SISTER, SINCE I MET THEE LAST.

SISTER, Since I met thee last,
O'er thy brow a change hath passed:
In the softness of thine eyes,
Deep and still, a shadow lies;
From thy voice there thrills a tone
Never to thy childhood known;
Through thy soul a storm hath moved:
Gentle sister, thou hast loved!

Yes, thy varying cheek hath caught
Hues too bright from troubled thought;
Far along the wandering stream,
Thou art followed by a dream;
In the woods and valleys lone
Music haunts thee not thine own;
Wherefore fall thy tears like rain?
Sister, thou hast loved in vain !

Tell me not the tale, my flower;
On my bosom pour that shower!
Tell me not of kind thoughts wasted;
Tell me not of young hopes blasted;
Wring not forth one burning word;
Let thy heart no more be stirred:
Home alone can give thee rest;
Weep, sweet sister, on my breast!

TO LUCRETIA.

I'm sitting by thy side,

Within the old arm-chair; The cushion 's soft and wide, The back is high and square, 'Tis like an old French chaise, With room for only two,A thing of other days,

When rocking-chairs were few.

The paint is fading fast,

The arms are smooth as horn,

The cushion, too, at last,

Is sadly soiled and worn;

Its limbs are failing, too,

It totters now and then; Alack! arm-chairs, 'tis true, Decline as well as men.

When first thou wert my bride,
Near forty years ago,
We sat thus side by side,
Just as to-night we do;

And thou wert young and fair,

Thy brow was white as snow, And look at my gray hair,

'Twas blacker, then, you know.

Thou 'st been a noble wife,
Hast done thy duty well,
And both have passed through life,
In peace no words can tell;
And now we're growing old,
Approaching fast to death-
But does thy love grow cold,
Like autumn's chilling breath?

I read it in thine eyes,
I feel it in thy hand,

I hear it in thy sighs,

Thy love with time shall stand.
We'll soon depart from earth,
For mansions in the skies,
And there they'll know thy worth,
For angels all are wise.

WOMAN.

I BELIEVE

That woman, in her deepest degradation,
Holds something sacred, something undefiled,
Some pledge and keepsake of her higher nature,
And, like the diamond in the dark, retains
Some quenchless gleam of the celestial light.

MAN AND WOMAN.

WE have heard much said in our time upon the relative position of the two sexes, have listened to discussions in debating societies upon this interesting theme, and have read a few pamphlets, not to say volumes, upon the subject, and therefore ought to have a pretty good knowledge of all that has been said, and all that is possible to say upon the question, and the best kind of a right to settle it beyond all further controversy or appeal.

And in the first place we would say, that the question as to superiority between the sexes can never be decided either way, for the simple reason that each is inferior and each superior, in some qualities, to the other. As it is said of two orders of heavenly beings, "The cherubim know most, the seraphim love most," so would we say that the man knows most, the woman loves most. And it were as rash to say that either man or woman was the superior being, as to place cherub above seraph or seraph above cherub.

The truth is, that in the beautiful order of nature, the man and woman together make the perfect man.

Thus they were created, as the Scripture saith: "So God created man in his own image; in the image of God created he him; male and female created he them." Every thing in this earth is disjointed and imperfect even the planets can only attain their grand circular marches, not from one steady impulse, but from the union of two different forces. It is so with every thing in this world. Nothing is perfect, whole, and circular; all is imperfect, halved, and unfinished. And because this is so, is it that the most perfect happiness results from the union of two congenial minds. And they are congenial, not so much because they resemble one another, in one sense, but because they join and fit into one another, as it were, and tend to make up the perfect soul.

But there are some women that will not be satisfied with any thing less than an entire equality, or rather similarity, with men. These, however, are very few, and they have generally blundered into such demands from a consciousness of violated rights, not seeing exactly what those rights were. We do not believe that women will ever equal men in certain departments of literature, neither do we believe that men will ever equal women in certain other.

Each have their appropriate walk, and a masculine woman is as much out of the beautiful order of nature, as an effeminate man. What is natural is ever lovely and beautiful to the soul, but what is