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'the everlasting Son of the everlasting Father! the Judge of mankind! the Sovereign of angels! the Lord of all things both in earth and heaven!


Valley of Jehoshaphat.-CHATEAUBRIAND. The valley of Jehoshaphat has in all ages served as the burying place to Jerusalem; you meet there, side by side, monuments of the most distant times, and of the present century. The Jews still come there to die, from the corners of the earth. A stranger sells to them, for almost its weight in gold, the land whieh contains the bones of their fathers.

Solomon planted that valley; the shadow of the temple by which it was overhung—the torrent, called after grief, which traversed it—the Psalms which David there composed—the lamentations of Jeremiah which its rocks reechoed, rendered it the fitting abode of the tomb. Christ commenced his Passion in the same place; that innocent David there shed, for our sins, tears which the guilty David let fall for his own transgressions. Few names awaken in our minds recollections so solemn, as the valley of Jehoshaphat.

The aspect of the celebrated valley is desolate; the western side is bounded by a ridge of lofty rocks which support the walls of Jerusalem, above which the towers of Jerusalem appear. The eastern side is formed by the Mount of Olives, and another eminence called the Mount of Scandal, from the idolatry of Solomon

These two mountains which adjoin each other, are almost bare, and of a red and sombre hue; on their desert side you see here and there some black and withered vineyards, some wild olives, some ploughed land, covered with hyssop, and a few ruined chapels. . At the bottom of the valley, you perceive a torrent, traversed by a single arch, which appears of great antiquity. The stones of the Jewish cemetery appear like a mass of ruins at the foot of the Mountain of Scandal, under the village of Siloam. You can hardly distinguish the buildings of the village, from the ruins with which they are surrounded.

Three ancient monuments are particularly, conspicuous, those of Zachariah, Jehoshaphat and Absalom. The sadness

of Jerusalem from which no smoke ascends, and in which no sound is to be heard; the solitude of the surrounding mountains, where not a living creature is to be seen; the disorder of these tombs, ruined, ransacked, and half exposed to view, would almost induce one to believe that the last trump had been heard, and that the dead were about to rise in the valley of Jehoshaphat.


A Mother's Death.-CRABBE.

Then died lamented, in the strength of life.
A valued Mother and a faithful Wife;
Called not away, when time had loosed each hold
On the fond heart, and each desire grew

But when to all that knit us to our kind,
She felt fast bound, as charity can bind;-
Not when the ills of age, its pain, its care,
The drooping spirit for its fate prepare:
And, each affection failing, leaves the heart
Loosed from life's charm, and willing to depart;
But all her ties the strong invader broke,
In all their strength, by one tremendous stroke:
Sudden and swift the eager pest came on,
And terror grew, till every hope was gone:
Still those around appeared for hope to seek!
But viewed the sick and were afraid to speak.

Slowly they bore, with solemn step, the dead:-
When grief grew loud and bitter tears were shed-
My part began; a crowd drew near the place,
Awe in each eye, alarm in every face:
So swift the ill, and of so fierce a kind,
That fear, with pity, mingled in each mind;
Friends with the husband came, their griefs to blend;
For good-man Frankford was to all a friend.
The last-born boy they held above the bier,
He knew not grief, but cries expressed his fear;
Each different age and sex revealed its pain,
In now a louder, now a lower strain;
While the meek father, listening to their tones,


Swelled the full cadence of the grief by groans.
The elder sister strove her pangs to hide,
And soothing words to younger minds applied:
• Be still, be patient,' oft she strove to say;
But failed as oft, and weeping turned away.

Curious and sad, upon the fresh-dug hill,
The village-lads stood melancholy still;
And idle children, wandering to-and-fro,
As nature guided, took the tone of wo.

Arrived at home, how then they gazed around,
In every place—where she, no more was found;
The seat at table she was wont to fill;
The fire-side chair, still set, but vacant still;
The garden walks, a labor all her own;
The lattice bower with trailing shrubs o'ergrown;
The Sunday-pew, she filled with all her race;
Each place of her’s was now a sacred place,
That, while it called up sorrows in the eyes,
Pierced the full heart, and forced them still to rise.


A Voice from the Wine Press.--Miss Gould.
'Twas for this they reared the vine,

Fostered every leaf and shoot,
Loved to see its tendrils twine,

And cherished it from branch to root!
'T was for this, that from the blast

It was screened and taught to run,
That its fruit might ripen fast,

O'er the trellis, to the sun.
And for this they rudely tore

Every cluster from the stem;
'Twas to crush us till we pour

Out our very blood for them!
Well, though we are tortured thus,

Still our essence shall endure,
Vengeance they shall find, with us,
May be slow, but will be sure.

And the longer we are pent

From the air and cheering light, Greater, when they give us vent,

For our rest shall be our might. And our spirits, they shall see,

Can assume a thousand shapes; These are words of verity,

Uttered by the dying grapes. Many a stately form shall reel,

When our power is felt within; Many a foolish tongue reveal

What the recent draught has been; Many a thoughtless, yielding youth,

With his promise all in bloom, Go from paths of peace and truth

To an early, shameful tomb. We the purse will oft unclasp,

All its golden treasure take, And, the husband in our grasp,

Leave the wife with heart to break. While his babes are pinched with cold,

We will bind him to the bowl, Till his features we behold

Glowing like a living coal.
We will bid the gown-man put

To his lip a glass or two,
Then, we 'll stab him in the foot,

Till it oversteps the shoe.
And we 'll swell the doctor's bill,

While he parries us in vain;
He may cure, but we will kill

Till our thousands we have slain.

When we've drowned their peace and health,

Strength and hopes within the bowl, More we'll ask than life or wealth,

We'll require the very soul! Ye, who from our blood are free,

Take the charge we give you now; Taste not, till ye wait and see

If the grapes forget their vow.



TO-MORROW! didst thou say? Methought I heard Horatio say, To-morrow. Go to~I will not hear of it.-To-morrow! 'Tis a sharper, who stakes his penury Against thy plenty-who takes thy ready cash, And pays thee nought but wishes, hopes and promises, The currency of idiots. Injurious bankrupt, That gulls the easy creditor!-To-morrow! It is a period nowhere to be found In all the hoary registers of time, Unless perchance in the fool's calendar. Wisdom disclaims the word, nor holds society With those who own it. No, my Horatio, 'Tis Fancy's child, and Folly is its father; Wrought of such stuff as dreams are; and baseless As the fantastic visions of the evening.

But soft, my friend-arrest the present moments;
For be assured, they all are arrant tell-tales:
And though their flight be silent, and their path trackless
As the winged couriers of the air,
They post to heaven and there record their folly.
Because, though stationed on the important watch,
Thou, like a sleeping, faithless sentinel,
Didst let them pass unnoticed, unimproved;
And know, for that thou slumberedst on the guard,
Thou shalt be made to answer at the bar
For every fugitive: and when thou thus
Shalt stand impleaded at the high tribunal
Of hood-winked justice, who shall tell thy audit;

Then stay the present instant, dear Horatio;
Imprint the mark of wisdom on its wings;
'Tis of more worth than kingdoms! far more precious
Than all the crimson treasures of life's fountain!
Oh! let it not elude thy grasp; but like
The good old patriarch upon record,
Hold the feet angel fast until he bless thee,

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