dependent on the world, and thus she will avoid its vexations. She will be liable to neither restlessness nor ennui-but she will be happy in her own home, and by her own hearth, in the fulfilment of religious and domestic duty, and in the profitable employment of her time.

HOME.

Mrs. Sandford.

ARE there who, always fond of changing,
Still in quest of pleasures roam?

From scene to scene for ever ranging,
Unconscious of the sweets of HOME?
Oh! what a thousand tender pleasures,
To the wanderer quite unknown,
Lurk in the winning sphere she measures,
And number the delights of HOME.
There the heart congenial meets you,
There affection's sunbeams play,
Dear domestic duties greet you
In this spot where'er you stray.
Tun'd to love's delightful measure,
There you hear the soothing tone,
And the rosy smile of pleasure
Lights a welcome to your HOME.
Free from vain or pert intrusion,
The swiftly circling minutes fly,
And within this dear seclusion

Ambush'd joys and pleasures lie.
Droops the heart with pain or anguish,
Do the spirits feel a gloom?
Oh, how healing love's soft language,
How endearing then is HOME!
There the heart with freedom swelling,

Meets enjoyments yet to come,

Social joys adorn this dwelling,

And shade that lovely nook called HOME,

Magic circle of attraction,

Haunt of innocent delights!

Friendship's gentlest sphere of action,

Where every soothing charm invites.

How I love to trace the beauties
That rise within thy hallow'd dome,
How I joy to meet the duties,

The pleasurable cares of HOME.-Penwarne.

THE HUMMING BIRD.

No sooner has the returning sun again introduced the vernal season, and caused millions of plants to expand their leaves and blossoms to his genial beams, than the little humming-bird is seen advancing on fairy wings, carefully visiting every opening flower-cup and, like a curious florist, removing from each the injurious insects that otherwise would, ere long, cause their beauteous petals to droop and decay. Poised in the air, it is observed peeping cautiously, and with sparkling eye into their innermost recesses; whilst the ethereal motions of its pinions, so rapid and so light, appear to fan and cool the flower, without injuring its fragile texture, and produce a delightful murmuring sound, well adapted for lulling the insects to repose. Then is the moment for the humming-bird to secure them.

The prairies, the fields, the orchards, the gardensnay, the deepest shades of the forest, are all visited in their turn, and every where the little bird meets with pleasure and with food. Its throat, in beauty and brilliancy baffles all competition. Now it glows with a fiery hue, and again it is changed into a velvety black. The upper part of its delicate body is of resplendent changing green; and it throws itself through the air with a swiftness and vivacity hardly conceivable. It moves from one flower to another like a gleam of light. They follow the course of the sun, advancing or retiring with him, and flying on the wings of the zephyrs, wanton in eternal spring.

Could you cast a momentary glance on the nest of the humming-bird, and see as I have seen, the newlyhatched pair of young, little larger than humble-bees, naked, blind, and so feeble as scarcely to be able to raise their little bill to receive food from their parents; and could you see those parents, full of anxiety and fear, passing and repassing within a few inches of your face.

alighting on a twig, not more than a yard from your body, waiting the result of your unwelcome visit in a state of the utmost despair you could not fail to be impressed with the deepest pangs which parental affection feels on the unexpected death of a cherished child. Then how pleasing it is, on your leaving the spot, to see the returning hope of the parents, when, after examining the nest, they find their nurslings untouched! You might then judge how pleasing it is to a parent to hear the physician who has attended her sick child assure her that the crisis is over, and that her child is saved. These are the scenes best fitted to enable us to partake of sorrow and joy, and to determine every one who views them, to make it their duty to contribute to the happiness of others, and to refrain from wantonly or maliciously giving them pain. Audubon.

HOPE.

UNFADING Hope! when life's last embers burn,
When soul to soul, and dust to dust return!
Heaven to thy charge resigns the awful hour,
Oh! then, thy kingdom comes! immortal power!
What, though each spark of earth-born rapture fly,
The quivering lip, pale cheek, and closing eye!
Bright to the soul thy seraph hands convey
The morning dream of life's eternal day;
Then, then the triumph and the trance begin,
And all the phoenix spirit burns within!

