den and mysterious impulse, and Cowper's beautiful lines came uncalled across her mind Judge not the Lord by feeble sense, But trust him for his grace; The smoked herring was scarce laid upon the table, when a gentle rap at the door and loud barking of a dog attracted the attention of the family. The children flew to open it, and a weary traveler, in tattered garments, and apparently indifferent health, entered and begged a lodging and a mouthful of food. Said he, "It is now twenty-four hours since I tasted bread." The widow's heart bled anew, as under a fresh complication of distresses; for her sympathies lingered not round her fireside. She hesitated not even now; rest and share of all she had, she proffered to the stranger. "We shall not be forsaken," said she, "or suffer deeper for an act of charity." 66 66 The traveler drew near the board; but when he saw the scanty fare, he raised his eyes towards heaven with astonishment. And is this all your store?" said he; "and a share of this do you offer to one you know not? Then never saw I charity before! But, madam," he continued, “ do you not wrong your children by giving a part of your last mouthful to a stranger?" "Ah," said the poor widow, and the teardrops gushed from her eyes as she said it, "I have a boy, a darling son, somewhere on the face of the wide world, unless heaven has taken him away, and I only act towards you as I would that others should act towards him. God, who sent manna from heaven, can provide for us as he did for Israel; and how should I this night offend him, if my son should be a wanderer, destitute as you, and should have provided for him a home even poor as this, were I to turn you unrelieved away!" The widow ended, and the stranger springing from his seat clasped her in his arms. "God indeed has provided just such a home for your wandering son, and has given him wealth to reward the goodness of his benefactress. mother! O my mother!" My It was her long-lost son, returned to her bosom from the Indies. He had chosen that disguise, that he might the more completely surprise his family; and never was surprise more perfect, or followed by a sweeter cup of joy. That humble residence in the forest was exchanged for one comfortable, indeed beautiful, in the valley, and the widow lived long with her dutiful son in the enjoyment of worldly plenty and in the delightful employments of virtue; and at this day, the passer-by is pointed to the luxuriant willow that spreads its branches broad and green above her grave, while he listens to the recital of this simple and homely, but not altogether worthless tale. SCHNEIDER'S RIDE.-GUS PHILLIPS. From agroos der rifer, ad der broke of day, Der noos vas broughd by a Dootchman dhrue, Voult be ofer in less as a' hour or two, To confershkate all der vhiskey dher got Und vilder yet der roomers flew, Dill Schneider didn't know vhat ter do; So he glosed der door, und he barr't 'em dight, Vhich vas der shmartest-dhem or me." But dhere is a shtreed in Brooklyn town, To Coney Island; und vot ish more, It's a voonder dot nefer vas used pefore It vas right in vrondt of der back of der shtore; Und dhere on dot shtreed vos nine drucks und a card, All loaded mit vhiskey und ready to shtard; Dhey're most all loaded, und Schneider ish gay, Dhey're ofe, und nodings ish left ter show Efery dhinks ish mofed, yet not a sound Shtill shumps der horses, shtill on dhey go, He could make up his mint dot his goose vas gooked- 'Cause dhey ain'd any more as ten miles avay. Under dheir vlyin' hoofs der roat Like a great big mud-gutter dot flowed, For Schneider und der horses dhey vent so fast Und der dust vas thick and der horses vas gray, Der very first dhing vhat Schneider saw Vas der sant, dhen he heard der ocean roar; Vhat wafed ofer vhere dhere vashn't some dreeses, Und his heart velt glad und his shpirits vas gay, "Ve prings you, Schneider, all der vay Den hurrah! hurrah! for Schneider dhrue, LINES WRITTEN IN A CHURCHYARD. HERBERT KNOWLES. "It is good for us to be here. If thou wilt, let us make here three tabernacles; one for thee, and one for Moses, and one for Elias." Methinks it is good to be here; If thou wilt, let us build--but for whom? Nor Elias nor Moses appear; But the shadows of eve that encompass with gloom Shall we build to Ambition? Ah no! Affrighted he shrinketh away; For see, they would pen him below In a small narrow cave and begirt with cold clay, To Beauty? Ah no! she forgets Nor knows the foul worm that he frets Shall we build to the purple of pride? To the trappings which dizen the proud? Alas! they are all laid aside, And here's neither dress nor adornment allowed, To Riches? Alas, 'tis in vain! Who hid, in their turns have been hid: The treasures are squandered again; And here in the grave are all metals forbid, To the pleasures which Mirth can afford, The revel, the laugh, and the jeer? Ah! here is a plentiful board! But the guests are all mute as their pitiful cheer, Shall we build to Affection and Love? Ah no! they have withered and died, Or fled with the spirit above. Friends, brothers, and sisters are laid side by side, Unto Sorrow?-the dead cannot grieve; Not a sob, not a sigh meets mine ear, Which compassion itself could relieve. Ah, sweetly they slumber, nor love, hope, or fear; Unto Death, to whom monarchs must bow? And here there are trophies enow! Beneath, the cold dead, and around, the dark stone, The first tabernacle to Hope we will build, The second to Faith, that insures it fulfilled; And the third to the Lamb of the great sacrifice, Who bequeathed us them both when he rose to the skies. LAY OF THE MADMAN. Many a year hath passed away, Since last I roamed in the light of day, Here have I watched, in this dungeon cell, When the damned fiends, from their prison came, With their eyes of fire, and their tongues of flame, And I strove in vain to burst my chain, And scatter them back to their hellish den! How long I have been in this dungeon here, What to me is the day, or night, |