do it through the medium of the post; nay, if he prefers it, he may even put the last question itself into the hands of the postman. It assists to bind society in one common union, for who would emigrate to a region where it could not reach? It is better than the gold mines of Peru; and, like the Nile in Egypt, it scatters blessings along its track; and deserves to be considered as one of the most happy and distinguishing features of modern times.

Anonymous.

As the dove will clasp its wings to its side, and cover and conceal the arrow that is preying on its vitals, so it is the nature of woman to hide from the world the pangs of wounded affection.

Washington Irving.

THE VILLAGE SPIRE.

THERE is a landmark to the traveller's eye,—
Hope's constant symbol pointing to the sky,-
The village spire, above the trees that throw
Their mournful shadow o'er the graves below.
And well the eye long used to other lands
Recalls again the valley where it stands,
The green hill-side, the hedge-row, and the lane,
The meadow-stream, meandering through the plain,
Spann'd by the bridge, where meets the village maid
Her rustic lover in the evening shade.

All these, with their soft colouring warm and true,
The wanderer's faithful memory can renew;
Nor time, nor change, nor distance, can impair
This lovely landscape, ever green and fair.
'Tis for the village spire the school-boy looks,
Returning home from masters, and from books,
To gambol half his classic lore away,

Through the bright summer's jocund holiday.

'Tis for the village spire the maiden sighs,
While gazing fondly with her tearful eyes,
She sees it gleaming through the twilight gloom,
When first her footsteps leave her native home.
'Tis for the village spire the exile burns,
With yearning bosom, as remembrance turns
To all he was, and all he might have been,
Had he remain❜d as simple as that scene.
Nor looks the eye of faith unheeding there,
Upon that beacon rising high and clear,
Pointing from out the grovelling things of earth,
To that bright realm where sorrow ne'er had birth.

Mrs. Ellis.

A FULL mind takes away the body's appetite, no less than a full body makes a dull and unwieldy

mind.

Bishop Hall.

LONDON AND COUNTRY CHURCHYARDS.

A LONDON churchyard is at any time, crowded as it is, a most forlorn place, so utterly abandoned by the living, and as much as may be shut out from sight, as if we were ashamed of them, and compensated by a long neglect of the undertaker's one expensive parade. And who does not, while in life, encourage the idea of resting in the grave? But in these receptacles there can be, fancy assures us, no rest, night nor day. The incessant noise of carriages that pass them in their speed of pleasure or business; the full tide and roar of life, that never stops to remember one inhabitant of all the tombs, that ring with the chariot wheels of universal neglect, rattling on to the feast or show and the dampness of the fog that settles on, or broods over them in the twilight of a November day, and the chill and rains of wintry nights, so sadly contrasted with the low debasing riot of life, and wickedness of lanes around them, all these

seem to rob death of its repose, and even of its respect, and the grave-tenants of their respectability. No, I am weak enough to abhor such sepulture. If I must contemplate the outward scene of my last home and how few there are that do not? - let it

be where the grass grows not rank and black, amid the broken pots and pans, and refuse cast from decaying windows- but where the grass grows on which the sun shines, and a flower may spring up from the fresh earth, returning modest thanks as an offering, even from the dead, for the blessing of showers and dews of heaven

where, if there be pride, it shows not its offensive arrogant air, but the aristocratic and humble monuments bear a family relation to each other, claiming clanship in death; where the daily frequented path yet keeps friendly fellowship with the living, and where graves are not unvisited; where graves look sensible of a Sabbath and Sabbath care, and villagers' talk where the Sunday congregation, not hastening out with all speed, as from an odious place, love to linger; and there is homely courtesy, and better than everyday thoughts put on with Sunday clothes. Where a friend may freely come and cheat his fancy, and give breathing to his affection, without having to seek