trine, or by the most surprising revelations of the mysteries of theology.

The friends who have lent their welcome aid to the accomplishment of our task are remembered with earnest gratitude; and our success, we are sure, will be their best reward. May we venture to express a hope that our future need will be as promptly and kindly regarded by them? We would also observe that all voluntary offerings will be very thankfully received, and disposed of as we shall deem best for the interests of the work.

September 1.

A Tale of the West Indies.....MRS. C. M. SAWYER.

LIST OF PLATES.

Frontispiece. Searching the Scriptures. Engraved by D. KIM-

Vignette Title. Engraved by O. PELTON...................................................
The Narrows, Lake George. Engraved by O. PELTON......... 98

Ruins of Tyre. Engraved by O. PELTON.....

SPRING breathes within the vales;

The willow, drooping o'er the dimpling brook,
Puts forth her yellow flowers, and every nook
Of the green meadow, where the long grass trails,
Wears a sweet, sunny look.

The small, white violets

Perfume the air that hangs around the meads: Pure, gentle flowers; the fairest that Spring leads Along her paths, the earliest that she sets Among the brookside reeds.

The mosses in the wood

Are green and beautiful; the forest flowers
Lift their bright heads within their budding bowers;
And all the still and verdant solitude

Blesses the sunny hours.

The birds, upon the boughs

Of the young oaks, sing merrily away
The golden hours of every vernal day;
And the whole forest, at its peaceful close,
Seems one sweet roundelay.

Then comes bright Summer on,

With low, soft breezes, and warm, fragrant showers,
With vines, and leafy shrubs, and countless flowers,
And radiant sunsets; and, when these are gone,
Soft, silvery moonlight hours.

Then the blue lakes are calm,

And the wild swans upon their waves repose,
And round their shores the tall, bright, wilding rose
Sheds its sweet perfume; and the native balm
Beneath its shadow grows.

The humming-bird spins by,

Like some bright emerald, fledged with spirit-wings;
And where the hare-bell on the soft air rings,
The bee makes dreamy murmurs, blending nigh
With songs of springs.

The streams between the hills

Murmur delicious music as they pass,

And low, small, creeping plants, of every class,
Fill up the pebbly borders of the rills,

With flowers and tufted grass.

Hath Autumn gifts as fair?

See the rich fruits o'erloading every tree,·
The golden grain upon the upland lea,—
The purple vineyards, and the mellow air,
So balmy and so free!