And let not faith be dim!

Oh! how unworthy of thy grace,

How poor, how needy, stained with sin!
How can I enter in

Thy kingdom, and behold thy face!

Except thou hadst redeemed me, I had gone
Without sustaining knowledge, to the grave!
For this I bless thee, oh thou gracious One!
And thou wilt surely save.-

I bless thee for the life which thou hast crowned
With never-ending good;

For pleasures that were found,

Like way-side flowers, in quiet solitude.— I bless thee for the love that watched o'er me

Through the weak years of infancy,

That has been, like thine everlasting truth,
The guide, the guardian angel of my youth.
Oh, thou! that did'st the mother's heart bestow,
Sustain it in its woe

For mourning give it joy, and praise for heaviness.

THE PRODIGAL.

Thomas. Ah, I remember well There is a little hollow hereabout,

Where wild-brier roses, and lithe honeysuckle

Made a thick bower: 'T was here I used to come

To read sweet books of witching poetry!

Could it be I?

I will not think

No, no, I am so changed

this man was once that boy:

The thought would drive me mad. I will but think

I once knew one who called this vale his own;

I will but think I knew a merry boy,

And a kind gentle father, years agone,

Who had their dwelling here; and that the boy

Did love this lonely nook, and used to find
Here the first nests of summer; here did read
All witching books of glorious poetry ;

And thus, that as the boy became a youth,
And gentle feeling strengthen'd into passion,
And love became the poetry of life,

Hither he wandered with a girlish beauty,

Gathering, like Proserpine, sweet meadow flowers;
And that they set beneath the wild-brier rose,
And that he thus did kiss that maiden's cheek,
The first time as a lover! Oh my God!
That was the heir of Jones. A brave boy,
A noble-hearted boy! He grew a man,

And what became of him? Ha! pass me that -
Would that I knew not what became of him!

SONG OF EDAH..

Little waves upon the deep

Murmur soft when thou dost sleep;

Gentle birds upon the tree

Sing their sweetest songs for thee
Cooling gales, with voices low,
In the tree-tops gently blow!
Dearest, who dost sleeping lie,
All things love thee,― so do I!

When thou wak'st, the sea will pour
Treasures for thee to the shore;
And the earth, in plant and tree,
Bring forth fruit and flowers for thee!
And the glorious heaven above,
Smile on thee, like trusting love.
Dearest, who dost sleeping lie,
All things love thee,- so do I!

SONG OF MARGARET.

There is a land where beauty cannot fade,

Nor sorrow dim the eye:

Where true love shall not droop nor be dismay'd,

And none shall ever die.

Where is that land, oh where?

For I would hasten there

Tell me I fain would go,

For I am wearied with a heavy wo!

The beautiful have left me all alone!

The true, the tender, from my paths are gone!
Oh guide me with thy hand,

If thou dost know that land,

For I am burdened with oppressive care,
And I am weak and fearful with despair!
Where is it?- tell me where-

Thou that art kind and gentle― tell me where.

Friend! thou must trust in Him, who trod before
The desolate paths of life;

Must bear in meekness, as he meekly bore,

Sorrow, and pain, and strife!

Think how the Son of God

Those thorny paths hath trod;

Think how he longed to go,

Yet tarried out for thee the appointed wo;

Think of his weariness in places dim,
Where no man comforted, nor cared for Him!
Think of the blood-like sweat

With which his brow was wet;

Yet how he prayed, unaided and alone
In that great agony - 'Thy will be done!'

Friend! do not thou despair,

Christ from his heaven of heavens will hear thy prayer!

MARIA JANE JEWSBURY.

We choose to retain the name by which this gifted woman was known as an authoress, although she had changed it before her decease; but we can never think of her as Mrs. Fletcher. Miss Jewsbury was born in Warwickshire. In early youth she lost her mother, and was thenceforth called to take her place at the head of a large family. Her father, soon after her mother's death, removed to Manchester, and here, in the midst of a busy population, oppressed with ill health, and the grave cares of life, the promptings of genius still triumphed, and the young lady found time to dream dreams of literary distinction, which the energy of her mind, in a few years, converted into realities.

It was at this period that she addressed a letter to Wordsworth, full of the enthusiasm of an ardent imagination: this led to a correspondence with the bard of the Excursion, which soon ripened into permanent friendship. She was also materially assisted in the development of her talents, and the circulation of her first literary efforts, by the advice and active kindness of Mr. Alaric Watts, at that time a resident in Manchester: these obligations she always gratefully acknowledged.

-

Her first work was entitled "Phantasmagoria; or, Essays of Life and Literature,” — which was well received by the public. This was soon followed by "Letters to the Young," written soon after a severe illness: then follow

ed "Lays for Leisure Hours." Her last work was her "Three Histories," * which she allows display much of her own character and feelings. But her best writings are to be found in the periodicals and annuals, to which she was a large and most popular contributor.

In 1833, she married Mr. Fletcher, a gentleman who held an office under the London East India Company-and soon after her marriage left England with her husband for Bombay. She anticipated, with eager pleasure, the riches of nature and antiquity, which the gorgeous East would open before her - but the buoyant and active spirit was soon to be called to another and higher existence. She died a short time after reaching India, and sleeps in that "clime of the sun," a fit resting-place for her warm and ardent heart,

As the best illustration of her character and genius which we can give, we subjoin some extracts from a private letter, which she wrote to a friend a short time before she left England:

"The passion for literary distinction consumed me from nine years old. I had no advantages great obstacles and now, when from disgust I cannot write a line to please myself, I look back with regret to the days when facility and audacity went hand in hand; I wish in vain for the simplicity which neither dreaded criticism nor knew fear. Intense labor has, in some measure, supplied the deficiency of early idleness and common-place instruction; intercourse with those who were once distant and bright as the stars, has become a thing of course; I have not been unsuccessful in my own career. But the period of timidity and sadness is now come, and with my foot upon the threshold of a new life, and a new world

'I would lay down like a tired child,
And weep away this life of wo.'

* This interesting volume was republished in America, and was very popular. Her other works have not been reprinted here,except the "Letters to the Young;" but could her "Miscellaneous Writings" be collected, they would, no doubt, be highly appreciated.