There are times when the storm-gust may rattle around, Oh, haplessly rare is the portion that's ours, If there spring not beside us a few precious flowers, The wail of regret, the rude clashing of strife But I think we must own, in the discords of life, Earth is not all fair, yet it is not all gloom; That He who allotted Pain, Death, and the Tomb, THE OLD FARM-GATE. Where, where is the gate that once served to divide With its glittering latch and its trellis of white. 'Twas here where the urchins would gather to play 'Twas here where the miller's son paced to and fro, When the moon was above and the glow-worms below; Now pensively leaning, now twirling his stick, While the moments grew long and his heart-throbs grew quick. Why, why did he linger so restlessly there, With church-going vestment and sprucely comb'd hair? He loved, oh! he loved, and had promised to wait For the one he adored, at the old farm-gate. 'Twas here where the gray-headed gossips would meet; 'Twas over that gate I taught Pincher to bound 'Tis well to pass portals where pleasure and fame In such tones to my heart as the teeth-setting creak Oh! fair is the barrier taking its place, But it darkens a picture my soul long'd to trace. I sigh to behold the rough staple and hasp, And the rails that my growing hand scarcely could clasp. HOME IN THE HEART. Oh! ask not a home in the mansions of pride, Where love, once awaken'd, will never depart; And you'll find there's no home like a home in the heart. Oh! link but one spirit that's warmly sincere, That will heighten your pleasure and solace your care; Find a soul you may trust as the kind and the just, And be sure the wide world holds no treasure so rare. Then the frowns of misfortune may shadow our lot, The cheek-searing tear-drops of sorrow may start, But a star never dim sheds a halo for him Who can turn for repose to a home in the heart. NATURE'S GENTLEMAN. Whom do we dub as gentleman?-the knave, the fool, the brute- She may not spend her common skill about the outward part, He turns not from the cheerless home where sorrow's offspring dwell; He wisely yields his passions up to reason's firm control; No haughty gesture marks his gait, no pompous tone his word, Though few of such may gem the earth, yet such rare gems there are, THE LOVED ONE WAS NOT THERE. We gather'd round the festive board, But few would taste the wine that pour'd, For there was now a glass unfill'd— All eyes were dull, all hearts were chill'd— No happy laugh was heard to ring, The grave had closed upon a brow, The honest, bright, and fair; We miss'd our mate, we mourn'd the blow- SAMUEL WARREN. FEW, if any, writers of fiction of the present century, hold a more powerful pen than Samuel Warren. In vivid painting of the passions, and in faithfully depicting scenes of modern life, his tales have enjoyed a very great and deserved popularity. Of his most celebrated work, "The Diary of a late Physician," an able critic remarks:-"We know of no book in the English language so calculated to rivet the attention and awaken the purest and deepest sympathies of the heart as this book. The man who has not read these tales has yet to learn a lesson in the mysteries of human nature; and, though 'Ten Thousand a Year' may, as a literary composition, claim precedence, we think it lacks something-a very little of that truthful simplicity, that trusting and religious fervor that refines every sentiment and hallows every aspiration inspired by the elder work." His last work is "Now and Then,"-"a vindication, in beautiful prose, of the ways of God to man. A grander moral is not to be found than that which dwells on the reader's mind when the book is closed; conveyed, too, as it is, in language as masculine and eloquent as any the English tongue can furnish."2 DEATH AT THE TOILET. ""Tis no use talking to me, mother; I will go to Mrs. P's party to-night, if I die for it-that's flat! You know as well as do that Lieutenant N- is to be there, and he's going to leave town to-morrow-so up I go to dress." 1 "Oxford and Cambridge Review." London Times." "Charlotte, why will you be so obstinate? poorly you have been all the week, and Dr. are the worst things in the world for you." "Pshaw, mother! nonsense! nonsense!" You know how says late hours "Be persuaded for once, now, I beg! O dear, dear, what a night it is, too: it pours with rain, and blows a perfect hurricane! You'll be wet and catch cold, rely on it. Come, now, won't you stop and keep me company to-night? That's a good girl!" "Some other night will do as well for that, you know; for now I'll go to Mrs. P's, if it rains cats and dogs. So up—up—up I go!" Such were very nearly the words, and such the manner in which Miss J expressed her determination to act in defiance of her mother's wishes and entreaties. She was the only child of her widowed mother, and had but a few weeks before completed her twenty-sixth year, with yet no other prospect before her than bleak single-blessedness. A weaker, more frivolous and conceited creature never breathed—the torment of her amiable parent-the nuisance of her acquaintance. Though her mother's circumstances were very straitened-sufficing barely to enable them to maintain a footing in what is called the middling genteel class of society, this young woman contrived, by some means or other, to gratify her penchant for dress, and gadded about here, there, and everywhere, the most showily dressed person in the neighborhood. Though far from being even pretty-faced, or having any pretensions to a good figure for she both stooped and was skinny-she yet believed herself handsome; and by a vulgar, flippant forwardness of demeanor, especially when in mixed company, extorted such attentions as persuaded her that others thought so. For one or two years she had been an occasional patient of mine. The settled pallor, the sallowness of her complexion, conjointly with other symptoms, evidenced the existence of a liver-complaint; and the last visits I had paid her were in consequence of frequent sensations of oppression and pain in the chest, which clearly indicated some organic disease of the heart. I saw enough to warrant me in warning her mother of the possibility of her daughter's sudden death from this cause, and the imminent peril to which she exposed herself by dancing, late hours, &c.; but Mrs. J's remonstrances, gentle and affectionate as they always were, were thrown away upon her headstrong daughter. It was striking eight by the church clock when Miss J— lit her chamber-candle by her mother's, and withdrew to her room to dress-soundly rating the servant-girl by the way, for not having starched some article or other which she intended to have worn that evening. As her toilet was usually a long and laborious business, it did not occasion much surprise to her mother, who was sitting by |