that which wants it hath more freedom: the privilege of that cover is but a burden. You see, if it has but a stone to climb over, with what stress it draws up that beneficial load, and if the passage proves strait, finds no entrance; whereas the empty

DAY DREAMS.

snail makes no difference of way. Surely, it is always an ease, and sometimes a happiness, to have nothing. No man is so worthy of envy as he that can be cheerful in want. Bishop Hall.

THE dreams of youth, how bright they be!
A cloudless sky, a waveless sea,
A world where love and beauty dwell,
Harmonious sounds of music swell,
And many a fair and lovely thing
Of faucy's fond imagining.

Yes, in the bare uncultured wild,
Exotics grow for fancy's child;
The dew-drop in the summer morn,
That sparkles on the flowering thorn,
The pale blue-bell, the crystal spring,
Their tribute of sweet musings bring.
Ah me! in life's oft checker'd day
How melt these soothing dreams away!
Earth teems with beauteous objects still,
Yet clear and limpid flows the rill,
And Spring doth all her charms unfold,
And smile as she was wont of old.

But time hath other feelings brought,
And chasten'd each romantic thought;
Imagination yet may glow,

And love the ocean's ebb and flow,
And well-remember'd scenes will throng,
And haply find their voice in song.

But 'tis not as it was of yore,
Still painting brighter days before;
The gold has lost its pristine hue,
And wear has dimm'd the silver too;
The hoar-frost rears its palace still,
But we can feel its gems are chill.

How blest it is our hearts to stay
On that which never fades away,
But brighter and more beauteous grows
As life is drawing near its close!
Oh, for the light of Bethlehem's Star,
To guide amid the world's loud jar!

A FADED FLOWER.

A faded flower has charms for me,
Though wither'd all its beauties be:
In each pale tint of colour cast
I read a record of the past,
Of bygone hopes, of bygone fears,
Of bygone joys, of bygone tears.
Perchance this little sapless flower
Was gather'd in the springtide hour,

When fancy's visions daily came,
To make reality seem tame;
Bright images that must decay,
False day-dreams that must pass away.
Perhaps by one who now may be
Far, far across the stormy sea;
Who, midst the busy scenes of life,
Its disappointments and its strife,
Looks back and fondly tries in vain
To bring youth's freshness back again.
He may remember still the hour
When he could see in that fair flower
A simple treasure wealth no more
Can purchase from her ample store;
Yet e'en the very thought comes round
Like dew upon the parched ground.

Or buried in the silent tomb
May be the heart that loved its bloom;
And o'er this wreck in sorrow deep,
Some friend might linger here to weep,
While cherish'd thoughts of other years
Would mingle amid falling tears.

On fancy's swift and wandering wings
Come images of countless things,
But over all this floweret tells

Of smiles, of tears, of charmer's spells;
Its tarnish'd hues convey to me
A lesson of mortality!

FAREWELL.

AH! painful is the parting hour,

And tender are the tones that dwell
Within the voice whose vital power
Seems frozen in the word-Farewell!
As smoothest flow the waters deep,
But high with storms and tempests
swell,

Unfathom'd feelings seem to sleep,
Till waken'd by the word-Farewell!

Oh, lightly spoke I would not hear
This heart-born word,-for I could tell
How solemn on affection's ear

Come the sad accents of Farewell!
Affection's sweets have still a pang,
The mellow note may sound a knell;
Unutter'd are the thoughts that hang
Upon that latest word-Farewell!

TO A BEREAVED MOURNER. "Comfort ye, comfort ye my people, saith your God.”—İsa. xl. 1.

It was a bitter stroke, indeed,
And yet it was of love divine;
God suits our trials to our need,
The treasure was his own-not thine.

He lent her for a little while,

To cheer thine earthly pilgrimage, The desert journey to beguile,

And charm the way from stage to stage. But this was all,-child of his love, He call'd her to his temple fair, And fitted for his courts above, He placed her as a pillar there.

Ah! think, and it will soothe thy woe, How he hath wash'd her in His blood

Who groan'd, and bled, and died below,
To bring the sinner back to God.
And wilt thou mourn that now she sings
The "new song" of the Lamb in light,
And dwells before the King of kings,
Clothed in immortal beauty bright?
He who now sits upon that throne
Once wept a tender mourner here;
And touch'd with pity all his own,

He dries the Christian mourner's tear. For there are treasures of his grace

Enough for all-enough for thee; And when we see him face to face, The shadows of the night shall flee. The foregoing pieces are from "Lays of Leisure Hours," by Mrs. Mackay, just published by Hamilton and Co.

L-W lived in the neighbourhood of one of our large manufacturing towns. Her parents, though respectable, were not rich in this world's goods; and but for this little record, it is more than probable that even this brief account of her history would not have been known beyond the immediate circle in which she moved. Her name, however, is written in heaven; and we doubt not that when the world and the things which are therein shall have been burned up, she will be found in the possession of "an inheritance among them that are sanctified," and be of that number who join in the everlasting song of praise to Him who sitteth upon the throne, and to the Lamb.

