But it is to the Psalms and the professedly poetical passages we must turn for the finest examples. The whole of the 19th Psalm is, perhaps, as perfect a specimen of it, sustained through all the song, as the Bible affords. From the 6th to the 11th verse the voice swings of itself into the melody, till in the 9th verse it rings, gratified, in an accidental rhyme. We will quote but one more illustration, in a burst of song which, for grandeur and sublimity of description, outvies all I can recall of the loftiest poesy of uninspired inan. It is a part of the song, which, like the dying swan, Moses chanted to Israel ere he clomb Mt. Nebo to his grave :

7. Remember the days of old, consider the years of many generations: ask thy father,

and he will shew thee; thy elders, and they

will tell thee.

8. When the Most High divided to the nations their inheritance, when he separated the sons of Adam, he set the bounds of the people according to the number of the children of Is

rael.

9. For the LORD's portion is his people; Ja

cob is the lot of his inheritance.

10. He found him in a desert land, and in the waste howling wilderness; he led him about, he instructed him, he kept him as the apple of

his eye.

11. As an eagle stirreth up her nest, fluttereth over her young, spreadeth abroad her wings, taketh them, beareth them on her wings;

12. So the LORD alone did lend him, and there was no strange god with him.

In every successive clause of each sentence of this truly magnificent address, you find a repetition, yet an augmentation of the meaning of the preceding and parallel clause. Word answers to word, and phrase to phrase, with antithetic emphasis. The days of old ;""The years of many generations;" the first suggesting a dim retrospection of past time, the second peopling the backward vista with the multitudes past away.

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Thy father will show thee: thine elders will tell thee;" the familiar teaching of home what the father shows; the more precise instruction of school-what the elders tell.

"The Most High divided to the nations their inheritance; He separated the sons of Adam." The latter member represents to the eye what the former addresses to

the ear.

WHEN THE DAMASK ROSE IS RED.

BY ANNA M. BATES.

When the damask rose was red,
In the dewy time of June,
Sweetly was its fragrance shed

Through the garden's leafy gloom: Alike when Day had gone

From the Evening gray and drear, And when to hail the morn

Crowed the clarion chanticleer.

Softly then I watched the rose,
Decked with dew and sunshine gold,
While my fingers fast were closed
Round a hand of fairest mould;
And blue eyes gazed in mine

As wondrous clear and bright
As the stars that burn and shine
On the ebon gates of night.

When the damask rose was red

How those words blow mellow chimes O'er the fragrant leaflets shed

From the crown of summer-time!
Softly stirred the harp-toned grass;
Softly waved the silver rye,
As we lingered there. Alas!

For those moments now gone by!

We were there for many a day,

In the garden green and hushed, Where the young leaves were at play, And the morning-glories blushed. Smoothing back my wavy hair, Oh! what gentle wors she said! But a shadow lingered there

While the damask rose was red!

Now, above, the chill moon shines
Up the ramparts of the sky,
'Neath the hemlocks and the pines
White and cold the snow-drifts lie:
O'er the garden's frozen bound

Where the red rose-berries wave,
O'er the lone and silent mound
They have heaped upon her grave!

When the damask rose is red

In the summer glow again, I shall think of all she said,

With a faint, unresting pain, And my tears will gently flow,

Thinking of the moments fled; Thinking how she slumbers low, Though the damask rose is red!

Right in one thing becomes a preliminary toward right in everything; the transition is not distant, from the feeling which tells us that we should do harm to no man, to that which tells us that we should do good to all men.

He who does his best, however little, is always to be distinguishable from him who does nothing.

GEMS FROM LAMARTINE.

THE HABITATION OF GREAT MEN.

I have always loved to wander over and study the places inhabited by men whom I have known, admired, loved or revered, among the living as among the dead. The country which a great man has inhabited and preferred, during his passage upon the earth, has always appeared to me the most speaking relic of himself: a kind of material manifestation of his genius, a mute revelation of a part of his soul, a living and sensible commentary of his life, of his actions and his thoughts, solitary and contemplative. In my youth I passed hours reclining under the olives which overshadow the gardens of Horace, in sight of the dazzling falls of the Tiber. I often lay down at evening, lulled by the murmur of the beautiful sea of Naples, under the pendant branches of the vine, near the place where Virgil desired that his ashes might repose, because it was the most beautiful, the sweetest site on which his eyes had ever rested. How often since then have I passed the morning and the evening seated at the foot of the beautiful chestnuts in this little valley of the Chaumettes, where the recollection of Jean Jacques Rousseau draws me and holds me by the sympathy of his impressions, of his reverence, of his misfortunes and of his genius! It is the same with several other writers or great men, whose name or whose writings have found a deep echo within myself. I have been desirous of studying them, of knowing them in the places in which they were born, or received inspiration; and almost always an intelligent view discovered an analogy, secret and profound, between the country and the men, between the scene and the action, between the nature and the genius which it formed and inspired.

