'Mid fleeting joys of sense and time,
Still free from earthly leaven,
Its purest hopes, its joys sublime,
Should own no home but HEAVEN.

Bernard Barton.

VISIT TO THE BLIND ASYLUM.

THIS is an interesting exhibition of the application of benevolence and ingenuity to repair the evils of one of the greatest losses our nature can endure. Every sort of work is carried on which does not absolutely need the aid of sight; and many which, on a first consideration, we should think would do so. The making of shoes, of baskets, of cord for window-lines, door-mats, worsted bell-ropes, sacks woven entire without seams either at the sides or bottom, and other like occupations, were going on, and all seemed busy, contented, and happy. At two o'clock, several of the blind went into a sort of musicroom, with a good organ at one end, fitted up with seats at the other for strangers, and practised singing; a blind man, who appeared to be the teacher, announcing to the company the number of the piece to be performed, that it might be found in the books, which were plentifully scattered about. They sang in admirable taste, and with the most admirable harmony in parts and in chorus.

"I am never merry when I hear sweet music," is an observation of a great poet, and one which those who feel its charms most readily assent to. There was here something more than mere harmony to awaken a melancholy, though sweet and touching feeling. Nature seems to have given to many who have lost their power of vision, a peculiar sensibility to music, and skill to excel in it. It is to them almost a new sense, a world of meaning and thought, conveying ideas more bright and touching than they had from it before. It was most interesting to see poor blind come into the room hand in hand, feeling their way to the seats allotted to them, and to take a part in what to them must be "a feast of reason and a flow of soul;" and then to watch their countenances brightened, and their whole frames seeming to live with more than common intensity, at the first few notes struck on the

the

organ. It was affecting in the extreme to observe how one would roll around her sightless orbs as her fingers kept time with the music, while another kept his body swinging backwards and forwards as he bent over the organ, drinking in, as it were, every chord, and dwelling with ecstacy on every melody; and again, to watch them singing with their heads thrown back, and seemingly unconscious of every thing but the eloquent music they were joining in, and expressing by their very features, the delight they were experiencing; and in this attitude they were more interesting in their condition of blindness and darkness, than if their faces had been lighted up by the brightest eyes. Anon,

THE FLIGHT OF YEARS.

THE flight of years-how soft, how fleet!
How like a winged angel's feet,
Departing from the starry throne,
On messages of love unknown!
A setting sun—a gleaming sail
Driving before the western gale,
Then lost where ocean's verge appears—
Are shadows of the flight of years.
The flight of years-ah, who can tell
Where the departed moments dwell?
Lost in what deep and boundless sea?
Sunk in what wide eternity?
For ever past-for ever gone-
No trace to fix a thought upon;
But mirth and grief, and hopes and fears,
Are swallow'd in the flight of years.
The flight of years-how many an eye
Weeps at the thought of years gone by
Looks back upon the sad array—
The restless night-the anxious day;
Sees the lov'd form so pale, so chill,
And mourns its broken idol still!
While all below, that soothes or cheers,
Seems buried in the flight of years.
The flight of years-it bears along
The mighty purpose of the strong,

Youth's thousand fond imaginings,
And manhood's ardent spiritings,-
The sigh of love, the sigh of care-
The sad forebodings of despair-

And pride's approach, and slander's sneers,
Sink in the rapid flight of years.

The flight of years 'twill soon be o'er,
When the last pilgrim treads the shore;
When darkness broods across the sun,
And mercy's gracious work is done;
When heaven renew'd, and earth restor❜d,
Shout at the presence of their Lord;
Disease and death, and sin and tears,
Shall perish with the flight of years.-Anon.

THE WATER BOTTLES OF THE EAST.