In the eleventh year of her age, after a protracted illness, she was called to her heavenly home, on Feb. 28, 1854. Towards the close of her short career, she remarked to her mother, Mother, I shall go to be with Jesus." Her mother replied, But, my dear, you are a poor guilty sinner; what reason have you for thinking so?" She replied, "Because Jesus said, 'Suffer little children to come unto me, and forbid them not, for of such is the kingdom of heaven; He said it, and therefore I know I shall."

Oh, what an example of simple, earnest faith! It was enough for this dear little one to know that these were the words of Jesus, and she rested her whole soul upon them. Why should she or how could she doubt, when Christ had said it?

Upon another occasion she expressed her assurance that her sins were pardoned for Christ's sake. And how blessed the effect of this faith! She had no fear of dying; she could bear to hear death spoken of with the greatest composure. She delighted to hear about heaven; her thoughts and desires seemed all centred there. For months before her departure her favourite hymn was,

My rest is in heaven, my rest is not here;

Then why should I murmur when trials appear?" &c.;

which she often repeated with deep feeling. When, a few days before her death, she was told by the medical man that she could not get better, she said, "Oh, I am glad!" Death, to her, had lost its sting; it was always associated in her mind with "going to be with Jesus."

A few moments before she ceased to breathe, her mother said to her, "Is my darling still happy?" to which she replied, "Quite happy,

mother; quite happy; going to be with Jesus." Her mother again asked, "Do you really think so?" She said, "I know it, mother; I know it."

It may be that some poor sinner, burdened with a sense of conscious guilt, will cast his or her eye upon this page. Oh, let me, with all earnestness and affection, urge such, to flee to the same refuge, which was so effectual to comfort, sustain, and save this dear child. To you, my friend, Jesus speaks, as well as to her: "Look unto me, and be ye saved;""Come unto me, all ye that labour, and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest;" "Him that cometh to me I will in no wise cast out." What do you want more than these precious words contain? They are spoken by Him who cannot lie-by Him who spake, and the worlds were made-who upholdeth all things by the word of his power: his word is very faithfulness. It may be that you would tremble to think it possible that in words you could say that Christ was either unable or unwilling to do for you what he has promised; but by your hesitancy, indecision, and delay, are you not in fact saying so? Oh, come at once, and lose the burden of your guilt at his cross; hear him saying, "Go in peace, thy sins are forgiven thee"-"Believe, and thou shalt be saved;" and then, when the solemn hour comes which must summon you into the presence of your Judge, you will be able to say, "O death! where is thy sting? O grave! where is thy victory? The sting of death is sin, and the strength of sin is the law; but thanks be to God, who giveth us the victory, through our Lord Jesus Christ!" E. A.

A BOA-CONSTRICTOR SWALLOWING A HORSE. MR. GARDNER, in his "Travels in Brazil," confirms the early account respecting the size and prodigious swallowing capacity of the boa-constrictor-accounts which certain naturalists, whose researches never extended beyond the galleries of a

museum, are in the habit of treating with ridicule and unbelief.

"The boa," said he, "is not uncommon throughout the whole province of Gogaz, particularly by the wooded margins of lakes, marshes, and streams. Sometimes they attain the enormous length of forty feet; the largest I saw was in this place, but it was not alive. Some weeks before our arrival at Sepor, the favourite riding horse of Senor Legoeira, which had been put out to pasture not far from the house, could not be found, although strict search was made for it all over the hazienda. Shortly after this, one of his vaqueiros, in going through the wood by the side of a small river, saw an enormous boa suspended in the fork of a tree which hung over the water; it was dead, but had evidently been floated down alive by a recent flood; and being in an inert state, it had not been able to extricate itself from the fork before the waters fell. It was dragged out to the open country by two horses, and was found to measure thirty-seven feet in length. On opening it, the bones of a horse were found, in a somewhat broken condition, the head being uninjured. From these circumstances, it was concluded that the boa had devoured the horse entire. In all kinds of snakes, the capacity for swallowing is prodigious. I have often seen one not thicker than my thumb swallow a frog as large as my fist; and I once killed a rattlesnake, about four feet long, and of no great thickness, which had swallowed no less than three frogs, one of which swelled out its side to nearly twice the thickness of the other parts. I have also seen a very slender snake, that frequents the roofs of houses, swallow an entire bat three times its own thickness. If such be the case with these smaller kinds, it is not to be wondered at that one thirty-seven feet long should be able to swallow a horse, particularly when it is known that, previously to doing so, it breaks the bones of animals by coiling itself round it, and afterwards lubricates it with a slimy matter, which it has the power of secreting in its mouth."