So 'squire Bell squinted with satisfaction; Bill Gunn stroked his stomach with an agreeable humor; the Dutchman exclaimed, "dat ish goot, mynheer, dat ish goot ;" and all expressed their delight at the achievement. Quodville was satisfied; let not the world murmur. КАРРА.

MISCELLANEOUS SONNETS. Lobdell.

LA CENERENTOLA.

Child of misfortune, not unfortunate

At last, as showed the sequel of thy life-
Whose early years thy sisters' haughty strife
Pursued! Home, without home, was thine—a state
Of lowly servitude, nay, harder fate!--

Mean slavery to thy sisters, always rife
With wrongs! Did Tyranny's keen knife,
Hilted with hate, thy bosom penetrate?
Ah yes! but then triumphantly to shine,

Aided by higher power than human will-
A bride-then mother of that lustrous line

In goodness wronged, and wronged, in goodness still,
Meek, lovely model of thy sex! 't was thine,-
The heart of ages, too, 'twas thine to thrill.

LAW MAKING.

Good morals shine where least there is of law;
And many statutes are the source of sin-
Mere sheets of ice exceeding weak and thin,
To tempt the foolish, and, at times, to draw
To ruin's tide the man who never saw

A nobler path his course to take wherein-
The path of right, to God's own path akin,
That knows no changes and no technic flaw.
The Pastor's ancient care, supplanted, yields

Unto the creed-built phrase, "line upon line"
The boundaries marking of Jehovah's fields-
No "precept upon precept" to define
Man's special duties, which are God's own shields

About man's heart, and, in it, God's own mine.

CHARACTER.

The archer's bow is in the walnut tree,

The storm unfelt within the distant cloud,

Statues unsunned, the marble blocks enshroud,
And in the dropping acorns forests be;
The beaver in the stream his dam can see,

Earth's mines with coins unstamped are all endowed—
Worms hold the flies with wings and colors proud,
And unset notes own pleasing melody;

The rain-drops hold the rainbow them between,
The sunny light possesses pictures true,

Fruit trees yield blossoms, fruits, and leaves of green,
The plants perfumes distil with odors new-

And something in man's frame is hidden, too,
Called Character, that must in time be seen.

TRUTH.

Magnificent is truth. At first perceived,

Far off and dark, before God's light, it shows
Jagged and rough, while all around it flows
Doubt's veil that half its weaving Hope achieved;
But, to the Mind advancing, heavenward heaved,
Its shape minute in every part-it glows
Aloft of Error, on whose level goes
The Pilgrim gazing. Now he has believed!
What is it rises o'er the vale? 'Tis set

Darklingly bright against the lighter sky.
Approach! Unhidden by its filmy net,

There see, eternal, crowned with branches high,
Throned, still and silent, but majestic yet,
A monarch Mountain! Time it will defy.

THE SEAT UNDER THE WILLOW.

The lengthened twilight of this summer's day
Has darkened o'er the noiseless scene in night,
And sky and stream, twin firmaments of light,
Two crescent moons with hosts of stars display-
The willow tree, reflected, silver gray,

Its pendent tassels in the mirror bright
Conjoins, and in the circle here invite

The solitary dreamer yet to stay!

It is not time for thought, but, rather, praise-
Emotions grateful, such as thoughts impart-
Since having left the city's crooked ways,

The two-faced Janus of the trading mart,
A holy calm around the spirit plays,

And weeping Life is mirrored in the heart.

TOO SOON.

Too soon! Too soon! How oft that word
Comes o'er the spirit like a spell,
Awakening every tender chord,

That to the heart may sadly tell

Of joys that perished in their noon,
Of flowers that fade-too soon, too soon!

Too soon! Too soon! It is a sound

To dim the sight with many a tear,

As mournfully we gaze around

And see how few we loved are here-
Ah, when shall we again commune
With those we lost-too soon, too soon!

Too soon! is stamped on every leaf
In characters of dark decay-
Too soon! is writ in lines of grief

On all things fading fast away

Oh, is there one terrestrial boon

Our hearts lose not-too soon, too soon!

