This good deed, for which he was exceedingly praised, will, I hope, cover a good many of Athol's bad ones.

He and Rover and I are still inmates of the same excellent family. We are not exactly young dogs now; indeed we are growing quite stout and middle-aged, and I hope we are growing wise also, but of that I am not so sure.

When the master praises the beauty and fleetness of Athol, and says he is such an ornament to the place, such an aristocratic-looking dog, our mistress smiles and pats Rover on the head, or me either if I happen to be beside her, though I know I am not near such a favourite as he is.

"Handsome is that handsome does," says she. "For my part, if I were a dog, I think I would rather be a dog with a conscience than a dog without."

So would I too, beloved mistress.

SPRING! Spring! beautiful spring Hitherward cometh like hope on the wingPleasantly looketh on streamlet and flood, Raiseth a chorus of joy in the wood;

Toucheth the bud, and it bursts into bloom; Biddeth the beautiful rise from the tomb; Blesseth the heart like a heavenly thing, Spring! Spring! beautiful spring.

Song sweetly saluteth the morn ;

The robin awaketh and sits on the thorn;
Timidly warbles, while yet in the east,
Twilight from duty has not been released;
Calleth the lark, that ascendeth on high,
Greeting the sun in the depth of the sky;
Telleth the talented blackbird to sing,
Welcome! oh, welcome! beautiful spring.

Swain.

THE HOUR OF PRAYER.

CHILD, amidst the flowers at play,
While the red light fades away;
Mother, with thine earnest eye,
Ever following silently;
Father, by the breeze of eve
Called thy harvest work to leave;
Pray-ere yet the dark hours be,
Lift the heart and bend the knee!

Traveller, in the stranger's land,
Far from thine own household band:
Mourner, haunted by the tone
Of a voice from this world gone ;
Captive, in whose narrow cell
Sunshine hath not leave to dwell;
Sailor, on the darkening sea-
Lift the heart and bend the knee!

Warrior, that from battle won
Breathest now at set of sun;
Woman, o'er the lowly slain
Weeping on his burial-plain;
Ye that triumph, ye that sigh,
Kindred by one holy tie,

Heaven's first star alike ye see

Lift the heart and bend the knee!

Mrs. Hemans.

ABOU BEN ADHEM.

ABOU BEN ADHEM (may his tribe increase!)
Awoke one night from a deep dream of peace,
And saw, within the moonlight in his room,
Making it rich, and like a lily in bloom,
An angel writing in a book of gold :-
Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhem bold,
And to the presence in the room he said,
"What writest thou ?"-The Vision raised its head
And with a look made of all sweet accord,

:

Answer'd, "The names of those who love the Lord."
"And is mine one?" said Abou. Nay, not so,"
Replied the Angel. Abou spoke more low,
But cheerily still; and said, "I pray thee then,
Write me as one that loves his fellow-men."
The Angel wrote and vanish'd. The next night
It came again with a great wakening light,

And show'd the names whom love of God had bless'd,

And lo! Ben Adhem's name led all the rest.

Leigh Hunt.

THE HARVEST MOON.

ALL HAIL! thou lovely queen of night,
Bright empress of the starry sky!
The meekness of thy silv'ry light
Beams gladness on the gazer's eye.
While from thy peerless throne on high,
Thou shinest bright as cloudless noon,
And bidd'st the shades of darkness fly
Before thy glory-harvest moon!

In the deep stillness of the night,
When weary labour is at rest,
How lovely is the scene! how bright

The wood, the lawn, the mountain's breast,
When thou, fair moon of harvest! hast

Thy radiant glory all unfurl'd,

And sweetly smilest in the west,
Far down upon the silent world.

Thomas Miller.

Em'-press, the moon is said to rule the Un-furl'd', opened, unrolled.

night-hence the name.

Peer'-less, matchless, unequalled.

Ra'-di-ant, shining, full of brightness.

AUTUMN.

THE dry leaves are falling

The cold breeze above
Has stript of its glories

The sorrowing grove.