the wan moon overhead,
There stood, as in an awful dream,
The army of the dead.

White as a sea-fog, landward bound,
The spectral camp was seen,
And, with a sorrowful, deep sound,
The river flowed between.

No other voice, nor sound was there,
No drum, nor sentry's pace;
The mist-like banners clasped the air,
As clouds with clouds embrace.

But, when the old cathedral bell

Proclaimed the morning prayer,
The white pavilions rose and fell
On the alarm-ed air.

Down the broad valley fast and far,
The troubled army fled;

Up rose the glorious morning star,
The ghastly host was dead.

I have read, in the marvelous heart of man,
That strange and mystic scroll,

That an army of phantoms vast and wan
Beleaguer the human soul.

Encamped beside Life's rushing stream
In Fancy's misty light,
Gigantic shapes and shadows gleam,
Portentous through the night.

Upon its midnight battleground,
The spectral camp is seen,
And, with a sorrowful, deep sound,
Flows the River of Life between.

No other voice, nor sound is there,
In the army of the grave;
No other challenge breaks the air,
But the rushing of Life's wave.

And when the solemn and deep church-bell
Entreats the soul to pray,

The midnight phantoms feel the spell,
The shadows sweep away.

NEW EC. S.-11

Down the broad vale of Tears afar
The spectral camp is fled;
Faith shineth as a morning star,
Our ghastly fears are dead.

FROM LONGFELLOW.

LII-BREACH OF PROMISE.-No. I.

Tuis and the following may be spoken as one piece, or separately. You have heard from my learned friend, gentlemen of the jury, that this is an action for a breach of promise of marriage, in which the damages are laid at fifteen hundred pounds. The plaintiff, gentlemen, is a widow; yes, gentlemen, a widow. With her little boy, her only child, the desolate widow shrunk from the world, and courted the retirement and tranquillity of Goswell-street. Here she placed in her front parlor window a written placard, bearing this inscription: "Apartments, furnished, for a single gentleman. Inquire within."

Mrs. Bardell's opinions of the opposite sex, gentlemen, were derived from a long contemplation of the inestimable qualities of her lost husband. She had no fear; she had no distrust; all was confidence and reliance. "Mr. Bardell," said the widow, "was a man of honor. Mr. Bardell was a man of his word. Mr. Bardell was no deceiver. Mr. Bardell was once a single gentleman himself. To single gentleman I look for protection, for assistance, for comfort and consolation. In single gentlemen I shall perpetually see something to remind me of what Mr. Bardell was, when he first won my young and untried affections. To a single gentleman, then, shall my lodgings be let."

Actuated by this beautiful and touching impulse, (among the best impulses of our imperfect nature, gentlemen,) the lonely and desolate widow dried her tears, furnished her first floor, caught her innocent boy to her maternal bosom, and put the bill up in her parlor window. Did it remain there long? No. The serpent was on the watch; the train was laid; the mine was preparing; the sapper and miner was at work!

Before the bill had been in the parlor window three days-three days, gentlemen-a being, erect upon two legs, and bearing all the outward semblance of a man, and not of a monster, knocked at the door of Mrs. Bardell's house. He inquired within; he took the lodgings; and on the very next day, he entered into possession of them. This man was Pickwick; Pickwick, the defendant.

Of this man I will say little. The subject presents but few attractions; and I, gentlemen, am not the man, nor are you, gentlemen, the men, to delight in the contemplation of revolting heartlessness, and of systematic villany. I say systematic villany, gentlemen. And when I say systematic villany, let me tell the defendant, Pickwick, if he be in court, as I am informed he is, that it would have been more decent in him, more becoming, if he had stayed

away.

Let me tell him, further, that a counsel, in the discharge of his duty, is neither to be intimidated, nor bullied, nor put down; and that any attempt to do either the one or the other, will recoil on the head of the attempter, be he plaintiff, or be he defendant; be his name Pickwick, or Noakes, or Stoakes, or Stiles, or Brown, or Thompson. FROM DICKENS.

LIII-BREACH OF PROMISE.-No. II.

GENTLEMEN of the jury, that damages, heavy damages should be awarded to Mrs. Bardell, from Pickwick, the defendant, for breach of promise, may be shown from the letters which passed between these parties. These letters must be viewed with a cautious and suspicious eye. They were evidently intended, at the time, by Pickwick, to mislead and delude any third parties into whose hands they might fall. Let me read the first: "Garraway's, twelve o'clock. Dear Mrs. B.: Chops and tomato sauce. Yours, Pickwick."

Gentlemen, what does this mean? Chops and tomato sauce! Yours, Pickwick! Chops! gracious fathers! and tomato sauce! Gentlemen, is the happiness of a sensitive and confiding female to be trifled away by such shallow