"Soft as a bride the rosy dawn

From dewy sleep doth rise,

And bathed in blushes, hath withdrawn

The mantle from her eyes."

Here morning is a blushing bride. In the example which follows, from an unknown poet, we recognize traces of the same kind of imagery. In this Phoebus is the ardent wooer; but hear the poet :

When night-fallen dews, by day's warm courtship won,
From reeking roses climed to meet the sun."

But we dont always need labored imagery. A single epithet; a rapid pencil-stroke of the true artist; a word, when that word is a picture, is often the truest, and conveys the liveliest impression. Especially has it this effect, since most poets pursue the opposite course. An instance of this bold, rapid sketching-nay, rather of but a single stroke of the pencil-we have in Macaulay's "Battle of lake Regillus."

Up rose the golden morning
Over the Poreian height."

Here we have it all before us,—a picture in a word,--and these simple lines, to us at least, are fuller of meaning and true beauty than more labored verses. There is a naked richness in them which startles, yet attracts.

Thus have we traced the imagery of poets when they sing of the morning-not all, yet enough for our purpose. That purpose is to develope, in him who reads and loves, those same elements of imaginative beauty which are here portrayed. There is something elevating in such conceptions of Nature, and if we can combine the beautiful with the useful in our contemplations, besides expanding the mind, it will make our life pleasanter and our moral natures more grateful. THANE.

In unswerving order the bodies of heaven perform ever their appointed course: but to us they appear on a casual view to move in the blindest disorder, crossing and even retrogading. So it is in the moral world to us the designs of Providence seem ever crossing each other, or thwarted by the blindest chance; but when viewed from the great central throne all go forward in constant harmony to fulfil His great design.

Bright gowden toys and jewels,
And silks and kerchiefs gay;
And thou'lt keep my luve sae true,
Wherever I may rame,

That thou'lt gie it back wi' interest
When thy Willie sall come hame."

It was mony a month and mony,
It was mony a weary day,
That Mary waited patiently
For him gan' far away;

And 'twas mony a month and mony,
And 'twas mony a weary day,
E'er she saw again her Willie,
Who had wandered far away

A prisoner sad and lone,

In a foreign land was he,

But he sent fu' mony a heart-felt prayer To her acrass the sea;

And like unseen birds their winglets

Fanned within her heart love's flame,

And awoke responsive music

To the echo of his name.

It was on a simmer evenin'

Clear as simmer eve could be,
That Mary wandered lanely
Beside the surging sea;
The shades began to gather,

The stars began to peep,

And the maiden wi' a broken heart,
Fu' sad began to weep.

She raised her eyes to Heaven,

And she breath'd her Willie's name, And she said "Oh! God! that Willie To his Mary might come hame;

I feel my heart is breaking

Wi' this weight o' care an' grief, Oh! my Heavenly Father hear me, An' grant me sweet relief."

Her cheek was pale and thin,

And her een was bright and wild,

PERHAPS many of our readers may have never heard of the straylooking little village so much distinguished in its own vicinity and whose antique appearance the New England traveler could never forget after the moss-grown houses, dilapidated sheds and airy stables had once welcomed him to the hospitality of Quodville.

On approaching it from the east he wonders how it came there and drawing nearer, his amazement is still increased, seeing but few signs of life or activity and hearing only the murmuring of a waterfall, where are situated a small flour mill, and the shell of what was once a saw mill; neither of which however are often in motion, leaving one to infer that building materials are in no great demand, and that the people either do not eat, or have but little to be eaten.

The locality of Quodville is the most sequestered imaginable. Up on every side the rising ground shuts out the extended prospect ; and in the valley two small streams unite, one of which flowing from a beautiful sheet of water, where the young love to resort in a summer's day, glides smoothly along without a ripple; while the other, formed from numerous brooks, leaping down the mountain sides and rushing swiftly over its rocky bed, rudely seeks the embrace of its brother. At this place also, four roads from neighboring towns meet and with the confluence of these two rivers, form a nucleus about which from time unknown, there has been clustered forty or fifty dwelling houses, some brown, some red, some white, but all possessing internal and external evidences of antiquity.

When man first came here, no one can tell, since no records of the early settlement can be found; but within the recollection of the "oldest inhabitant,' Quodville has remained essentially the same.

A

school house, the object of hatred to many a luckless urchin, is situa▾ ted upon the eastern border of the village, half hidden by some native oaks, a town house upon the opposite side, and in the center facing the small 'triangular square' stands the august mansion of the village 'squire, in front of which, at the mercy of the winds, hangs the creaking sign-board inscribed with the words:

H. BELL,
MANSION HOUSE.

1838.

Such was Quodville at the beginning of our recollections. Every place has its distinguished men, and of these Quodville possessed its full share. Squire Bell, by far the most intelligent of the village wiseacres, was a thin spare man who generally wore a light, mealy looking coat with pants to match, and whose small squinting eyes and pointing nose bespoke a cunning mind and fiery temper. Next comes Mr. Abel, in some respects the contrast of the former gentleman, carrying about a broad grin, a vain air, and a skull most essentially empty.

By dint of soft soap and hypocritical smiles he had succeeded in being town agent, third selectman, candidate for legislature, and was now finally installed a justice of the peace.

Here too one Dr. Adoniram figures quite largely in the history of Quodville, having few friends and many foes. Being one of the unfortunate class, ycleped bachelors, and looking upon the fair sex with that indifference which is characteristic of his genus, he was regarded by the young damsels with jealous eyes. And each fearing that herself would be of the ninety and nine unlucky maids, and envious of the claims of all others to be the hundreth who should possess his smiles, they all with one consent, began to traduce his hitherto good fame. A thousand rumors were whispered abroad; according to some, he, in another town, had gained the affections of a fair one's heart, and then abandoned her forever. Others affirmed it was known from good authorty that he was already married and his wife now lived in an adjoining state, uncared for. But a Miss Witherall, whose arid visage and yellow hair, bespoke her of the generation just past, and whose hopes of duplicity with the Doctor or any one else, were not the brightest, would not brook that either of these awful' reports could be true, but contented herself with deprecating his unfeeling heart. "No" she would exclaim with lips compressed, "he never knew the softer emotions of the soul so befitting human nature. Beauty, I'm sure, will never make an impression on his cold heart. Poor man!" But the good Doctor lived on regardless of the opinions of others, finding

10