richness, fruitfulness and beauty of the olive are mentioned, seem to point it out as an object of peculiar interest in the sacred writings. In the book of the Revelation the two witnesses are compared to the two olive trees standing before the throne of God.

Universally has it been regarded as the emblem of PEACE, and as such has been admired and cherished in the associations of every nation. Had the emblem been carried in the hands of warriors, or had Peter the hermit carried it instead of his crucifix, an Alexander or an Attila, a Hannibal or a Scipio, a Napoleon or a Wellington sheathed their swords, and met with this sacred symbol in their hands, the bosom of our mother earth would have been less nourished with the blood of slaughtered millions, and fewer pangs been felt, and fainter sighs been heard, and fewer hopes been withered before the wasting, scathing sirocco of human passion and ambition.

But the hopeful, ardent, trusting believer in divine truth looks to a calmer day, when the influence of PEACE shall fall like the gracious droppings of divine love upon the soul, and cause a warring world to " bend their swords into plough-shares, and their spears into pruning-hooks," and when " nation shall not lift up a sword against nation, neither shall they learn war any more." How beautifully has Pollock written :

"All nations came
Flocking like doves. Columbia's painted tribes,
That from Magellan to the Frozen Bay,
Beneath the Arctic dwelt, and drank the tides
Of Amazona, prince of earthly streams;
Or slept at noon beneath the giant shade

Of Andes' mount; or roving northward, heard
Nigara sing, from Erie's billow down
To Frontenac, and hunted thence the fur
To Labrador. And Afric's dusky swarms,
That from Morocco to Angola dwelt,

An I drank the Niger from his native wells,
Or roused the lion in Numidia's groves;

*

Cashmeres, Circassians, Banyans, tender race!
That swept the insects from their paths, and lived
Ou herbs and fruits; the Greek redeemed

From Turkish thrall; the Spaniard came, and Gaul;

And Britain with her ships; and on his sledge The Laplander, that nightly watched the bear Circling the pole; and those who saw the flames Of Hecla burn the drifted snow; the Russ, Long whiskered, and equestrian Pole; and those Who drank the Rhine, or lost the evening sun Behind the Alpine towers; and she that sat By Arno, classic stream, Venice and Rome, Head-quarters long of sin, first guileless now, And meaning as she seemed, stretched forth her hands. The East, the West, the South, the snowy North, Rejoicing met, and worshipped reverently Before the Lord in Zion's holy hill;

And all the places round about were blest.

The animals, as once in Eden, lived

In peace; the wolf dwelt with the lamb; the bear And leopard with the ox; with looks of love The tiger and the scaly crocodile Together met, at Gambia's palmy wave; Perched on the eagle's wing, the bird of song Singing arose, and visited the sun; And with the falcon sat the gentle lark. The little child leaped from his mother's arms, And stroked the crested snake, and rolled unhurt Among his speckled waves, and wished him home. And sauntering school-boys, slow returning, played At eve about the lion's den, and wove Into his shaggy mane fantastic flowers; To meet the husbandman, early abroad, Hasted the deer, and waved his woody head; And round his dewy steps, the hare unscared Sported, and toyed familiar with his dog; The flocks and herds o'er hill and valley spread, Exulting, cropped the ever-budding herbs; The desert blossomed, and the barren sung ; Justice and Mercy, Holiness and Love, Among the people walked-Messiah reigned, And earth kept jubilee a thousand years!"

Thus will the earth, renewed in all its beauty and brightness of a new moral creation, lose its burden of sorrow, and hatred, and injustice; and fair, as when on the morning of its primeval loveliness it was pronounced “ very good by the word of its Omnipotent Creator, and the morning stars sang together in the contemplation of the enchanting and exquisite scene, it will be prepared for that glorious time when, like a bride richly adorned, it will wait for Him who gave it its place among the rolling spheres. Then will each one be enabled to say, in the language of the inspired poet, "I am like a green olive tree in the house of the Lord."

