Of interest and sympathy is rife
Among the humble harvesters of Kent;
And one I heard, which I remember still.
"In a lone hamlet," the narrator said,
"I saw a funeral. Round the open grave
Gathered a band of thoughtful villagers;
While, pressing nearest to its shelving brink,
A slender boy of some few summers stood
Sole mourner, with a wild and wishful eye
Fixed on the coffin. When they let it down
Into the darksome pit, and the coarse earth,
From the grave-digger's shovel falling, gave
A hollow sound, there rose such a bitter wail,
Prolonged and deep, as I had never heard
Come from a child.

Then he, who gave with prayers The body to the dust, when the last rite

THE MOTHER'S GRAVE.

Was over, turned with sympathizing look,
And said :-

'Poor boy! your mother will not sleep

In this cold bed for ever. No! as sure

As the sweet flowers, which now the frost hath chill'd,
Shall hear the call of Spring, and the dry grass

Put on fresh greenness, she shall rise again

And live a life of joy.'

Bleak autumn winds

Swept through the rustling leaves, and seeemed to pierce The shivering orphan, as he bowed him down

All desolate, to look into the pit.

But from the group a kindly matron came,
And led him thence.

When Spring, returning, threw
Her trembling colours o'er the wakened earth,
I wandered there again. A timid step
Fell on my ear, and that poor orphan child
Came from his mother's grave. Paler he'd grown
Since last I saw him; and his little feet,
With frequent tread, had worn the herbage down
To a deep, narrow path. He started thence,
And would have fled away. But when I said
That I had stood beside him while they put
His mother in the grave, he nearer drew,
Enquiring eagerly-

Then did your hear
The minister, who always speaks the truth,
Say that she'd rise again? that just as sure
As Spring restored to life the grass and flowers,
She would come back?'

'Yes.-But not here my son ;

Not to live here.'

'Yes, here; this is the spot

Where she was laid: so here she'll rise again,
Just where they buried her. I marked it well,
And night and morning, since the grass grew green,
I've come to watch. Sometimes I press my lips
Close to the place where they laid down her head,
And call; and tell her that the flowers have come,

And now 'tis time to wake, See, too, the seeds
I planted here! seeds of the flowers she loved,
Break the brown mould. But yet she does not come,
Nor answer to my voice.'

་

'She cannot come

To you on earth, but you shall go to her.'

'I go to her!' and his thin hands were clasped So close, that every bone and sinew seemed Fast knit together. 'Shall I go to her?

Let me go now.'

Then, with a yearning heart,

I told him of the Book that promiseth

A resurrection, and eternal life

To them who sleep in Jesus; that the word
Of God's unerring truth could ne'er deceive
The trusting soul, that kept his holy law
Obediently, and his appointed time

With patience waited.

'Then I'll wait his time,

And try to do his will, if I may hope,
After this body dies, to rise again,
And live once more with mother.'

So he turned

From that low grave, with such a piteous look
Of soul-subdued and utter loneliness,
As haunted memory like a troubled dream.
Time sped away, and when again I passed
That quiet village, I enquired for him;
And one who knew him told me how he prized
The blessed Book, which teacheth that the dead
Shall rise again; and o'er its pages hung
Each leisure moment, with a wondering love,
Until he learned of Jesus, and laid down
All sorrow at his feet.

But then there came

A fearful sickness; and in many a cot
Were children dead; and he grew ill, and bore
His pain without complaint, and meekly died,
And went to join the mother that he loved."

HUDSON RIVER, AMERICA.

THIS river was discovered by Henry Hudson, an English navigator, in the year 1609.

It is a noble stream. On its banks are situated the fine cities of Troy, Albany, and New York, and numerous towns, villages, and country seats. It empties itself into the Bay of New York, on the western side of that city. It is sometimes called the north river, to distinguish it from a stream which falls into the bay on the eastern side of the city. It is here more than a mile wide; but higher up, its average width is about a quarter of a mile. There are a great many vessels of all sorts and sizes to be seen upon it, from the magnificent steam-boat to the lowly canoe.

If we take a trip on the river we shall see many natural curiosities, the principal of which are the Palisadoes, and the Catskill mountains. The Palisadoes are high perpendicular rocks on the western side. The view of the Catskill Mountains from the river is truly sublime; their blue summits seem to reach the clouds. We shall also see West Point, the scene of General Arnold's treachery, during the Revolutionary war. A few miles below Albany, the river is shallow, and if we are in a first-class vessel, we shall most probably strike the bottom. This is the only impediment to the traffic on the river for the space of 160 miles; but American skill and enterprise will, no doubt, soon remove it out of the way. Our vessel having cleared this obstacle, we shall soon arrive at the city of Troy, where its navigation terminates, and near to which a tributary stream, called the Mohawk, falls into it.

For three or four months of the year this noble river is covered with ice; but all is life and animation still; bands of skaters, and parties of pleasure in elegant sleighs, drawn by sprightly horses, with

strings of tinkling bells round their necks, are to be seen in all directions. The winter, though long and severe, is the season of enjoyment: everywhere we see smiling and contented countenances. What a

contrast to the scenes of wretchedness which we sometimes see in our own country, owing chiefly to the intemperate habits of the people! At the time of the January thaw this river is frequently dammed up with large masses of ice, trees, and lumber, which are brought down by the current. Their progress being checked by a bend in the river, or an island, causes the waters to rise eight or ten, or sometimes even twenty-one feet above the usual level. In an incredibly short space of time the extended surface is again covered with ice, stronger than before. At the end of winter, the dam begins to give way, when the river for many miles suddenly breaks up with a tremendous clash the rush of ice and water is then terrific, bearing down all opposition.

When Henry Hudson sailed up this river, its banks were covered with trees, and wild animals; but these have dispersed before the march of christian civilization. What a change! Many of the spots which formerly resounded with the screams of wild animals, and the war whoop of the red man, are now vocal with the high praises of God. May this soon be true of every river on the globe! The shores of this river are not now trodden by the feet of slaves: would that this were true of every river in America; but, alas, it is not so; for even in many parts of that so called land of liberty, men who call themselves christians, (oh, the hypocrites!) trade in the souls and bodies of their fellow-men. May this monstrous wickedness soon come to an end!

Arise, O Lord, plead thine own cause!

Coventry.

J. B.