THE INFINITE.

How many times have I revolved the thought of the Infinite in my mind, while watching from the brow of a promontory or the deck of a vessel, the sun couching itself in the sea. Oftener still, as I have watched the Grand Army of the stars, commencing, under a transparent firmament, its review and its evolutions before

God. When you reflect that the telescope of Herschel has already counted more than five millions of stars that each of these stars is a world greater and more important than this globe of the earth: that these five millions of worlds are only the borders of this creation; that if you could travel to the most distant, you would perceive from there other abysses of infinite space filled with other worlds incalculable, and that this journey might continue for myriads of centuries without your ever being able to attain the limits between nothing and God, you can calculate no longer, you can sing no longer; you are struck with vertigo and silence; you adore and hold your peace.

C. M. S.

PREPARING COFFEE AND TEA.

BY A BACHELOR.

In these times people wish to economise, and therefore will boil away the strength of their coffee, under the false notion that they will save the strength they get out of it. Count Rumford made the most careful experiments that have been published on the roasting and infusion of coffee, and found that the greatest strength and pleasantest flavor were obtained when it was roasted to a rather dark cinnamon color, and packed close, and boiling water was filtered through it. If, after this, it is desired to get more out of it, more water may be filtered through, or the grounds may be boiled in the old way-but what is got will be of inferior flavor, and had best not be allowed to mix with what is good. In England, coffee is roasted every morning, by the dealers, ground in presence of the customer, and sold in small quantities, sufficient for one making; it is then fresh, and much better than when kept for days, or even hours. If kept long it should be in bottles, well corked.

Some West Indians wash the coffee before roasting it, to remove a bitter substance from the surface. It is then dried and roasted immediately. The flavor is preferred by those who are used to it.

Tea likewise loses its flavor by boiling. If extreme saving must be made, it is best to get what is good first, by simple infusion, and then to boil, so as to suit all

tastes. English ladies make their tea upon the table, and do not boil it. Soyer, the celebrated cook, recommends that the pot, with the tea in it, be set in an oven, or over a spirit lamp, for a few minutes, until it is a little hotter than boiling water, and in about three minutes it will be drawn.

Mrs. Partington complained to her grocer that his tea was not so strong as his butter. "Perhaps you didn't bile it enough, marm?" "Yes, sir, I did. I biled it, and biled it, and biled it; and the more I biled it, the weaker it was.'

THE HEART AND THE LIFE.

It it very certain that we are far indeed from heaven, while we are conscious of indulgence in any practice of vice. Yet may we be innocent of that, and still far from the goodness of Christ. It is necessary to guard our conduct by the warnings of his word; it is at least equally necessary to cleanse our hearts by its spirit. Purity of life comes out of purity of heart. If we desire to be good outwards, let us see to it that we do good inwards. avoid the ways of evil, we must rid our bosoms of the thoughts and desires which are the springs of evil.

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And yet again, while busy with the within, conscious of the sway of the heart over the life, let us remember the reactive power of the life upon the heart, and nourish purity of purpose, by righteousness of act.

The heart must be cleansed, it is true, or the life will be false; but the heart cannot be kept clean, among the habits and associations of transgression. We must

cease to do evil," and "learn to do well." Aye, we shall cease to do evil by learning to do well.

We must renounce every known practice of wrong, promptly, utterly. We must abandon all courses, however pleas ant, and to others innocent, which we feel to be causes of offence to us, or not only will our efforts at improvement be vain, but out intentions are proved to be of the imagination, not the will.

The evil thought cannot be dismissed while we linger in the wicked way.

had dreamed of foreign counts and lors; she had so often pictured herself the star of fashion in some splendid city, that, to come down and be plain John Smith's wife, was a damper to her towering pride. Mrs. John Smith! you could find her, rich, or poor, aristocratic, or plebeian, in every village and town.

But while Jane Higgins hesitated, John Smith waited with an air of easy unconcern, for her reply to his proposals. He was an honest youth, pleasant-faced and

BY MINNIE S. DAVIS.

Mrs. John Smith aspired. There was an aristocratic clique in the little village, consisting of the families of Judge Harcourt, lawyer Johnson, and Mrs. Pomeroy, a rich widow, and her three maiden daughters. Mrs. Smith's eyes and heart were turned with painful longings, to that elevated circle. O, to find entree there; to become one of the select few! She courted the favor of Mrs. Harcourt; she imitated her style of dress; she flattered and coaxed her children; she praised her on all occasions, in hopes that some sugared encomium would reach her ears. But all in vain. Mrs. Harcourt acknowledged her acquaintance with the most chilling civility.

Mrs. John Smith aspired. That was evident in the names of her children Matilda Eulalia, and Orlando Augustus. She never abbreviated or petted their names, but pronounced both euphonic appellations. She sent them to a private school, the same where the young Harcourts and Johnsons attended, that their manners might be moulded as well as their minds. The children, in spite of training, were like their plain, common sense father. They loved to romp and play like other children; they hated to be dressed up, and would, in imitation of their companions, when out of their mother's hearing, call each other" Tilda" and "Guss."

