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THE PEARL AND THE SHELL.

A HOSт of angels flying,

Through cloudless skies impelled,
Upon the earth beheld

A pearl of beauty lying,
Worthy to glitter bright

In heaven's vast halls of light.

They saw, with glances tender,
An infant newly born,

O'er whom life's earliest morn
Just cast its opening splendor:
Virtue it could not know,
Nor vice, nor joy, nor woe.

The blest angelic legion

Greeted its birth above,

And came with looks of love,
From heaven's enchanting region,
Bending their winged way
To where the infant lay.

They spread their pinions o'er it, —
That little pearl which shone
With lustre all its own,-

And then on high they bore it,
Where glory has its birth:-
But left the shell on earth.
17*

THE MOTHER'S DREAM.

THERE was once a mother, kneeling by the bedside of the little one whom she hourly expected to lose. With what eyes of passionate love had she watched every change in that beautiful face! How had her eyes pierced the heart of the physician, at his last visit, when they glared rather than asked the question whether there yet was hope! How had she wearied Heaven with vows that if it would but grant—“Ah,” you say "you can imagine all that without any difficulty at all." Imagine this too. Overwearied with watching, she fell into a doze beside the couch of her infant, and she dreamt in a few moments (as we are wont to do) the seeming history of long years. She thought she heard a voice from heaven say to her, as to Hezekiah, "I have seen thy tears, I have heard thy prayers; he shall live; and yourself shall have the roll of his history presented to you.” "Ah!" you say, "you can imagine all that too.” And straightway she thought she saw her sweet child in the bloom of health, innocent and playful as her fond heart could wish. Yet a little while, and she saw him in the flush of opening youth; beautiful

as ever, but beautiful as a young panther, from whose eyes wild flashes and fitful passion ever and anon gleamed; and she thought how beautiful he looked, even in these moods, for she was a mother. But she also thought how many tears and sorrows may be needful to temper or quench these fires! And she se med to follow him through a rapid succession of scenes now of troubled sunshine-now of deep gathering gloom. His sorrows were all of a common lot, but involved a sense of agony far greater

than that which she would have felt from his early loss; yes, greater even to her - - and how much greater to him! She saw him more than once wrestling with pangs more agonizing than those which now threatened his infancy; she saw him involved in error, and with difficulty extricating himself; betrayed into youthful sins, and repenting with scalding tears: she saw him half ruined by transient prosperity, and scourged into tardy wisdom only by long adversity; she saw him worn and haggard with care, his spirit crushed, and his early beauty all wan and blasted; worse still, she saw him thrice stricken with that very shaft which she had so dreaded to feel but once, and mourned to think that her prayers had prevailed to prevent her own sorrows only to multiply his;

worst of all she saw him, as she thought, in a darkened chamber, kneeling beside a coffin in which youth and beauty slept their last sleep; and as it seemed, her own image stood beside him, and uttered unheeded love to a sorrow that "refused to be comforted," and as she gazed on that face of stony despair she seemed to hear a voice which said, "If thou wilt have thy floweret of earth unfold on earth, thou must not wonder at bleak winters and inclement skies. I would have transplanted it to a more genial clime; but thou wouldest not." And with a cry of terror she awoke. She turned to the sleeping figure before her, and sobbing, hoped it was sleeping its last sleep. She listened for his breathing- she heard none; she lifted the taper to his lips — the flame wavered not; he had indeed passed away while she dreamed that he lived; and she rose from her knees, and was comforted. "Ah!" you will say, "these sorrows could never have been the lot of my sweet child!" It is hard to set one's logic against a mother's love; I can only remind you, my dear cousin, that it has been the lot of thousands, whose mothers, as their little ones crowed and laughed in their arms in childish happiness, would have sworn to the same impossibility. But for you,—you know

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what they could only believe; that it is an impossibility. Nay, I might hint at yet profounder consolation, if, indeed, there ever existed a mother who could fancy that, in the case of her own child, it could ever be needed. Yet facts sufficiently show us, that what the dreaming mother saw — errors retrieved, sins committed but repented of, and sorrows that taught wisdom

are not always seen, and that

children may in spite of all, persist in exploring the path of evil-"deeper and deeper still!" With the shadow of uncertainty whether it may not be so with any child, is there no consolation in thinking that even that shadow has passed away? For aught we know, many and many a mother may hereafter hear her lost darling say- "Sweet mother, I was taken from you a little while, only that I might abide with you forever!"

GREYSON LETTERS, BY HENRY ROGERS.

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I see them there, by the Great Spirit's throne; With winning words, and fond beseeching tone, They woo me to my rest.

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