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ORIGINAL POETRY.

EVENING THOUGHTS.

My summer-couch stands facing
The window over the stream;
And oft, of a night, I lie wakeful,
While my fancies silently dream.
Hour after hour slips by,
Each leaves me still awake;
Nor the beautiful summer-gloaming
Will my sleepy eyes forsake.

Midnight, at length, with its ghastly train,

Encroaches on the light,

While evening's silvery rays wake up
The deep death-sleep of night.

The fairies of night now stirring,
Sport in the pale-moon rays;

While nymphs, in ethereal garments,
Whirl by in a trackless maze.

The wind keeps up a moaning,
In the willows down below;

And the restless river in motion
Is dashing to and fro.

That ever-flowing river,
What are the words it saith
To me, as I travel with it,
Nearing the sea of death?

Those waters will soon be mingling,
With the restless ocean-wave;
And as surely I am travelling
To the silent, lonely grave.

Up then, my soul, be working,
While it is called to-day;

Mayhap, thou art near to that boundless sea;
Why therefore then delay ?

How happy then that moment
From earth to flee away;

To reach that perfect heaven,
Those realms of endless day.

Still, in my fitful fancy,

Bright spirits around I see;

And hear my Father commanding
Angels to watch o'er me.

A moment I see the heavenly throng,

As the pearly gates unfold.

But who can speak of that glorious Home?
Hath aught of its bliss been told?

Yes, now I think I can recognize
One in that happy Home;

Her bright eye beams with celestial love,
And she beckons me to come.

Still gazing on that joyful scene,
I long from earth to bound;

And reach that everlasting rest,
Which in heaven alone is found.

But, why should I thus he longing,
For that which cannot be?

Lord, let be now be preparing,

At death to be found in Thee.

ALIQUIS.

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"MIND YOUR OWN BUSINESS."
THOU whom wisdom won't acknowledge-
Base descendant of Paul Pry;
Man! withhold thy restless "fingers"
From thy fellow-creature's "pie!"
Learn thy place, and learn to keep it;
Never quit, unasked, the same;
Scorn the brand of "Interloper!"
Shun the busy-body's shame!

Know that half life's thorns and brambles-
Individual, social woes-
Cultured are by paltry meddlers,
Comfort's most untiring foes.
Brief at most thy mortal life-term,
Soon thou'lt on a death-bed moan;
Heed not then thy neighbour's business,
Do "with all thy might" thy own.

Hate, disdain officious meddling,
Spurn the thing with lofty pride!
Know thy place, and always keep it.
What more truly dignified? SAMUEL E.

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BROTHER AND SISTER.*

the eye and calmed the spirit, and whose balmy freshness seemed to envelop every THE country seat of Mr. Villiers, situate living thing, to vivify and transform it on the slope of a wood-crowned hill, com- as by enchantment. As soon as possible manded one of the verdant valleys of after Easter, and generally when the Shropshire, the view over which rejoiced first swallows made their appearance in the London parks, Mr. Villiers packed

*From "The Girl's Birthday Book," a volume

that we have much pleasure in recommending to up his own books and papers, ordered his daughter's newest dresses into her

the notice of our readers.

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boxes, sent for his travelling carriage from the coachmaker's, and in the good old fashion of the old posting days, started off on the road to his country seat, without a regret for the last political struggles, dinner parties, or the latest balls and routs of the fashionable world.

Thus it was that Ashurst Hall, the seat of Mr. Villiers, was always regarded by his family as the home of their greatest enjoyments, for it was there they always found again health, pure joy, and repose; not the repose of great towns, which consists in lying stretched on a couch in the intervals interdicted by the physician for long evenings and dancing too much prolonged, but the true, the early repose, that of life in the

open air, with intervals of moderate ex ercise and gentle relaxation.

Not that there was no dancing at Ashurst Hall, and dancing, too, with right good will; but it was in the park, and more often in the day than by night, under broad-spreading trees, the healthy odour of which gave the dancers more strength than even the exercise took from them, though they gave themselves up to it without resting a moment from laughing or chatting. They danced on a carpet of velvety moss, to the light of the sun or the moon, and to the music of a piano, brought down to the terrace whenever one of these minor fêtes was determined upon.

Henrietta Villiers, who was about en

P

tering her sixteenth year, had her friends scholar to give a freshness to his appear in Shropshire, as well as her companions ance as the young officer and gentleman. in London. They met again each year Mark, ordinarily so gay and cheerful, with evident happiness. They talked of was this evening distracted and pre-occu the pleasures of town, and compared pied. He forgot to dance; he let the them with those of the country, it being | little railleries of the young ladies, the generally agreed that the woods had the witticisms of the young gentlemen, pass advantage over the streets; that the without notice. He rambled in the meadows, sprinkled with buttercups and more retired walks, avoided being left primroses, were finer than Aubusson for any time alone with his father, and carpets, or the well-waxed floors of the made signs to Henrietta that she was a crowded salons of fashionable mansions; long time in understanding. and that long walks by rivers, bordered with flags and water-lilies, were more charming than all the riding up and down Rotten Row, or along the banks of the Serpentine.

This may seem exaggerated; yet such is youth-what is newest is best. The day perhaps would come when Henrietta would smile at the thought of going back to London, and revisiting its fairy scenés. She had nothing to regret in Shropshire but the absence of her brother, a young gentleman of eighteen years old, who was almost a prisoner at Woolwich, where he was finishing his studies as a cadet of Royal Artillery.

