The wretch without it, is under eternal quarantine ;-no friend to greet,-no home to harbor him. The voyage of his life becomes a joyless peril; and in the midst of all ambition can achieve, or avarice amass, or rapacity plun der, he tosses on the surge,-a buoyant pestilence. But, let me not degrade into selfishness of individual safety or individual exposure this universal principle; it testifies a higher, a more ennobling origin.

It is this which, consecrating the humble circle of the hearth, will at times extend itself to the circumference of the horizon, which nerves the arm of the patriot to save his country, which lights the lamp of the philosopher to amend man,—which, if it does not inspire, will yet invig orate the martyr to merit immortality,-which, when one world's agony is passed, and the glory of another is dawning, will prompt the prophet, even in his chariot of fire, and in his vision of Heaven, to bequeath to mankind the mantle of his memory!

Oh, divine! Oh, delightful legacy of a spotless reputation! Rich is the inheritance it leaves; pious the example it testifies; pure, precious, and imperishable, the hope which it inspires! Can there be conceived a more atrocious injury than to filch from its possessor this inestimable benefit, to rob society of its charm, and solitude of its solace; not only to outlaw life, but to attaint death, converting the very grave, the refuge of the sufferer, into the gate of infamy and of shame!

I can conceive few crimes beyond it. He who plunders my property takes from me that which can be repaired by time; but what period can repair a ruined reputation? He who maims my person, affects that which medicine may remedy; but what herb has sovereignty over the wounds of slander? He who ridicules my poverty, or reproaches my profession, upbraids me with that which industry may retrieve, and integrity may purify; but what riches shall redeem the bankrupt fame? What power shall blanch the sullied snow of character? There can be no injury more deadly. There can be no crime more cruel. It is without remedy. It is without antidote. It is without evasion.

The reptile, calumny, is ever on the watch. From the fascinations of its eye no activity can escape; from the

venom of its fang no sanity can recover.

It has no en

joyment but crime; it has no prey but virtue; it has no interval from the restlessness of its malice, save when bloated with its victims, it grovels to disgorge them at the withered shrine where envy idolizes her own infirmities.

THE LAMENT OF JACOB GRAY

H. ELLIOTT MCBRIDE.

I AM a lonely bachelor, my name is Jacob Gray,

I sit within my little cot and grumble all the day,

I smoke and yawn, and growl and fuss, and feel as cross and

blue

As ever Sally Scruggins felt, who had the dolly loo.

My life has been a checkered one-I've had great knocks and flumps;

I've had the measles, whooping-cough, and double-twisted

mumps,

I know I am a homely man-my nose is sorter pug;
My hair is red, my mouth is like the nozzle of a jug.

At first, when only twenty-one, I courted Sally Spry;
She was a dashing lovely girl-perfection in my eye;
I went to see her seven times, and then there came a stop;
She calmly took her leave of me, and whacked me off kerflop.

Says she, to me, "Now, Jacob Gray, I think you've come enough;

You're rather young, a little green, and not quite up to snuff. So, Jacob, please, don't come again-I've got another beau; And he's a chap who wears a watch, and cuts a dashing show."

This crushed me down into the dust-I scarce knew what to

do;

I seemed to be so wumblechunked, I thought I'd fly in two.
I softly cried and wiped my eyes, and felt so mighty bad,
I thought I'd have to run right home and tell it all to dad.

And then I thought I'd say a word before I'd go away,
And try to show the darling girl the error of her way.
Says I, "O Sal, dear Sally Spry ! oh, would you treat me so?
Oh, would you cut the silken tie and bid me fortil go?

"Oh, would you crush a loving heart and send me to my grave?

Oh, would you make me crazy now and hear me yell and rave? Oh, would you chuck and squash me down into the mire and mud,

And nip the youthful, gushing love just coming to the bud?"

"O Jake." says she, "don't be a goose-don't blubber any

• more;

You'll soon get well, and feel as good as ere you felt before. And ere ten weeks have gone away, you'll think no more of

me

You'll be as gay, and happy too, as any sport can be."

I sniffled some, put on my hat, and straight I went from Spry's; Got into bed and sniffled more, and wiped my weeping eyes; Says I, "I guess I feel used up and sorter middling cheap;" And then I turned me round again and went right off to sleep.

