That the wind is not ever a gentle breath-
That the sun is often the bearer of death-
That the ocean-wave is not always still-
And that life is chequered with good and ill:
If we know 'tis well that such change should be,
What do we learn from the things we see?
That an erring and sinning child of dust

Should not wonder nor murmur-but hope and trust!

Hall.

WINTER.

Ir amazes us, at this season of the year, as we walk abroad, to conceive where can have concealed themselves the infinite variety of creatures that sported through the air, earth, and waters of summer. Birds, insects, reptiles, whither are they all gone? The birds that filled the air with their music, the rich blackbird, the loud and cheerful thrush, the linnet, lark, and goldfinch, whither have they crept? The squirrel that played his antics on the forest tree; and all the showy and varied tribes of butterflies, moths, dragon-flies, beetles, wasps, and warrior hornets, bees and cockchafers, whither have they fled? Some, no doubt, have lived out their little term of being, and their bodies, lately so splendid, active, and alive to a thousand instincts, feelings, and propensities, are become part and parcel of the dull and wintry soil; but the greater portion have shrunk into the hollows of trees and rocks, and into the bosom of their mother earth itself, where, with millions of seeds, and roots, and buds, they live in the great treasury of Nature, ready at the call of a more auspicious season, to people the world once more with beauty and delight.

The heavens present one of the most prominent and splendid beauties of winter. The long and total absence of the sun's light, and the transparent purity of a frosty atmosphere, give an apparent elevation to the celestial concave, and a rich depth and intensity of azure, in which the stars burn with resplendent beauty; the galaxy stretches its albescent glow athwart the northern sky, and the moon, in her monthly track, sails amongst the glittering con

stellations with a more queenly grace; sometimes without the visitation of a single cloud, and at others seeming to catch, from their wind-winged speed, an accelerated motion of her own. It is a spectacle of which the contemplative eye is never weary; though it is one, of all others, which fills the mind with feelings of the immensity of the universe, of the tremendous power of its Creator, and of the insignificance of self. A breathing atom, a speck, even upon the surface of a world, which is itself a speck in the universal world, we send our imagination forth amongst innumerable orbs, all stupendous in magnitude, all swarming with existence, vainly striving to reach the boundaries of space, till, astonished and confounded, it recoils from the hopeless task, aching, dazzled, and humbled to the dust. What a weary sense attends the attempt of a finite being to grasp infinity! Space beyond space! space beyond space still! There is nothing for the mind to rest its wearied wing upon, and it shrinks back into its material cell, in adoration and humility. Such are the feelings and speculations which have attended the human spirit in all ages, in contemplating this magnificent spectacle. David has beautifully expressed their effect upon him; "When I consider thy heavens, the work of thy fingers, the moon and the stars which thou hast ordained, what is man that thou art mindful of him? and the son of man, that thou visitest him?"-Howitt.

AUTUMN.

To
you
the beauties of the autumnal year
Make mournful emblems, and you think of man
Doom'd to the grave's long winter, spirit broke,
Bending beneath the burden of his years,
Sense dull'd and fretful, full of aches and pains,
Yet clinging still to life. To me they show
The calm decay of nature, when the mind
Retains its strength, and in the languid eye
Religion's holy hopes kindle a joy

That makes old age look lovely. All to you

Is dark and cheerless; you, in this fair world,
See some destroying principle abroad.
Air, earth, and water, full of living things,
Each on the other preying; and the ways
Of man, a strange, perplexing labyrinth,
Where crimes and miseries, each producing each
Render life loathsome, and destroy the hope

That should in death bring comfort. Oh, my friend,
That thy faith were as mine! that thou could'st see
Death still producing life, and evil still

Working its own destruction; could'st behold
The strifes and tumults of this troubled world,
With the strong eye that sees the promised day,
Dawn through this night of tempest! all things then
Would minister to joy; then should thine heart
Be healed and harmonized, and thou should'st feel
God, always, every where, and all in all.-Southey.

EMPLOYMENT.

It should be always considered the duty of women to be well and actively employed; and there is ample field for the most diligent. Let not, therefore, those who waste their time in doing nothing-who sit at home in indolence, reading a novel, or drawing a flower, or embroidering a work bag excuse their own inertness by the officiousness of others. The one is far more defensible than the other: the one may be moderated or corrected, and its intention is its apology; but the other must be wholly overcome, for its principle is bad. The higher the rank, and the greater the wealth, the more important it is that sympathy should be expressed, and charity exercised. Young women, of whatever degree, should never shrink from personal effort. Neither should they think, when they do enter a cottage, or teach a school, that it is an act of condescension. It is certainly very right in them to be so employed, but it is an honour to them, too; and they should ever remember that the greatest privilege that attaches to superiority of any kind, is to render its inferiors happy and at ease.

There is, perhaps, a greater sense of the duty now than there ever was. And, if so, why should there not be more effort? Why should not societies be every where established for the relief of the poor and the sick; and individual charity be thus concentrated and applied? In the detail of such societies, the assistance of women would often prove very valuable. They would not be appointed to the most laborious, or the most responsible offices; they would not be sent into districts where it is scarcely fit for modest women to appear; but they would be directed in all cases of difficulty; and instead of rambling about on a philanthropic crusade, they would have an assigned sphere of usefulness, and a proper and subordinate duty. The sweet Quakeress has shown what a woman can do: there would be found many such, if they were only judiciously called into action. Mrs. Sandford.

THE FLOWER AND THE WILLOW.

A LOVELY flower of rainbow hue
Beneath a weeping willow grew,
But discontent proved its vexation;
It murmur'd at its situation.

While passion shook its blushing head,
It to the weeping willow said :-
"See how I'm shaded here by you;
My lovely charms are hid from view:
"Beauties like mine would surely grace
An open and conspicuous place.
Why, in this lonely shade, must I
Unnotic'd bloom, unnotic'd die ?"

The goddess, from her fragrant bower,
O'erheard the discontented flower;
And straightway she its wishes granted:
"Twas to another place transplanted.
Beneath the sun's resplendent ray,,
Its charms were wither'd in a day.
The willow that had been its aid,
Surveyed the change, and thus she said:-

"Frail murmurer! well may'st thou lament
The fatal fruits of discontent:

For, since my shelter was despis'd,
See how thy folly is chastis'd!

"Why did thy pride create a care
That all who pass'd might deem thee fair?
But thou hast proved, to thy vexation,
How dear fools pay for admiration.

"To Flora's tribes I hope thy fall
Will prove a good, and teach them all
To live contented in their stations,
Nor murmur at her dispensations."

The faded flower made no reply,
But, trembling to the zephyr's sigh,

Bow'd down its languid head, and died;

The victim of its foolish pride.-Mary M. Colling.

MASTERS AND SERVANTS.

THE Connexion between master and servant is a contract of wages for time and labour, and contains both expressed and implied duties.

First-It is required of servants, that they be strictly honest; dishonesty in any condition of life is base, shameful, and wicked; but it must be doubly so when it is committed against those who put confidence in our honesty, for then it is attended with a breach of trust, and aggravated with the basest ingratitude.

But, besides downright dishonesty, a servant may be unjust, and injure her master or mistress as deeply by carelessness and profusion. Carefulness and frugality are as much the express or implied terms of the contract as honesty; and the want of the former is as really a breach of trust as the want of the latter, and just as ruinous.

As servants sell their time and labour to their masters at a certain price, consequently, they are bound to attend to the duties of their place, and not to give themselves up to idleness, company keeping, or any other disorderly