yonder house of God. Beneath those palls are hid the ghastly forms of Allen, Roberts and Wallace. And he who follows next the biers,

mark well that form! His brow is clothed with sadness, and his head is bowed with grief. Of all the band that hailed last Sabbath's light, with hopes of selfish pleasure, Arthur Thornton only lives! But where the missing? They sleep within the ocean's bosom, upon their sea-weed bed, till time shall be no more!

Years have rolled on since the funeral dirge was chanted over the graves of this little band, and the man of God repeated the solemn service, 'Dust unto dust;' yet may the last survivor of the party, often be seen going out alone, at the still hour of twilight, to reflect and weep beside the tomb-stones of 'THE SABBATH BREAKERS.'

OH! home of my boyhood, my own country home,
I love it the better wherever I roam;

The lure of proud cities, the wealth of the main,
Have never a charm like my own native plain,
There waved the old elms on the cottage-lined street,
There warbled the birds from their woodland retreat,
The roar of the river, the forest-crowned hill,

The starlight that glistened, they dwell with me still.

I've wandered for years through the cold-hearted world,

And rode every sea where a sail is unfurled;

I've met with the great and the noble of earth,
But never forgotten the home of my birth.

The laugh of my sister, my brother's high glee,
Are echoing round me wherever I be;

The thousand bright glances from young maidens'

eyes,

Are stars in my heaven, when grief-clouds arise.

The voice of my father, with deep manly tone,
There's music about it no other hath known;
The smile of my mother, that love-lighted brow,
Oh! mother dear mother! - they dwell with me

now!

I love them, I love them,

the days of the past,

And nothing shall bribe me from keeping them fast; Oh! home of my boyhood! - My own rural home!I'll love it the better wherever I roam!