ALEXANDER POPE.

ALEXANDER POPE was born in London, on the 21st May, 1688. His parents were Roman Catholics. Of a feeble constitution, and somewhat deformed in person, he chose the literary profession. His numerous poetical writings, which rapidly attracted public notice, acquired him the means of independence. His poetical translation of Homer has not been surpassed in felicity of diction. As an English satirist, he stands alone. His whole works have been edited more frequently than those of any other British writer, with the exception of Shakspeare. Pope died at his villa, Twickenham, on the 30th May, 1744.

THE DYING CHRISTIAN TO HIS SOUL.

VITAL spark of heavenly flame,
Quit, oh, quit this mortal frame!
Trembling, hoping, lingering, flying—
Oh, the pain, the bliss of dying!
Cease, fond nature, cease thy strife,
And let me languish into life!

Hark! they whisper; angels say,
"Sister spirit, come away!"
What is this absorbs me quite,
Steals my senses, shuts my sight,
Drowns my spirits, draws my breath?
Tell me, my soul, can this be death?

The world recedes-it disappears;
Heaven opens on my eyes; my ears
With sounds seraphic ring!
Lend, lend your wings! I mount! Ifly!
O Grave! where is thy victory?
O Death! where is thy sting?

ADELAIDE A. PROCTER.

ADELAIDE ANNE PROCTER was born in Bedford Square, London, on the 30th October, 1825. Her father, Brian W. Procter, Esq., is well known by his literary nom de guerre of Barry Cornwall. In 1853, Miss Procter became a contributor to Mr. Dickens' Household Words. In 1858, she published the first volume of her "Legends and Lyrics," which at once secured her a wide reputation as a poet. A second volume was added in 1860. In 1861, she edited "The Victoria Regia, a volume of Original Contributions in Poetry and Prose," issued from the Victoria Press, for the employment of women. Another publication appeared in 1862, under the title "A Chaplet of Verses." She died on the 2nd February, 1864. Miss Procter had embraced the Romish faith. Her remains are deposited in St. Mary's Catholic Ground, Kensal Green. An elegantly illustrated edition of her "Legends and Lyrics" has been issued by Bell and Daldy, with an introduction by Mr. Charles Dickens. Lond. 1866. 4to.

EVENING HYMN.

THE shadows of the evening hours

Fall from the darkening sky;
Upon the fragrance of the flowers
The dews of evening lie:

Before Thy throne, O Lord of heaven,
We kneel at close of day;

Look on Thy children from on high,
And hear us while we pray.

The sorrows of Thy servants, Lord,
O do not Thou despise;
But let the incense of our prayers
Before Thy mercy rise;

The brightness of the coming night
Upon the darkness rolls;
With hopes of future glory chase
The shadows on our souls.

Slowly the rays of daylight fade;
So fade within our heart
The hopes in earthly love and joy,
That one by one depart:

Slowly the bright stars, one by one,

Within the heavens shine,—

Give us, O Lord, fresh hopes in heaven,
And trust in things Divine.

Let peace, O Lord-Thy peace, O God-
Upon our souls descend;

From midnight fears and perils, Thou
Our trembling hearts defend;
Give us a respite from our toil;
Calm and subdue our woes;

Through the long day we suffer, Lord,
Oh, give us now repose.

STRIVE, WAIT, AND PRAY.

STRIVE! yet I do not promise

The prize you dream of to-day Will not fade when you think to grasp it, And melt in your hand away; But another and holier treasure, You would now perchance disdain, Will come when your toil is over, And pay you for all your pain.

Wait! yet I do not tell you

The hour you long for now,

Will not come with its radiance vanished,
And a shadow upon its brow;
Yet far through the misty future,
With a crown of starry light,
An hour of joy you know not
Is winging her silent flight.

Pray! though the gift you ask for
May never comfort your fears,
May never repay your pleadings,
Yet pray, and with hopeful tears;
An answer, not that you long for,

But diviner, will come one day;
Your eyes are too dim to see it,

Yet strive, and wait, and pray.

THANKFULNESS.

My God, I thank Thee who hast made
The earth so bright;

So full of splendour and of joy,
Beauty and light;

So many glorious things are here,
Noble and right.

I thank Thee, too, that Thou hast made
Joy to abound;

So many gentle thoughts and deeds
Circling us round,

That in the darkest spot of earth
Some love is found.

I thank Thee more that all our joy
Is touched with pain;

That shadows fall on brightest hours;
That thorns remain ;

So that earth's bliss may be our guide,
And not our chain.

For Thou who knowest, Lord, how soon
Our weak heart clings,

Hast given us joys, tender and true,
Yet all with wings:

So that we see, gleaming on high,
Diviner things.

I thank Thee, Lord, that Thou hast kept
The best in store;

We have enough, yet not too much
To long for more-

A yearning for a deeper peace,

Not known before.

I thank Thee, Lord, that here our souls,

Though amply blest,

Can never find, although they seek,

A perfect rest

Nor ever shall, until they lean

On Jesus' breast.

H H

MARY PYPER.

MARY PYPER was born at Greenock, on the 27th May, 1795. Her father was a private soldier in the 42nd regiment. From childhood she has resided in Edinburgh. For many years she supported herself as a needlewoman; she has latterly vended small wares among a few fami lies who are interested in her welfare. In 1847, she published a thin volume of sacred lyrics, entitled "Select Pieces." Many of these possess decided merit, and it is much to be regretted that the author should be allowed to remain in circumstances of indigence.

WHAT HAS JESUS DONE?

WHEN with loads of guilt oppress'd,
Plunged in sin and misery;
Ask thy soul, or ask thy breast,
What has Jesus done for thee?

He beheld thee from above,

Not in danger, nor in scorn:
But in tenderness and love,

He thy deepest guilt has borne.

He has brought thee to His fold,

Taught thee all His truth to know,
Treasures far surpassing gold,

Which from Him alone could flow.

He has bid thy trembling heart
Look in faith to Him and live;

He has promised to impart

Every blessing grace can give.

Weak and erring though I be,

Yet for me the Saviour dies;

Help me, Lord, from sin to flee;

Help me still through grace to rise.

Help me, too, to ask my heart,

What hast thou for Jesus done?
Then Thy heavenly strength impart,
Every evil way to shun.