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The moon, with majestic beauty and brightness maintains her ceaseless course, and guides the wanderer to his home. The twinkling stars, decorating the canopy above, and sparkling with undiminished splendor, speak forth the wisdom of the great Original. All nature breathes a solemn adieu to the departing day: silence pervades the earth; and intelligent beings may now pause to contemplate, with those hallowed feelings which the auspicious period inspires, the glories of their Creator, the wisdom and beauty of all his works. This sacred hour is peculiarly adapted to awaken feelings of gratitude; to inspire the heart with holy love; to animate our hopes, and guide to virtue. Man is the only intelligent creature that inhabits the globe; the only being who can admire and love his Creator. How exalted his rank! how noble his existence!

There are moments in life, in which we are led to contemplation: there is a time, when the past is recalled; when the future is anticipated. That time is evening; when we sit by the burning taper, or when, by moonlight, we range the fertile fields.

'Oft have I paused, when ev'ning's silent hour
Was fraught with beauties seemingly divine,
To feast the soul, within her sacred bow'r,

With luxuries, she seemed to say were mine.'

Evening outvies every other hour in time. The day has passed, with all its perplexities and cares; naught presents to disturb the tranquil breast; and we are permitted to enjoy the sacred sweets which memory awakens. And though it may not always be pleasing to reflect on the past, still it is profitable. The present will be appreciated; the future prepared for. The morning and noonday of life may pass unheeded; but the evening of existence will come; and that it may beam with hope, we should improve life as it passes.

BEAUTIFUL EXTRACT.

It cannot be that earth is man's only abiding place. It cannot be that our life is a bubble, cast up by the ocean of eternity, to float a moment upon its waves,

and sink into nothingness. Else why is it, that the high and glorious aspirations, which leap like angels from the temple of our hearts, are for ever wandering about unsatisfied? Why is it that the rainbow and the cloud come over us with a beauty that is not of earth, and then pass off and leave us to muse upon their faded loveliness? Why is it that the stars which "hold their festival around the midnight throne," are set above the grasp of our limited faculties; for ever mocking us with their unapproachable glory? And finally, why is it that bright forms of human beauty are presented to our view and then taken from us; leaving the thousand streams of our affections to flow back in an Alpine torrent upon our hearts? We are born for a higher destiny than that of earth. There is a realm where the rainbow never fades-where the stars will spread out before us like the islands that slumber on the ocean, and where the beautiful beings which here pass before us like shadows, will stay in our presence for ever.

THE ROSE BY MRS. L. H. SIGOURNEY.

I saw the rose, perfect in beauty; it rested gracefully upon its stalk, and its perfume filled the air. Many stopped to gaze upon it, many bowed to taste its fragrance, and its owner hung over it with delight. I passed again, and behold it was gone-its stem was leafless; its roots had withered, and the enclosure which surrounded it was broken. The spoiler had been there; he saw that many admired it; he knew it was dear to him who planted it, and beside it he had no other plant to love. Yet he snatched it secretly from the hand that cherished it; he wore it on his bosom till it hung its head and faded, and, when he saw that its glory was departed, he flung it rudely away. But it left a thorn in his bosom, and vainly did he seek to extract it; for now it pierced the spoiler in his hour of mirth. And when I saw that no man who had loved the beauty of the rose, gathered the leaves, or bound up the stalk which the hand of violence had broken, I looked earnestly at the spot where it grew, and my soul re

ceived instruction. And I said; Let her who is full of beauty, and admiration, sitting like the queen of flowers in majesty among the daughters of women, let her watch lest vanity enter her heart, beguiling her to rest proudly upon her own strength; let her remember that she standeth upon slippery places, "and be not high minded, but fear."

EVILS.

Evils take their rank more from the temper of the mind that suffers them, than from their abstract nature. Upon a man of a hard and insensible disposition, the shafts of misfortune often fall pointless and impotent. There are persons by no means hard and insensible, who, from an elastic and sanguine turn of mind, are continually prompted to look on the fair side of things, and having suffered one fall, immediately rise again to pursue their course, with the same eagerness, the same gayety as before. On the other hand, we not unfrequently meet with persons, endowed with the most exquisite and delicious sensibility, whose minds seem almost of too fine a texture to encounter the vicissitudes of human affairs, to whom pleasure is transport, and disappointment is agony indescribable.-Godwin.

ABBE GUILLON.

During the massacres which took place in Paris, in the French revolution, there were two Abbé Guillons confined in the prison of the Abbaye. One of them was called into the court yard, while the ruffians were busy in assassinating their victims, and a note, containing an order of the municipality, tantamount to a reprieve, was put into his hand. After examining it minutely, he paused for a few moments, and knowing from circumstances that it was not intended for himself, he turned round to the messenger, and observing that there was another Abbé of the same name in prison, returned with a firm step and an unaltered countenance to die.

POETRY.

Written for the Monthly Repository, and Library of Entertaining Knowledge,

BY MRS. L. H. SIGOURNEY,

"I HEARD A VOICE FROM HEAVEN, SAYING COME UP HITHER. Ye have a land of mist and shade,

Where spectres roam at will,

Dense clouds your mountain cliffs pervade,

And damps your valleys chill;

But ne'er has midnight's wing of wo

Eclips'd our changeless ray,
"Come hither" if ye seek to know
The bliss of perfect day.

Doubt, like the Bohun-Upas spreads
A blight where'er ye tread,
And Hope, a wailing mourner sheds
The tear o'er harvests dead;
With us, no traitorous foe assails

When Love her home would make
In Heaven, the welcome never fails,
"Come" and that warmth partake.
Time revels 'mid your boasted joys,
Death dims your brightest rose,
And sin your bower of peace destroys,
Where will ye find repose?
Ye're wearied in your pilgrim-race,
Sharp thorns your path infest,

"Come hither,"

-rise to our embrace,

And Christ shall give you rest.

"Twas thus, methought, at twilight's hour
The angel's lay came down,

Like dews upon the drooping flower

When droughts of summer frown,

How richly o'er the ambient air

Swell'd out the music free,

Oh! when the pangs of Death I bear,
Sing ye that song to me.

Written for the Monthly Repository and Library of Entertaining Knowledge,

BY REV. JOSEPH RUSLING.

REMEMBER ME WHEN THOU COMEST INTO THY KINGDOM. Jesus permit a feeble worm

The visions of thy face to see;

And while in life's conflicting storm,

Remember me.

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They heard his words with scorn, and cried, "Is this not Joseph's son?

And whence hath he the wondrous power to be some mighty one?
Are not his brethren here with us, and who hath ever seen
The day a noble deed was done by servile Nazarene?"

The humble sufferer bowed his head, and passing through the crowd,

With patience saw their scornful smiles, and heard their tauntings loud;

He saw the ox returning to his owner's nightly shed,
But found no friendly dwelling there to rest his weary head.

He passed along where Cedron's brook divides the humble vale,
And heard their sounds of revelry come down the evening gale:
He entered then a garden lone, whose gate invited there,
And kneeling spent the tedious night in solitude and prayer.-

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