leafless forests?-Alas! it is but interest-or convenience or habit-or fashion-that preserves the friendship of mankind. Where are the friends of this world, when the mouth of calumny has breathed mildew and pestilence over the promise of our growing reputation: Where are they, when the taint of worldly dishonor has fallen on our heads, and shame, whether deserved or not, has pointed us out for scorn and mockery?-They have gone to worship the rising sun; and left perhaps their former benefactor to pine in gloomy solitude over their ingratitude, and to feel the biting memory of "benefits forgot."

"For what is friendship but a name,
A charm that lulls to sleep;
A shade that follow; wealth or fame,
And leaves the wretch to weep."

But the attachment of a mother, no change of fortune -no loss of influence-not even the loss of character can destroy. As the triumph of her children is her own, so is their downfall, and their dishonor. Her heart bleeds for them instinctively; her tears flow unbidden for their sorrows. Her eye follows them while present, and her soul goes with them while absent. With patience that never tires, and self-denial that never ceases, she cheerfully sacrifices for them her own comforts and pleasures. Her sympathy is felt-not obtruded; her consolation is never officious, and always soothing to the spirit; her friendship is unalterable in life, and strong in death-and she breathes her last sigh in a prayer for the welfare of her children.

Remembrance hovers over every incident, in those calm and blissful days, when her presence gave life its charm:-That affection which turned aside the arrows of misfortune-that gentleness which alleviated the pangs of distress-that tenderness which smoothed the pillow of sickness-that hand which held the aching head of pain-that piety and that sanctity which kin dled in our heart the pure flame of devotion-those smiles which beamed upon us, and ever the brightest when the world was frowning-and that unalterable love which supported us amidst its unkindness and ingratitude-can these ever be forgotten?-Can we call to

mind without deep emotion the scenes of the deathchamber?-the beloved face fast fading at the touch of dissolution-and the fond farewell-the fervent prayer for us which ceased but with parting life?-Callous and hardened must be the heart of that child, who can behold without powerful emotion the memorials of a deceased parent. No-the heart must swell, and the eye must weep, when we visit that closet where we conversed with God together, and find it in the abode of solitude and desolation of heart-when we look on the days that are to come, and behold the dark current of existence strewed with the wreck of our broken hopes and ruined schemes; and feel that we must travel in loneliness along the pathway of being, bereft of those who, by sharing, heightened our pleasures—and who, by dividing, alleviated our sorrows.

MUSIC.

Our amusements, the employments with which we occupy our leisure hours, have much to do with the formation of our characters. The man who seeks pleasure in boisterous mirth and midnight revelry, rarely proves a kind husband or a tender father; and the boy who delights to exercise wanton cruelty on the humblest insect, is rarely an agreeable playmate or a dutiful son; whilst he whose recreations are of a sober and rational character, is most commonly a pleasant companion and a peaceable neighbor.

To the young, and to all engaged in their education," or interested in their well-being, this is a subject of much interest, and no efforts ought to be spared to give a right direction to the love of pleasure so strong in youth. Hence arises the usefulness of infusing early into the youthful mind a taste for intellectual pleasure; and inspiring love for the fine arts before a thirst is contracted for more dangerous amusements; of these none is more laudable or more improving than a knowledge and love of music; no one interferes less with other studies or other employments-the amount of time necessary for the attainment of a tolerable proficiency is not great, and the expense is inconsiderable.

But Music is not to be regarded merely as an amuse

ment, nor are its advantages confined to the young. Who," that hath music in his soul," has not felt his troubled spirit calmed, his heart softened and his love warmed, when engaged in the calm and sweet evening hymn :

"Let not the spirits of the air,
While I re; ose, my soul ensnare;
But guard thy suppliant, free from harms,
Safe in thine everlasting arms."

Who has not been awe-struck at hearing-" Hallelujah! for the Lord God Omnipotent reigneth!"-burst forth from a full choir!

The lovers of well-ordered public worship have ever regarded Sacred Music as one of the most important parts. Let the preacher be warm and eloquent, and his performances of the first order-if the psalmody be unsuitable to his subject, or badly performed, the exercises are incomplete, and fatigue and listlessness frequently take the place which should be occupied by attention. But suitable words and music, performed with the spirit and understanding, afford powerful aid to the instructions of the pulpit, and create feelings of devotion, the most pleasant and profitable.

POETRY.

THE DYING GIRL'S LAMENT.

BY MRS. C. GORE.

Why does my mother steal away
To hide her struggling tears?
Her trembling touch betrays uncheck'd
The secret of her fears;

My fathers gaze on my face

With yearning, earnest eye;—

And yet, there's none among them all,
To tell me I must die!

My little sisters press around

My sleepless couch, and bring

With eager hands, their garden gift,

The first sweet buds of spring!

THE VOICE OF THE WIND.

"There is nothing in the wide world so like the voice of a spirit. -Gray's Letters.

Oh! many a voice is thine, thou Wind! full many a voice is thine, From every scene thy wing o'ersweeps, thou bear'st a sound and sigh.

A minstrel wild, and strong thou art, with a mastery all thine own;
And the Spirit is thy harp, O Wind! that gives the answering tone.

Thou hast been across red fields of war, where shiver'd helmets lie,
And thou bringest thence the thrilling note of a Clarion in the sky:
A rustling of proud banner-folds, a peal of stormy drums—
All these are in thy music met, as when a leader comes.

Thou hast been o'er solitary seas, and from their waste brought back

Each noise of waters that awoke in the mystery of thy track;
The chime of low, soft, southern waves on some green, palmy

shore,

The hollow roll of distant surge, the gather'd billow's roar.

Thou art come from forests dark and deep, thou mighty rushing Wind!

And thou bearest all their unisons in one full swell combined:
The restless pines, the moaning stream, all hidden things and free
Of the dim, old, sounding wilderness, have lent their soul to thee.

Thou art come from cities lighted up for the conqueror passing by,
Thou art wafting from their streets a sound of haughty revelry;
The rolling of triumphant wheels, the harpings in the hall,
The far-off shouts of multitudes, are in thy rise and fall.

Thou art come from kingly tomb and shrines from ancient minsters vast,

Through the dark aisles of a thousand years thy lonely wing hath pass'd;

Thou hast caught the Anthem's billowy swell, the stately Dirge's

tone,

For a Chief with sword, and shield, and helm, to his place of slum

ber gone.

Thou art come from long-forsaken homes, wherein our young days 'flew,

Thou nast found sweet voices lingering there, the loved the kind,

the true;

Thou callest back those melodies, though now all changed and

fled

Be still, be still, and haunt us not with music from the dead

Are all these notes in thee, wild Wind? these many notes in thee?
Far in our own unfathom'd souls their fount must surely be?
Yes! buried but unsleeping there, Thought watches, Memory lies,
From whose deep Urn the tones are pour'd through all earth's bar-

monies

F. H.