household was absent for the day; but I could easily perceive by the frequent and earnest inquiries of the children, and the delighted replies of the mother, that he was their all in all on earth, and their guide to heaven. Before leaving this blest abode, I gave one scrutinizing glance around. A well-earned competency was all they could boast, and that had taught them how to live, and had given them health to enjoy the reward of honest industry. Here it was I found content. From this place I bent my steps homeward, exclaiming, as I meditated on what I had seen, "Lord, give me neither poverty nor riches," but rather a grateful heart and contented mind. Reader, my wish has been gratified. I have disclosed my secret, and my ring is gone forever. WHAT A WORLD THIS MIGHT BE. O, WHAT a world this might be, With love's own voice to guide us— O, what a world this might be ! O, what a world of beauty A loving heart might plan, If man but did his duty, And helped his brother man! Then angel guests would brighten And love divine enlighten The old forgotten springs. A LADY'S VALENTINE. The following was found in one of the streets of Boston, the sentiment of which is too good to be lost. I WOULD be thine! Ah! not to learn the anguish Of being first a deity enshrined, Then, when the fever-fit is passed, to languish, Stripped of each grace that fancy round me twined: Not such the lot I crave. I would be thine! Not in bright summer weather, But fear and tremble when the storm-clouds gather, I would be thine! To lose all selfish feeling In the sole thought of thee, far dearer one, I would be thine! When sickness doth oppress thee, With love's unwearied vigilance to watch; I would be thine ! When vexed by worldly crosses To cheer thee with affection's constant care, I would be thine! Gently and unrepining To bear with thee, when chafed and spirit-worn, I would be thine! My world in thee to centre, With all its hopes, cares, fears, and loving thought, I would be thine! Not passion's wild emotion To show thee, fitful as the changing wind, HOW MUCH THERE IS THAT'S BEAUTIFUL. How much there is that's beautiful There's beauty in the early morn, It dwells in quiet stillness where And wakes to awful grandeur 'neath The cataract's foaming tide ; O, there is beauty every where In this bright world of ours. |