IN the book of Joshua there is a very interesting account of the wily artifice by which the Gibeonites prevailed upon Joshua to make a covenant of peace with them, when he was drawing near to their country, in the course of subduing the lands in which the people of Israel were to be settled. A party of Gibeonites were sent to meet Joshua, pretending that they had come from a far distant land, as ambassadors on behalf of their countrymen. They took old sacks upon their asses, and wine bottles old and rent and bound up. They had also old shoes and garments, and a few remains of stale and dry provisions, to give the appearance of having just finished a long journey. When they came before Joshua, they informed him that their home was far distant, and that having heard of his great victories, they had been sent to entreat that he would make a league with them. "Wherefore our elders, and all the inhabitants of our country, spake unto us, saying, Take victuals with you for your journey, and go to meet them, and say unto them, We are your servants, wherefore now make a league with us. This our bread we took hot for our provisions out of our houses on the day we came forth to go unto you, but now behold it is dry and it is mouldy and these bottles of wine which were filled were new, and behold they be rent-and these our garments and our shoes are become old by reason of the very long journey."

The bottles here spoken of were not like those now used in European countries, but were bags made of the skin of animals. The same kind of bottle is frequently referred to in Scripture, both literally and figuratively; but the mention of it occurs with peculiar interest in the three following instances.-A bottle filled with water was given by Abraham to Hagar, when he sent her away from his house (Genesis xxi.) When Sisera took shelter in the tent of Jael, she opened a bottle of milk and gave him drink. (Judges iv.) And in 1. Samuel xvi. we are told that "Jesse took an ass laden with bread and a bottle of wine, and a kid, and sent them by David his son unto Saul.”

In the East, water and other liquids are to this day kept and carried in skin bags, of which the construction is exceedingly simple: and thus we are enabled to illustrate, by the present practices of a people in our own day, one of the customs so frequently referred to in the clear and familiar language of Holy Writ.

In making the bottles here described, the hide is stripped off entire, except at the openings where the head and feet are cut off; these openings are sewed up except one, which is left for a spout, and secured by a string removable at pleasure. While the skin is being prepared, it is filled with hot sand to stretch it to its proper size; the hides of different animals being used,—as a kid, the sheep or goat, and the ox,-the bottles or bags are of various sizes, some scarcely larger than our ordinary bottles.

The water-carrier of India loads his bullock with a large skin full at the well, either to accompany travellers, or to sell the water to those who live at a distance. Whenever troops, or other large bodies of people, proceed upon a march into the interior of the country, a number of water carriers of this description accompany them.

Bags of skins are also used in Spain to carry wine from the vineyards to the places where it is sold, and sherry wine is very often observed to retain the flavour of the hides in which it has been transported.

Such bottles as those which have now been described were of course strongest when they were new. Our Saviour says to his disciples, "No man putteth new wine into old bottles, or else the new wine will burst the bottles,

and be spilled, and the bottles perish; but new wine is put into new bottles, and both are preserved." He meant leathern bottles.

There is a passage in the 119th Psalm, which becomes peculiarly and powerfully beautiful to the reader who clearly understands what sort of bottles were used in the East. The Psalmist is describing the depth of his tribulation and grief, and the comfort he derives from reflecting on the certainty of God's promises. He likens his outward appearance to that of a skin bottle or bag, which, when not in use, is hung up near the fire, and becomes withered and blackened by the smoke. "I am become like a bottle in the smoke, yet do I not forget thy commandments."-Saturday Magazine.

ON THE RECEIPT OF MY MOTHER'S PICTURE.

Cowper had the misfortune to lose his mother when he was only about six years old. He says nearly fifty years after her death, "Not a day passes in which I do not think of her; such was the impression her tenderness made upon me, though the opportunity she had for showing it was so short."-Southey's Life of Cowper.

O THAT those lips had language! Life has passed
With me but roughly since I heard thee last.
Those lips are thine-thy own sweet smile I see,
The same that oft, in childhood, solaced me;
Voice only fails, else how distinct they say,
'Grieve not, my child, chase all thy fears away!'
The meek intelligence of those dear eyes
(Bless'd be the art that can immortalize,
The art that baffles Time's tyrannic claim,
To quench it,) here shines on me still the same.

Faithful remembrancer of one so dear,
O welcome guest, though unexpected here!
Who bidd'st me honour, with an artless song
Affectionate, a mother lost so long.

I will obey, not willingly alone,

But gladly, as the precept were her own:
And, while that face renews my filial grief,
Fancy shall weave a charm for
my relief-