Oh! deep enchanting prelude to repose,
The dawn of bliss, the twilight of our woes!
Yet half I hear the panting spirit sigh,
It is a dread, and awful thing to die!
Mysterious worlds, untravell❜d by the sun!
Where time's far-wandering tide has never run,
From your unfathom'd shades and viewless spheres,
A warning comes, unheard by other ears.

"Tis Heaven's commanding trumpet, long and loud,
Like Sinai's thunder, pealing from the cloud!
While Nature hears, with terror-mingled trust,
The shock that hurls her fabric to the dust;

*

And, like the trembling Hebrew, when he trod
The roaring waves, and call'd upon his God,
With mortal terrors, clouds immortal bliss,
And shrieks, and hovers o'er the dark abyss!

Daughter of Faith! awake, arise, illume The dread unknown, the chaos of the tomb; Melt and dispel, ye spectre-doubts that roll Cimmerian darkness on the parting soul! Fly, like the moon-eyed herald of dismay, Chased on his night-steed by the star of day! The strife is o'er the pangs of Nature close, And life's last rapture triumphs o'er her woes Hark! as the spirit eyes, with eagle-gaze, The noon of heaven undazzled by the blaze, On heavenly winds that waft her to the sky, Float the sweet tones of star-born melody; Wild as that hallow'd anthem set to hail Bethlehem's shepherds in the lonely vale, When Jordan hush'd his waves, and midnight still Watch'd on the holy towers of Zion's hill.-Campbell.

THE PETREL.

IT is an interesting sight to observe these little birds in a gale, coursing over the waves, down the declivities, and up the descents of the foaming surf that threatens to burst over their heads; sweeping along the hollow troughs of the sea as in a sheltered valley, and again mounting with the rising billow: and just above its surface, occasionally dropping their feet, which striking the water, throw them up again with additional force; sometimes leaping with both legs parallel, on the surface of the roughest waves for several yards at a time. Meanwhile they continue coursing from side to side of the ship's wake, making excursions far and wide, returning again to the ship as if she were stationary, though perhaps running at the rate of ten knots an hour. But the most singular peculiarity of this bird is its faculty of standing, and even running, on the surface of the water, which it performs with apparent facility.

There are few persons who have crossed the Atlantic *Hebrew, St. Peter.

that have not observed these solitary wanderers of the deep, skimming along the surface of the wild and wasteful ocean; flitting past the vessel like the swallows; or following in her wake, gleaning their scanty pittance of food from the rough and whirling surges. Habited in mourning, and making their appearances generally in greater numbers previous to, or during a storm, they have long been fearfully regarded by the ignorant and superstitious, not only as the foreboding messengers of tempests and dangers to the hapless mariner, but as wicked agents, connected, some how or other, in creating them. "Nobody," as sailors say, "can tell any thing of whence they come." This mysterious uncertainty of their origin, and the circumstance above recited, have, doubtless, given rise to the opinion, so prevalent among this class of men, that they are, in some way or other, connected with the prince of the power of the air. In every country where they are known, their names have borne some affinity to this belief. They have been called witches, stormy petrels, the Devil's birds, and mother Cary's chickens; and their unexpected and numerous appearance has frequently thrown a momentary damp over the mind of the hardiest It is the business of the Naturalist, and the glory of philosophy, to examine into the reality of these things; to dissipate the clouds of error and superstition wherever they darken and bewilder the human understanding, and to illustrate nature with the radiance of truth.

seaman.

As well might the mariner curse the midnight lighthouse, that star-like guides them on their watery way; or the buoy that warns them of the sunken rocks below, as this harmless wanderer, whose manner informs them of the approach of the storm, and thereby enables them to prepare for it. The petrels are nocturnal birds. When, therefore, they are seen flying about and feeding by day, the fact appears to indicate that they have been driven from their usual quarters by a storm; and hence, perhaps, arose the association of the bird with the tempest. When they cannot, then, find an island or a rock to shield them from the blast, they fly towards the first ship they can descry, crowd into her wake, and even close under the stern: heedless, it would appear, of the rushing surge, so