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THE PARLOR TABLE.

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

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.” But the very gem of our table is “ Mary 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.

verses.

BY ELIZA COOK.

"Love not, love not, ye hapless sons of eerth.

Mrs. NoaTOX."

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" It is a mournful task to scan the fate,
The wretchedness and bitter suffering,
And calumny and wo and wrong and hale,
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

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 onay, 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.

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repentant humuity many a wanucimus prodiga. whose heart has stood out in iron firmness against all the thunders of Sinai.

VOL. 1. -NO. IV.

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