A few other choice selections may not be without interest to the reader:

HOPE.*

I've floated o'er earth on a beam of light,
As the fire-fly shines in the darkest night;
I've kissed the flowers bespangled with dew,
Then soared aloft to my home of blue.
On a golden beam through a fairy bower
I have sought in vain for a fadeless flower;
Its hue must be bright as a seraph's wings,
When he basks in the smile of the King cf kings
Its fragrance pure as the light above

That beams from the brow of the God of love.

I sought on that lovely sea-girt shore,
Where science and wisdom were blent of yore,
Where, sportive as birds in their leafy bowers,
Young children were twining the earliest flowers
Yet their sires were groaning with anguish keen,
On each manly cheek was the tear-drop seen,
And lone by that shore, where the Grecian wave
Was dashing its spray, stood a chieftain brave.
His people were slaves, and their galling chain
Was rending his soul. Shall it suffer in vain !
I sought to solace his anguish deep,
And encourage his heart that he should not weep ·
And he said, as I whispered: My arm is strong
Unconscious of might, I have wept too long;
My land shall be free as the mountain air,
And the tyrant be crushed in his hideous lair

But his generous soul with revenge grew dark,

And I wept, though I quenched not its kindling spark.
Where the happy were wrapped in their visions of lure
And the sky-lamps were gemming the azure above,

• Written for the anniversary of 1858.

On the downy breath of the sportive breeze,
That murmured all night 'mid the leaf-clad trees,
I was gently borne to a chamber lone,

Where the midnight lamp o'er a scholar shone,
The offspring of genius, whose every thought
With fancy and feeling was richly fraught.
But a dream of ambition was lurking there,
And I turned with a sigh to a scene more fair,
Where the perfume sweet o'er my senses stole:
"Twas the balm of peace to the anguished soul;
It breathed from a flower, a lovely thing
That bloomed in the heart's most sacred spring.
Then the trophy-clad seraphs around me came;
Their harps of glory were sounding its name.
"Twas blessed beneficence, spotless and mild,
And I hailed it immortal with joys undefiled.
In an amaranth wreath, for the brow of the kind,
It is twined by the orphan, the mute, and the blind,
And it blooms ever fair, as the star of even,

Though drooping and sad with the tear-drops of heaven

THE RETURN.

All-hallowing memory, holy, blest,

Comes like the wind-harp's note at ever.

Soothing the spirit's sad unrest

With glimpses of its promised heaven.

Fond moment of terrestrial bliss!

In fancy's magic mirror bright,

I feel a mother's fervent kiss,

And hear a father's sweet good night.

• Emotions of a friend, who, after long absence from home, drack the Croton

water a few momert before landing at New York.

I've wandered from my boyhood's home,

And stood beneath Italia's skies; I've trod thy streets, imperial Rome, And learned how earth-born splendor dies.

In sunny France, 'mid England's bowers,
And Scotland, with its varied view
Of rocky glens and lovely flowers-
Each fairy haunt how well I knew!

And mused o'er Erin's shamrock green,
So precious to each Irish heart,
Till in the faded past were seen
Its glories from the dust to start.

I'm turning from these scenes away
To thee, mv boyhood's happy home;
To the fond friends of early day,

Like the lone, wandering dove, I come.

And while I quaff the waters bright,
Dear Croton, of thy crystal stream,
Unnumbered airy dreams of light,
Around my truant fancy beam.

Light of my life art thou to me,

Sweet home, my first and latest star;
I never knew how dear thou'dst be,
Till I had wandered thus afar.

So, sacred Nile, thy sons for thee

Would weep in Cashmere's lovely vale,

Look wildly on Marmora's sea,
Nor heed Arabia's spicy gale.

But sigh for Egypt's pleasant stream,
That washed their sunny land the while
Day's star of hope, night's dearest dream,
Were the sweet waters of the Nile

MISS DAPHNE S. GILES.

"With affections warm, intense, refined,

She mingled such calm and holy strength of mind
That, like heaven's image in the smiling brook,
Celestial peace was pictured in her look."

THERE is perhaps no manifestation of the human intellect that more conclusively proves its immortality, than our constant discontent with the present, and insatiate reaching forward after objects of desire shrouded in the vista of futurity. Before the budding mind is sufficiently developed to comprehend its responsibility or learn its destiny, the heart is moved forward by an innate impulse, and the pure fancy is impressed with alluring images, natives of a brighter sphere. When in the sunny hours of child hood we sport upon the flowery lawn, sit by the mur muring rill, as it gently meanders along its willowed banks, or chase with fantastic tread the gay butterfly over the rich green meadows, plucking from our path the lily and the wild rose, life seems to us but one scene of charming beauty, unsullied by the snares of sin.

Yet oft from those innocent sports we turn away, ur hearts panting for maturer years; and, while glancing to the future, we paint in our youthfu! ardor

al that is delightful and gay. But, alas! as we gently glide along the current of time and emerge into the busy scenes of life, how oft are our fondest hopes blighted, and mountains of sorrow and disappointment appear in view, rearing their summits to the sky, yet glittering with the tears of earthly pilgrims that have passed over before us. Yet who dares murmur at his lot? He who holds in his hands the destiny of individuals as well as nations, has purposes to accomplish. Whatever he decrees in his righteousness, though it at first seems our loss of all, will ultimately prove our highest good. "For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are my ways your ways, saith the Lord. For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways, and my thoughts than your thoughts."

No theme or philosophy devised by ancient or modern sages can administer so sovereign a solace to the afflicted or sorrow-stricken soul as an unshaken confidence in a wise, overruling Providence, and an enlightened faith in the doctrines of the everlasting gospel. On the precious promises beaming from that volume our present authoress has securely rested under all her trying afflictions.

Miss Giles was born at New Haven, Vermont, October 2d, 1812. Of her parentage we can gather no information from either her writings or allusions to her life by other authors. It appears that her former biographers, like ourselves, placed no high estimate on hereditary celebrity, or, feared to commit treason