TIME FOR ALL THINGS.

THERE is a time to live! "Tis when
The world hath wants;

When we can dry the mourner's tears,
When we can chase the gloomy fears,
Which shadow life's eventful years,
And haunt our world.

There is a time to work! 'Tis while
The daylight lasts;

While God prolongs existence here,
And crowns with plenty every year,
And makes his goodness to appear
In all around.

There is a time to play! 'Tis when
Our toil is o'er;

When daylight disappears from earth,
And loved ones gather 'round the hearth,
And youth and age give way to mirth,
Which nature craves.

There is a time to weep!

The world is dark;

'Tis when

When parents, friends, and loved ones die,

And our fond hopes in ruin lie,

And life and beauty quickly fly
From every breast.

There is a time to love! 'Tis when
Life's spring is bright;

When friends with kindness cluster round,
And blessings every where abound,
And warm and generous hearts are found,
To cheer our own.

There is a time to dance! 'Tis when
We know no sin;

On flowery plains and verdant hills,
While music every bosom thrills,
And love to God each heart doth fill,
Then dance with songs.

There is a time to pray! 'Tis when
We hope or fear;

In times of happiness or woe,

When joy or ill the heart doth know,
Let sinners to the Savior go,

And always pray.

There is a time to die!

Our work is done ;

'Tis when

'Tis when our peace with God is made, And we in Jesus' robes arrayed,

And from our eyes the earth doth fade, — Then may we die.

BURNS AND HIS HIGHLAND MARY.

FEW poets have a deeper hold on the hearts of the New Englanders than Robert Burns, whose errors are forgotten in the contemplation of his genius and his worth.

We recently had in our possession the identical pair of Bibles presented by the immortal Burns to the dearest object of his affections, Highland Mary, on the banks of the winding Ayr, when he spent with her "one day of parting love." They are in remarkably good preservation, and belong to a descendant of the family of Mary's mother, Mrs. Campbell, whose property they became on the death of her daughter; and subsequently Mrs. Anderson, Mary's only surviving sister, acquired them. The circumstance of the Bible being in two volumes, seemed at one time to threaten its dismemberment, Mrs. Anderson having presented a volume to each of her two daughters; but on their approaching marriage, their brother William prevailed on them to dispose of the sacred volumes to him. On the first blank leaf of the first volume is written, in the

handwriting of the immortal bard, "And ye shall not swear by my name falsely-I am the Lord. Levit. 19th chap. 12th verse; " and on the corresponding leaf of the second volume, "Thou shalt not forswear thyself, but shalt perform unto the Lord thine oath. Matth. 5th chap. 33d verse." On the second blank leaf of each volume, there are the remains of "Robert Burns, Mossigiel," in his handwriting, beneath which is drawn a masonic emblem. At the end of the first volume there is a lock of Highland Mary's hair. There is a mournful interest attached to these sacred volumes - sacred from their contents, and sacred from having been a pledge of love from the most gifted of Scotland's bards to the artless object of his affections, from whom he was separating, no more to meet on this side the grave. The life of Burns was full of romance, but there is not one circumstance in it all so romantic and full of interest as those which attended and followed, the gift of these volumes. He was young when he wooed and won the affections of Mary, whom he describes as "a warm-hearted, charming young creature as ever blessed a man with generous love." The attachment was mutual, and forms the subject of many of his earlier lyrics, as well as of the productions of his later years, which shows that it was very deeprooted. Before he was known to fame, steeped in poverty to the very dregs, and meditating an escape to the West Indies from the remorseless fangs of a

hard-hearted creditor, he addressed to his "dear girl" the song which begins,

"Will ye go to the Indies, my Mary,

And leave auld Scotia's shore?
Will you go to the Indies, my Mary,
And cross the Atlantic's roar?"

But neither Burns nor his Mary was doomed to 66 cross the Atlantic's roar,' nor to realize those dreams of mutual bliss which passion or enthusiasm had engendered in their youthful imaginations.Burns was called to Edinburgh, there to commence his career of fame, which was to terminate in chill poverty, dreary disappointment, and dark despair; while Mary's happier lot, after a transient gleam of the sunshine of life, was to be removed to a better and a happier world. Her death shed a sadness over his whole future life, and a spirit of subdued grief and tenderness was displayed whenever she was the subject of his conversation or writings.— Witness as follows:

"Ye banks, and braes, and streams around

The castle o' Montgomerie,

Green be your woods, and fair your flowers,
Your waters never drumlie;

There simmer first unfolds her robes,
An' there they langest tarry,
For there I took my last farweel
O' my sweet Hieland Mary!

In a note appended to this song, Burns says, "This was a composition of mine in my early life,