MEM.

MUSIC-from the carols of birds, to the minstrels of angels.

POETRY from the first young dream of imagination, to the infinite conceptions of the cherubim.

ELOQUENCE-from the "winged words" which least thrill the human heart yet thrill it some, to the highest speech of the guiding seraph. REASON from the feeblest deduction of a cause from an effect, to the profoundest cogitations of the greatest-created: These are the most god-like attributes of created mind!

POETICAL IMAGERY.

EVENING.

Various as is the poet's imagery of the morning, it is richer still, and more comprehensive when employed to portray the diversified scenery of sunset and evening. From the simple "night came down" as sings "the voice of Cona," to the most trashy tinsel of our worst poetasters, the setting sun is indued with more than Protean characteristics, to suit the fancy of those who may describe him. Doubtless much clean paper has been blotted, and much ink wasted, to say nothing of time thrown away, in penning poor lines to the innocent unconscious orb of day. But it is by no means true that all descriptions of this kind are valueless. There are many noble ones in the poetic pages, and he that will study them, can hardly fail of profiting from them. Says Dr. Hugh Blair "A poet of original genius is always distinguished by his talent for description ;" and we may add that a poor poet can succeed better in any other department, than in depicting natural scenery. The reason of this may be two-fold. First, we are so familiarized with these scenes by constant observation,that the slightest deviation from nature's truthfulness is sure of detection; and besides, if the imagination of the mass of mind is exercised on any object, it must be on that of external nature, and hence a new and striking view of these objects is necessary to obtain any distinction. And, secondly, the aspirant for fame in descriptive poetry has to measure himself with the most glowing fancy, chastened by a nice and delicate taste, in the writings of the best poets in the world. These difficulties, impeding the descriptive poet generally, weigh with double force when Evening is the theme. What Academy boy cannot remember how his first composition began with ""Twas night-the bright sun was just descending below the &c.?" Or what boarding-school

miss has not more than once commenced her "walk" with "One pleasant evening in the month of &c. ?" Indeed, it seems to

be natural for all minds, the gifted as well as the dull, to make the scenery of Evening the first, and indeed the constant theme of its efforts at description.

The poetical view always more or less connected with this subject,

and the great number of competitors one must necessarily encounter, render it no easy task to attain even mediocrity in this department of descriptive poetry. He, therefore, should be conscious of having wrought out some idea "aere perennius," as Horace says, before he presumes to publish it.

In addition to the natural discrimination of taste, let us assume as the basis of criticism, the aphorism of Quintilian, "Obstat quicquid non adjuvat," and proceed to view the Evening scenes of some of the best poets. Such a view, besides being very limited, must evidently lack the elements of a system, because of the diversity of imagery. We shall therefore make a few random citations, rather than attempt a minute classification.

Homer introduces a company of his heroes as retiring to rest, "when the Sun went down and the Shade came up." Simple as this thought is, a moment's reflection shows it to be the first and most natural idea that would suggest itself to the unsophisticated mind of the Grecian poet. Akin to it in artlessness, is Ossian's "Night came down," which we have already quoted. Such instances of 'nature most adorned when least adorned' we may always expect in early poetry. Homer's thought here seems to be that while the Sun is setting in the West, the shade is rising up in the East, and that thus they alternately follow each other in their course round the world. One can scarcely fail to notice how similarly Bryant writes of

"Eve that round the earth Chases the day."

Not that the modern borrowed from the ancient-that does not at all appear from the language-but that the same radical idea is implied in both.

Horace, lover of wine and women, has quite a lively allusion to the Evening.

"Jam nox inducere terris

Umbras, it coelo diffundere signa parabat."

Each of these ideas is truly poetical, and bespeaks a pretty fancy in the Roman poet. Thompson has developed the first at some length in his "Seasons."

"Confess'd from yonder slow extinguished clouds,

All ether softening, sober Evening takes

Her wonted station in the middle air;