have been committed such an outrageous breach of the laws of our country as in this case. A man is arrested by an armed band, dragged from his bed, taken on board a vessel, bound, and carried off without the slightest color of legal authority. It were better a hundred rogues should escape than that such a breach of the law should be suffered, and such high handed measures tolerated in this country. It might answer well enough in England, or Ireland, or any other European country where subjects are gagged and manacled to preserve their liberty, or dragooned into the enjoyment of freedom. In the United States such proceedings ought not for a moment to be countenanced.

Farewell the jovial quilting match--the song and merry play,

The whirling of a pewter plate--the many pawns to pay,

The mimic marriage brought about by leaping o'er the Broom-

The good old play of Blindman's buff-the laugh that shook the room.

Farewell the days of industry-the time hath glided by,

When pretty hands were prettiest at making When waiting maids were needed not, and pumpkin piemorning brought along

The music of the spinning wheel, the milk maid's careless song.

Ah; days of artless innocence--your dwellings

are no more

And we are turning from the path, our fathers trod of yore

The homely hearth of honest mirth--the traces of the plough,

The places of their worshipping are all forgotten now.

FROM THE N. E. WEEKLY REVIEW.
THE SABBATH EVE.

It is a blessed hour.-The star
Of Evening lights the sleeping wave,
And blossoms in its purple home,

A lilly on the dewy grave

Of parted twilight-its soft beam
Comes purely down o'er hill and stream,
As if it bore to sinners here

Sweet tidings from a holier sphere.

O'er yon blue rocks the lonely tress
In shadowy groups recline,
Like pensive nuns at evening bowed
Around their holy shrine ;-

And thro' their leaves the night winds blow,
So calm and still-their music low
Seems the mysterious voice of prayer,

Faint echoed on the evening air.

The mists go up from lake and stream,
Like incense to a God beloved,

And o'er the glowing waters move,

As erst the Holy Spirit movedThe torrent's voice, the waves's low hymn Seem the far songs of Seraphim,

And clearer glows yon veil of blue,

As Eden's light were breaking through.

There is a dream of blessedness

In every hue of earth and heaven, And the calm face of nature wears

The sweet looks of a saint forgiven :

Oh who on such an eve can feel
Heaven's purest influence o'er him steal>
And muse upon the glories there-

Nor kneel with nature's self in prayer!