96

WE have a parlor table; and why should we not show the reader some of its ornaments? Our friends, the book-makers, sometimes think of us when they bring something very beautiful before the public eye, knowing that to our taste the brightest ornament of the parlor is the virtuous and enlightened mind.

"The Wives of England," by Mrs. Ellis, published by the Appletons, is a charming volume, which the wives of America would do well to read and heed. "The Daughters of England," by the same pen, is full of sweet counsel, the words of which are well chosen, and our young women will be delighted and instructed by its perusal.

"The Records of the Heart," is the beautiful title of a delicate volume of poetry by Mrs. Lewis of Troy. Her heart is tender, and she feels for those who, like her, are born to make

verses.

"It is a mournful task to scan the fate,
The wretchedness and bitter suffering,
And calumny and wo and wrong and hate,
The thousand pangs the tender bosoms wring,
Of those whom fate or fame hath forced to sing:
Sad, solitary, shivering here they stay,
For ever panting for some purer spring
Of light, but drinking no congenial ray,
Until they quench their thirst at founts of hea-
venly day."

"The Pious Thoughts of Fenelon," should be on the table of every lover of devotional reading. Shepard of Broadway has issued an elegant edition of it in silk and gilt. What a spirit for a great man, breathes in these words; Keep me, O my God! for ever in the order of thy little ones, to whom thou revealest thy mysteries, whilst thou hidest them from the wise and prudent of the world."

A neat little volume from Dodd's, at the Brick Church Chapel, called the "Book that will Suit You," lies on a corner of our table, and all that drop in, pick it up and find a page that pleases them and was made for them. Reader, the book "will suit you."

Here we have " Songs for the Sabbath,” and the "Harp with a Sabbath Tone," sweet gatherings of songs that we have loved, some of them from childhood.

"The golden palace of my God

Towering above the clouds I see: Beyond the cherubs' bright abode Higher than angels' thoughts can be.

How can I in those courts appear

Without a wedding garment on? Conduct me, thou Life-giver, there,

Conduct me to thy glorious throne! And clothe me with thy robes of light, And lead me through sin's darksome night, My Saviour and my God."

Mary

But the very gem of our table is ". Lundie Duncan." Have you read her memoirs? Perfection we seek not out of Heaven; but if talents, beauty, education, and a quiet spirit tuned to the melody of social love, are traits that win all hearts, then was Mary all that love asks. Mr. Carter publishes the book, and if it is not on your parlor table, reader, one ornament is yet wanting.

In an English periodical just received we find these sweet lines, that must finish this number of the Magazine.

Love on, love on-the soul must have a shrine, The rudest breast must find some hallow'd spot; The God who form'd us left no spark divine,

In him who dwells on earth, yet loveth not. Devotion's links compose a sacred chain

Of holy brightness and unmeasured length; The world with selfish rust and reckless stain, May mar its beauty, but not touch its strength. Love on, love on-ay, even though the heart

We fondly build on proveth like the sand, Though one by one Faith's corner-stones depart, And even Hope's last pillar fails to stand. Though we may dread the lips we once believed,

And know their falsehood shadows all our days, Who would not rather trust and be deceived,

Than own the mean, cold spirit that betrays?

Love on, love on, though we may live to see

The dear face whiter than its circling shroud; Though dark and dense the gloom of death may be, Affection's glory yet shall pierce the cloud. The truest spell that Heaven can give to lure, The sweetest prospect Mercy can bestow, Is the blest thought that bids the soul be sure, 'Twill meet above the things it loved below. Love on, love on-Creation breathes the words, Their mystic music ever dwells around; The strain is echo'd by unnumbered chords, And gentlest bosoms yield the fullest sound. As flowers keep springing, though their dazzling

bloom

Is oft put forth for worms to feed upon; So hearts, though wrung by traitors and the tomb, Shall still be precious and shall still love on.