THE morning past-and Asia's sun rode up
In the clear heaven, and every beam was heat.
The cattle of the hills were in the shade-
And the bright plumage of the Orient lay
On beating bosoms in her spicy trees.

It was an hour of rest,-but Hagar found
No shelter in the wilderness; and on
She kept her weary way, until the boy
Hung down his head, and opened his parched lips
For water-but she could not give it him.

She laid him down beneath the sultry sky-
For it was better than the close hot breath
Of the thick pines,—and tried to comfort him.
But he was sore athirst, and his blue eyes
Were dim and bloodshot, and he could not know
Why God denied him water in the wild.

She sat a little longer, and he grew
Ghastly and faint, as if he would have died.
It was too much for her. She lifted him
And bore him farther on, and laid his head
Beneath the shadow of a desert shrub,

And, shrouding up her face, she went away
And sat to watch, where he could see her not,
Till he should die,—and watching him she mourned—

God stay thee in thine agony, my boy!

I cannot see thee die; I cannot brook

Upon thy brow to look,

And see death settle on my cradle joy.—

How have I drunk the light of thy blue eye!
And could I see thee die?

I did not dream of this, when thou wast straying
Like an unbound gazelle among the flowers,-
Or wearing rosy hours

By the rich gush of water sources straying,
Then sinking weary to thy smiling sleep,
So beautiful, and deep.

Oh, no; and when I watched by thee, the while,
And saw thy bright lip curling in thy dream,

And thought of the dark stream

In my own land of Egypt, the deep Nile—
How prayed I that thy father's land might be
A heritage for thee.

And now the grave for its cold breast hath won thee,
And thy white, delicate limbs the earth will press-
And oh, my last caress

Must feel thee cold; for a chill hand is on thee-
How can I leave my boy, so pillowed there

Upon his clustering hair?

She stood beside the well her God had given,
To gush in that deep wilderness, and bathed
The forehead of her child, until he laughed
In his reviving happiness, and lisped
His infant thoughts of gladness at the sight
Of the cool plashing of his mother's hand.

LANDING OF THE PILGRIM FATHERS.-Mrs Hemans.

THE breaking waves dashed high

On a stern and rock-bound coast; And the woods, against a stormy sky, Their giant branches tossed;

And the heavy night hung dark,

The hills and waters o'er,

When a band of exiles moored their bark
On the wild New England shore.

Not as the conqueror comes,

They, the true-hearted, came ;-
Not with the roll of the stirring drums,
And the trumpet that sings of fame ;-

Not as the flying come,

In silence, and in fear :—

They shook the depths of the desert's gloom
With their hymns of lofty cheer.

Amidst the storm they sang,

And the stars heard, and the sea;

And the sounding aisles of the dim woods rang
To the anthem of the free.

The ocean-eagle soared

From his nest, by the white wave's foam, And the rocking pines of the forest roared :— This was their welcome home.

There were men with hoary hair
Amidst that pilgrim band:
Why had they come to wither there,
Away from their childhood's land?

There was woman's fearless eye,
Lit by her deep love's truth;

There was manhood's brow serenely high,
And the fiery heart of youth.

What sought they thus afar?

Bright jewels of the mine?

The wealth of seas? the spoils of war?—
They sought a faith's pure shrine.

Ay, call it holy ground,

The soil where first they trod !

They have left unstained what there they found-
Freedom to worship God!

MR BURKE'S OPINION OF JUNIUS.

How comes this Junius to have broke through thecobwebs of the law, and to range uncontrolled, unpunished, through the land? The myrmidons of the court have been long, and are still, pursuing him in vain. They will not spend their time upon me, or you.-No! they disdain such vermin, when the mighty boar of the forest, that

cold. I thought he had ventured too far, and there was an end of his triumphs. Not that he had not asserted many truths: Yes, sir, there are in that composition many bold truths; by which a wise prince might profit. It was the rancour and venom, with which I was struck. In these respects the North-Briton is as much inferior to him, as in strength, wit, and judgment.

But while I expected, in this daring flight, his final ruin and fall, behold him rising still higher, and coming down souse upon both Houses of Parliament. Yes, he did make you his quarry, and you still bleed from the wounds of his talons. You crouched, and still crouch, beneath his rage. Nor has he dreaded the terrours of your brow, sir; he has attacked even you-he has-and I believe you have no reason to triumph in the encounter. In short, after carrying away our royal eagle in his pounces, and dashing him against a rock, he has laid you prostrate. Kings, Lords, Commons are but the sport of his fury.

Were he a member of this House, what might not be expected from his knowledge, his firmness and integrity? He would be easily known by his contempt of all danger, by his penetration, by his vigour. Nothing would escape his vigilance and activity. Bad Ministers could conceal nothing from his sagacity; nor could promises nor threats induce him to conceal any thing from the public.

SPEECH OF MAC BRIAR TO THE SCOTCH INSURGENTS.

Extract from Old Mortality.'-Scott.

YOUR garments are dyed—but not with the juice of the wine-press; your swords are filled with blood, but not with the blood of goats or lambs; the dust of the desert on which ye stand is made fat with gore, but not with the blood of bullocks; for the Lord hath a sacrifice in Bozrah, and a great slaughter in the land of Idumea. These were not

the firstlings of the flock; this is not the savour of myrrh, of frankincense, or of sweet herbs, that is steaming in your nostrils; but these bloody trunks are the carcasses of those that held the bow and the lance, who were cruel and would show no mercy, whose voice roared like the sea, who rode upon horses, every man in array as if to battle.

Those wild hills that surround you are not a sanctuary planked with cedar and plated with silver; nor are ye ministering priests at the altar, with censers and with torches; but ye hold in your hands the sword, and the bow, and the weapons of death.-And yet verily, I say unto you, that not when the ancient Temple was in its first glory, was there offered sacrifice more acceptable than that which you have this day presented, giving to the slaughter the tyrant and the oppressor, with the rocks for your altars, and the sky for your vaulted sanctuary, and your own good swords for the instruments of sacrifice.

Leave not, therefore, the plough in the furrow-turn not back from the path in which you have entered, like the famous worthies of old, whom God raised up for the glorifying of his name, and the deliverance of his afflicted people-halt not in the race you are running, lest the latter end should be worse than the beginning. Wherefore, set up a standard in the land; blow a trumpet upon the mountains; let not the shepherd tarry by his sheepfold, nor the seedsman continue in the ploughed field, but make the watch strong, sharpen the arrows, burnish the shields, name ye the captains of thousands, and captains of hundreds, of fifties, and of tens; call the footmen like the rushing of winds, and cause the horsemen to come up like the sound of many waters, for the passages of the destroyers are stopped, their rods are burned, and the face of their men of battle hath been turned to flight.

Heaven has been with you, and has broken the bow of the mighty; then let every man's heart be as the heart of the valiant Maccabeus-every man's hand as the hand of the mighty Sampson-every man's sword as that of Gideon, which turned not back from the slaughter; for the banner of Reformation is spread abroad on the mountains in its first loveliness, and the gates of hell shall not prevail against it.

Well is he this day that shall barter his house for a helmet, and sell his garment for a sword, and cast in his lot with the children of the Covenant, even to the fulfilling of the promise; and wo, wo unto him who, for carnal ends and self-seeking, shall withhold himself from the great work; for the curse shall abide with him, even the bitter curse of