This ambitious lady's maiden name was Jane Higgins. She never liked the name, and was in haste to change it; still it did require a sacrifice of long cherished hopes, to become Mrs. John Smith. She

ten thousand dollars. Surely, too good an offer to disdain, and as Miss Jane had womanly tact enough to know that one negative would be considered final, she graciously acquiesced. She had now been his wife eight years, and a kinder, more indulgent husband, woman never had.

Mrs. Smith was thrown into great excitement one day, when she learned that the handsome Gothic cottage across the way was rented by a wealthy Boston gentleman. By dint of much questioning among her neighbors, she learned that his name was Arnold, and that his wife was an intimate friend of Mrs. Harcourt. Instantly she resolved to cultivate Mrs. Arnold's acquaintance—an intimate friend of Mrs. Harcourt! O, how easy it might be to become on terms of friendship with both ladies!

One evening she went to a lecture. As she seated herself in a conspicuous place, she noticed that Mrs. Harcourt and Mrs. Arnold occupied the settee behind hers. Though unobserved by them, she plumed herself considerably upon being so near these magnates of fashion.

The ladies were conversing familiarly in low tones, yet so distinctly that Mrs. Smith heard their words.

Said Mrs. Harcourt, "You will find Mrs. John Smith a charming woman; I am glad she is your neighbor."

Mrs. Smith was overwhelmed with astonishment and delight. She inclined her ear and listened intently.

"Some ladies have a different opinion of her. I have heard her spoken of in such a manner that I thought I should not care to make her acquaintance."

"O, Mrs. Arnold! you have been mis

informed! She is a very intelligent lady and quite literary in her taste; she has not had the advantages of much good society, yet her manners are most elegant. She has a little girl and boy, beautiful children, and so well behave! If you have no objections, I will ask her to call upon you."

'Certainly, I have none; for I confide in your judgment. But how strangely my husband was deceived. He was introduced to her yesterday, and was not favorably impressed; he thought her vain and vulgar, not well bred by any means. "I know who you mean," interrupted Mrs. Harcourt with a low laugh; we are talking of different persons; I forgot that you had two neighbors named John Smith. You are thinking of the merchant's wife, I have reference to your right hand neighbor. She is the Mrs. John Smith I wish you to know.

Our heroine did not faint she made no sound or motion, though a frightful tumult was raised in her breast. For her, her to be called vain and vulgar-not wellbred; and that Mrs. John Smith, over the way, a mechanic's wife, a charming woman, a lady of elegant manners! O, it was too much to bear; such indignity, such injustice! That Mrs. Smith was a mere upstart! Did she, the merchant's lady, chance to have a new dress or bonnet, the mechanic's wife was sure to come out with something more stylish. She knew that Mrs. Smith aped her, but she despised the creature on that account. Such beautiful, well-behaved children! Look at Matilda Eulalia and Orlando Augustus! Ah- Mrs. Smith's mental commentary ran something in this

--

wise. She heard not a word of the lecture; she walked home by her husband's side in utter silence; but when safe in her chamber, her grief and rage, the more violent for long restraint, burst forth. She flung herself upon the lounge and fell into hys

terics.

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awkwardly spilled its contents over her new purple silk. At this last demonstration she shrieked dramatically, and wildly entreated him not to murder her, but to let her die in peace.

My dear Jane, what is the matter? are you sick, or has anything happened amiss? do tell me!"

But Mrs. Smith had no power to explain. Her emotion could not find expression in words, and if she did speak, her obtuse husband would not understand, for he had no aspirations, or if he had, they were unlike hers.

After a few futile attempts to soothe and comfort his distressed lady, Mr. Smith retired to let the storm expend itself, alone. He had a very distinct recollection of similar attacks which had never proved fatal, in spite of the dangerous appearances.

Mrs. Smith arose next morning in a calmer state of mind, yet irritable and very bitter towards her neighbor over the way. Last night was not the first time she had heard the mechanic's wife praised to her own disparagement; not the first time she had heard Mary and Charlie Smith eulogized as model children. She had always tried to keep her children from them, now she was resolved that they should never play together again. But the sharpest sting of all was, that Mrs. Harcourt knew that Mrs. Smith and counted her as a friend! What arts the creature must have used, she could not pretend to guess; but what an idea! the Judge's aristocratic lady visiting the mechanic's wife!

At breakfast time, the children came running in, from out doors, full of joy. "O, mother, mother, may we go to Mary Smith's party, this afternoon?"

"How do you know she is going to have a party?

"She and Charlie have been over here this morning," said Matilda, "and they told us all about it."

"But why can't they play together?" asked the father; where is the harm?

"You know I don't like Mrs. Smith,