room.

The golden ripple on the wall came back again, and nothing else stirred in the The old, old fashion! The fashion that came in with our first garments, and will last unchanged until our race has run its course, and the wide firmament is rolled up like a scroll. The old, old fashion-Death!

Oh thank God, all who see it, for that older fashion yet, of Immortality! And look upon us, angels of young children, with regards not quite estranged, when the swift river bears us to the ocean! Dickens.

ON VIEWING THE DEAD BODY OF A BOY.

`HERE is a smile upon that cheek—

TH

Those lips would seem almost to speak,

Calm is that look, that brow is fair,

The flaxen ringlet wantons there!

And well those features sweet we trace,

Which hover on that angel face;
He seems enwrapt in slumber deep-
Ah, Edwin, 'tis thy long, last sleep!
The chill of death is on that cheek-
Those lips shall never silence break ;
No soul is in that cherub smile,
Illusive charm, and lovely guile !
The eye has shot its final spark,
The liquid, lustrous orb—is dark,
And swift must every feature fly
From the soft face of intancy!

Carrington.

TO THE RIVER CHARLES.

R

IVER! that in silence windest

Through the meadows, bright and free,

Till at length thy rest thou findest

In the bosom of the sea!

Four long years of mingled feeling,
Half in rest, and half in strife,
I have seen thy waters stealing
Onward, like the stream of life.

Thou hast taught me, silent River!
Many a lesson, deep and long;
Thou hast been a generous giver ;
I can give thee but a song.

Oft in sadness and in illness,

I have watched thy current glide, Till the beauty of its stillness Overflowed me, like a tide.

And in better hours and brighter,
When I saw thy waters gleam,

I have felt my heart beat lighter,
And leap onward with thy stream.

Not for this alone I love thee,

Nor because thy waves of blue From celestial seas above thee

Take their own celestial hue.