SATURDAY AFTERNOON.

NATHANIEL PARKER WILLIS, BORN at portland, IN MAINE, JANUARY 20, 1807.

I LOVE to look on a scene like this,
Of wild and careless play,

And persuade myself that I am not old,
And my locks are not yet gray;

For it stirs the blood in an old man's heart,
And makes his pulses fly,

To catch the thrill of a happy voice,
And the light of a pleasant eye.

I have walk'd the world for fourscore years,
And they say that I am old;

That my heart is ripe for the reaper Death,
And my years are well-nigh told;

It is very true-it is very true—

I'm old, and I "bide my time;"

But my heart will leap at a scene like this,
And I half renew my prime.

Play on play on! I am with you there,
In the midst of your merry ring;

I can feel the thrill of the daring jump,
And the rush of the breathless swing.

I hide with you in the fragrant hay,
And I whoop the smother'd call,
And my feet slip up on the seedy floor,
And I care not for the fall.

I am willing to die when my time shall come,
And I shall be glad to go,

For the world, at best, is a weary place,

And my pulse is getting low;

But the grave is dark, and the heart will fail
In treading its gloomy way;

And it wiles my heart from its dreariness,
To see the young so gay.

FROM

STANZAS.

POEMS," BY WILLIAM STANLEY ROSCOE: 1834.

AN angel in the realins of day

Forgot her heavenly birth,
Impell'd by Pity's gentle voice
To walk the suffering earth.

To pour a thousand streams of bliss,-
To still the weeping storm,-
To fill the world with light and love,-
She came in Harriet's form!

AWAY with all doubt and misgiving,
Now lovers must woo by the book-
There's an end to all trick and deceiving,
No men can be caught by a look.
Bright eyes or a love-breeding dimple
No longer their witchery fling;
That lover indeed must be simple
Who yields to so a silly a thing.

No more need we fly the bright glances,
Whence Cupid shot arrows of yore;

To skulls let us limit our fancies,

And love by the bumps we explore!
Oh, now we can tell in a minute

What fate will be ours when we wed;
The heart has no passion within it
That is not engraved on the head.

The first time I studied the science
With Jane, and I cannot tell how,
'Twas not till the eve of alliance

I caught the first glimpse of her brow.

Casuality finely expanding,

The largest I happen'd to see; Such argument's far too commanding, Thought I, to be practised on me.

Then Nancy came next, and each feature
As mild as an angel's appears;

I ventured, the sweet little creature,
To take a peep over her ears:
Destructiveness, terrible omen,

Most vilely developed did lie! (Though, perhaps, it is common in women, And hearts may be all they destroy.)

The organ of speech was in Fanny;
I shudder'd, 'twas terribly strong!
Then fled, for I'd rather than any

Than that to my wife should belong.
I next turn'd my fancy to Mary-

She swore she loved nothing but me; How the look and the index could vary! For nought but self-love did I see.

Locality, slyly betraying

In Helen a passion to roam,
Spoke such predilection for straying,
Thought I-she'll be never at home.
Oh! some were so low in the forehead,
I never could settle my mind;
While others had all that was horrid
In terrible swellings behind!

At length 'twas my lot to discover
The finest of skulls I believe,

To please or to puzzle a lover,

That Spurzheim or Gall could conceive.
'Twould take a whole year to decipher
The bumps upon Emily's head;
So I said, I will settle for life here,
And study them after we're wed.

GOD BLESS YOU!

MRS. ELIZA S. CRAVEN GREEN.

"GOD bless you "-kind, familiar words!
Before my eyes the letters swim;
For-thrilling nature's holiest chords-
My sight with fond regret grows dim.
God bless you! closes up each page
Traced by the well-beloved of yore;
Whose letters still, from youth to age,
That fondly-anxious legend bore.

I heeded not, in earlier days,

The import of that yearning prayer; To me 'twas but a kindly phrase,

Which household love might freely spare. But now that grief strange power affords, In those love-hallow'd scrolls I find Those earnest, pleading, sacred words, With all life's tenderness entwined.