ure that the men will busy themselves about thee, either as the butterfly about the rose, or the spider about the fly- -a word to thee. Be at rest; the world is not so fearful. The men have too much to do with themselves. Thou wilt have to experience that they will enquire no more after thee, than after the moon, and sometimes even less. Thou armest thyself, thou of seventeen years to arrest the storm of life; ah! thou wilt probably come to have more to do with its inaction. But let not thy courage fail; there are life and love in the world in the richest abundance, but not often in the form in which they for the most part are established in romances. MISS BREMER.

Prayer.

Aн, mark the strain, sweet sister! watch and pray, Wean thy young stainless heart from earthly things:

Oh! wait not thou till life's blest morning ray

Only o'er withered hopes its radiance flings;
But give to Heaven thy sinless spirit now
E're sorrow's tracery mar thy placid brow.

Gentle and pure thou art yet is thy soul Fill'd with a maiden's vague and pleasant dreams,

Sweet phantasies that mock at thought's control,

Like atoms round thee float, in fancy's beams; But trust them not young dreamer, bid them flee, They have deceived all others, and will thee.

Well can I read thy dreams - thy gentle heart
Already woman's in its wish to bless,
Now longs for one to whom it may impart

Its untold wealth of hidden tenderness,
And pants to learn the meaning of the thrill
Which wakes when fancy stirs affection's rill.

Thou dreamest too of happiness the deep

And placid joy which poets paint so well; Alas! man's passions even when they sleep

Like ocean's waves are heaved with secret swell; And they who hear the frequent half hushed sigh Know 't is the wailing of the storm gone by.

Vain are all such visions! - could'st thou know
The secrets of a woman's weary lot—
Oh! could'st thou read, upon her pride-veiled
brow,

Her wasted tenderness, her love forgot, — In humbleness of heart thou would'st kneel down, And pray for strength to wear her victim - crown.

But thou wilt do as all have done before,

And make thy heart for earthly gods a shrine;
There all affection's priceless treasures pour,
There hope's fair flowers in native garlands
twine,

And thou wilt meet the recompense all must
Who give to mortal love their faith and trust.
MRS. EMBURY.

Portraits.

As every flower has its moment of perfect beauty, so has a human being moments in which his highest and loveliest life blooms forth, in which he appears what he actually is, what he is in the depth of God's intentions. Those fleeting revelations for there is nothing abiding on the earth these are that which the genuine artist seeks to lay hold of; and therefore it is unjust to say of a successful portrait, that it is flattered. MISS BREMER.

The Faithless One.

FAREWELL! and when the charm of change
Has sunk, as all must sink, in shade ;
When joy, a wearied bird begins

The wing to droop, the plume to fade;

When thou thyself, at length, hast felt
What thou hast made another feel-

The hope that sickens to despair

The wound that time may sear, not heal.

When thou shalt pine for some fond heart,
To beat in answering thine again;
Then, false one, think once more on me,
And sigh to think it is in vain.

L. E. L.

Reflections.

A THRILL passes over us, whensoever we read the name of a place where we have once been happy, but it is the privilege of a tranquil state of melancholy to people the mind with quiet visions of the past, and to embody as it were, and localize the picture by particular features of landscape or even forms and dispositions of furniture, the new bitterness of an unmellowed grief leaves no leisure, no power of such embellishments of sorrow. Those who involuntarily dwell upon unhappy thoughts have either become callous, or were never alive to their acutest painfulness. They know not the