And if within your breast,

Hallowed to Nature's touch, one chord remain;

If aught save worldly honors find you blest, Or hope of sordid gain;

A strange delight shall thrill,

A quiet joy brood o'er you like a dove; Earth's placid beauty shall your bosom fill, Stirring its depths with love."

Other members of this pleasant party now came forward, and bestowed such gifts upon our young friend, as they might have with them, suitable for her purpose; and returning her thanks to each of the group, she hastened onward, until becoming weary, she seated herself upon a moss-covered bank, where the soft rays of moonlight enabled her to examine her newly-received treasures.

Let us also rest awhile, and with her examine these golden sands, gathered from the mines of thought. First, is a gift from Bryant, a few lines on the love of Nature, and then his address to The Evening Wind.

"To him who in the love of Nature holds Communion with her visible forms, she speaks

A various language. For his gayer hours
She has a voice of gladness, and a smile
And eloquence of beauty; and she glides
Into his darker musings with a mild
And gentle sympathy, that steals away
Their sharpness, ere he is aware."

To the Evening Wind.

"Spirit that breathest through my lattice, thou

That cool'st the twilight of the sultry day, Gratefully flows thy freshness round my brow;

Thou hast been out upon the deep at play, Riding all day the wild blue waves till now, Roughening their crests, and scattering high their spray,

And swelling the white sail. I welcome thee To the scorched land, thou wanderer of the

sea.

Nor I alone.

a thousand bosoms round Inhale thee in the fulness of delight; And languid forms rise up, and pulses bound Livelier at coming of the wind of night; And languishing to hear thy grateful sound, Lies the vast inland stretched beyond the sight.

Go forth into the shade; go forth, God's blessing breathe upon the fainting earth!

Go, rock the little wood-bird in his nest, Curl the still waters bright with stars, and

rouse

The wide old wood from his majestic rest,

Summoning from the innumerable boughs

The strange deep harmonies that haunt his

breast;

Pleasant shall be thy way, where meekly bows

The shutting flower and darkling waters

pass,

And 'twixt the o'ershadowing branches and the grass.

The faint old man shall lean his silver head To feel thee; thou shalt kiss the child

asleep,

And dry the moistened curls that overspread His temples, while his breathing grows

more deep;

[bed, And they who stand about the sick man's

Shall joy to listen to thy distant sweep,
And softly part his curtains to allow
Thy visit, grateful to his burning brow.

Go, but the circle of eternal change,
That is the life of nature, shall restore,
With sounds and scents from all thy mighty
range,

Thee to thy birth-place of the mighty deep

once more;

Sweet odors in the sea-air sweet and strange, Shall tell the homesick mariner of the

shore;

And listening to thy murmur, he shall deem He hears the rustling leaf and running stream."

We will next examine an offering from Hillhouse.

Evening Music of the Angels.

"Low warblings, now, and solitary harps, Were heard among the angels, touched and tuned

As to an evening hymn, preluding soft
To cherub voices. Louder as they swelled,
Deep strings struck in, and hoarser instru

ments

Mixed with clear silver sounds, till concord

rose

Full as the harmony of winds to heaven;

Yet sweet as nature's springtide melodies