A year passed round, and Sal was hitched to Joseph Johnston Dobbs;

And I had fell down deep in love with Susan Rachel Blobbs Now Susan had a farm and bonds, and piles of ready cash, And so I thought I'd court her quick, and take her with a dash.

Says I, "Dear Suze, I love you hard-I think I love you more Than all the girls in Squabbletown, and they are twenty-score. If you will be my wife, dear Suze, I'll be both kind and true; I'll let no care nor trouble come within ten feet of you."

Says she, a twisting up her nose, and winking both her eyes,
"I guess you'd better spark again at Simon Joseph Spry's."
And then says she, "I heard you said that you'd go in and win,
And marry me because I had a little pile of 'tin."

"O Jacob, no! it cannot be; you just can step aside;
I'm sure I do not like your style-I cannot be your bride.-
I used to like you pretty well, but now I've found you out,
And so, in future, Jacob Gray, you need not come about."

And then she bowed a crushing bow-her cheeks were al aglow

She looked at me as if she thought that I had better go.
I grabbed my hat and fled away, and never once I stopped,
Until I had got home again and into bed had popped.

Since then I've never sparked a spark-I journey on alone;
My heart is cold and feels just like a slice of frigid zone.
I will not marry now, I'm sure; I'll live a lonely life,
And never ask another girl to come and be my wife.

IT IS WELL WE CANNOT SEE THE END.

WHEN another life is added

To the heaving, turbid mass;
When another breath of being
Stains creation's tarnished glass;
When the first cry, weak and piteous,
Heralds long-enduring pain,
And a soul from non-existence
Springs, that ne'er can die again;
When the mother's passionate welcome,
Sorrow-like, bursts forth in tears,
And a sire's self-gratulation
Prophesies of future years--

It is well we cannot see
What the end will be.

When the boy, upon the threshold
Of his all-comprising home,
Puts aside the arm maternal
That unlocks him ere he roam;
When the canvas of his vessel
Flutters to the favoring gale,-
Years of solitary exile

Hid behind the sunny sail,-
When his pulses beat with ardor,
And his sinews stretch for toil,
And a hundred bold emprises
Lure him to that eastern soil—-

It is well we cannot see
What the end shall be.

When the altar of religion

Greets the expectant bridal pair,
And the vow that lasts till dying
Vibrates on the sacred air;
When man's lavish protestations
Doubts of after change defy,
Comforting the frailer spirit

Bound his servitor for aye;

When beneath love's silver moonbeams,

Many rocks in shadow sleep

Undiscovered, till possession

Shows the danger of the deep

It is well we cannot see
What the end shall be.

Whatsoever is beginning,

That is wrought by human skill;
Every daring emanation

Of the mind's ambitious will;
Every first impulse of passion,
Gush of love or twinge of hate;
Every launch upon the waters
Wide-horizoned by our fate;
Every venture in the chances
Of life's sad, oft desperate game,
Whatsoever be our motive,
Whatsoever be our aim-

It is well we cannot see
What the end shall be.

PERVERSION OF THE BIBLE.-ROBERT POLLOK

MANY believed; but more the truth of God
Turned to a lie, deceiving and deceived;—
Each, with the accursed sorcery of sin,
To his own wish and vile propensity
Transforming still the meaning of the text.

Hear, while I briefly tell what mortals proved,

By effort vast of ingenuity,

Most wondrous, though perverse and damnable ;-
Proved from the Bible, which, as thou hast heard,
So plainly spoke that all could understand.
First, and not least in number, argued some
From out this book itself, it was a lie,

A fable framed by crafty men to cheat

The simple herd, and make them bow the knee
To kings and priests. These in their wisdom left
The light revealed, and turned to fancies wild,
Maintaining loud, that ruined, helpless man
Needed no Saviour. Others proved that men
Might live and die in sin, and yet be saved,
For so it was decreed; binding the will,
By God left free, to unconditional,
Unreasonable fate. Others believed
That he who was most criminal, debased,
Condemned and dead, unaided might ascend
The heights of virtue; to a perfect law
Giving a lame, half-way obedience, which
By useless effort only served to show
The impotence of him who vainly strove
With finite arm to measure infinite;