Mark was unable to come down to Shropshire except in his vacation, until which the brother and sister kept up an active correspondence, and meditated with their pens all kinds of projects.

The time at which our story begins was that during which Mark was at the Hall; it was also that of his sister's birthday. There was a ball in the park in the evening. All the young ladies of the county were invited for this evening, and great was the admiration that reigned in the château just before the hour when the company were to assemble on the lawn in front of the Hall.

At last she escaped for an instant from the midst of her friends, and went to her brother, half in jest, half uneasy; for she could not tell whether he was sulky from some foolish feeling, or whe ther some serious reason had thus clouded his brow for the last two hours.

"Let us see, Mr. Dreamer," said she kindly to him, "what sorrow dulls you in such a manner. Is it that your fair partners have inflicted some forfeit? Is it because you don't think yourself handsome enough, elegant enough, or enough loved by your little sister ?"

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Henrietta, you are wrong to laugh." "On my birthday ?"

"That's true; you ought not to do anything else."

"But I have an evil-minded brother, who is jealous of my enjoyment, and who wishes to disturb it. For shame, Mark Villiers! You ought to blush for your conduct."

'My dear Henrietta, if you did but know

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"Come, then, this is what makes me fear for all my happiness at present. Listen, Mark. If you really have some thing sad to confide to me, be quick; I cannot bear this uncertainty."

"Ah! how much it costs me to tease you so, especially to-day; and yet I am very greatly embarrassed."

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Henrietta, dressed in a robe of white muslin, the second skirt of which was looped up with a bunch of natural Really! as if sisters were not made flowers, did the honours of the fete with to console their naughty brother, who a charming grace. She went from one take delight in teasing themselves with to another of her friends with a smile on trifles. Your arm-quick, Mr. Mark her lips, and her face lighted up with joy; then she ran every moment to embrace her father or her dear Mark, who had grown a very elegant young man, with sufficient reserve and modesty as a

Villiers. I wish to take a turn in the park before going back to my guests. As we walk you can confide your troubles to me, and I will see what I can do to alleviate them.”

As she said these words, Henrietta led myself to be guilty of a silly prank, Mark into the covered walk.

II.

THE CONFIDENCE.

The two young people walked along in silence for about twenty paces. Henrietta, leaning on her brother's arm, held her bouquet of white roses and violets to her nose, as if to distract her attention, waiting for Mark to reveal the cause of his distress. But the young man did not seem very urgent to begin, even now that he had leisure, and no one had the power of interrupting him.

It was Henrietta who this time also spoke first.

"Mark, I thought you wished to say something to me."

"Yes, sister; but I am altogether ashamed at having disturbed your happiness, of having shown myself in an ill humour at your fête, and of keeping you here when all the world is looking for you, and summoning you to the ball, of which you are the beauteous queen."

"Compliments, eh? I am not to be paid off in this coin, my dear brother. I must have your secret at once, or I will quarrel with you until you go back to school."

"Well, then," said Mark, lowering his voice, "I will tell you, Henrietta, and you shall advise me."

"I listen; but go on. Here is a kiss to give you courage, for you seem very

much moved."

"You know how kind our father is, and also how severe. You remember the minute recommendation he gave to me in regard to the peasantry who live on the property or in the vicinity-in what sort of tone he told me that if ever, through any foolishness or evil inclination, I got into a scrape with any of these fine fellows, he should regard it as a grave act of disobedience, and would send me back immediately to Woolwich. This is what he will do, beyond all doubt, since he always does what he thinks it his duty to declare."

"You really frighten me, Mark. Is it possible you have played some evil trick to one of our farmers ?"

"A trick? No; but I have permitted

which will come to the knowledge of my father to-morrow morning; for that Old Brown is an obstinate donkey, whom nothing will appease; and he has sworn by the Wrekin that by eight o'clock tomorrow morning he will be at the Hall, and tell my father the whole story." "Good gracious! what can you have done to Old Joe Brown ?"

"This morning, before breakfast, I took the grey pony, and went to make the round of the village, taking Old Brown's cottage on the road. I was riding on at a reasonable pace, when on a sudden I caught sight of Old Brown's lean mare, and gave her a slash with my whip. The eccentric animal was frightened, and started off at a gallop-a violent kind of exercise very unusual with her. Away she went, like a mad beast, tearing across the fields, and I after her, to the great delight of the pony, which, in trying to catch her, leaped brooks, hedges, and ditches, just as if we were racing for a sweepstakes. It was quite as good as a real steeple chase, I assure you. At last we came, full speed, right up to Old Brown's hedge. His mare cleared it, but tumbled down on the other side all of a heap, and broke both her fore knees. My noble charger carried me, equally well, right into Brown's garden; but we knocked Old Joe over with the shock, and I believe we gave him a wound in

the head."

"O Heaven! what is this you tell me?"

"Don't be too frightened, dear; the wound on Old Brown's head is not at all alarming, or I should not speak so lightly of that; but his temper is very seriously hurt. So he has wrapped his head up in a dirty rag that renders him still more hideous, and swore to me, as I have just told you, that he will come and claim from my father damages and interest for the loss of his mare and the bump on his forehead. I offered him all I had at my disposal-these two fivepound notes; but he laughed in my face, and told me pointedly that he would not be content with so little-that he must have a good round sum, and an assu

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