ART.

CHARLES SPRAGUE.

When, from the sacred garden driven,

Man fled before his Maker's wrath, An angel left her place in heaven,

And crossed the wanderer's sunless path. 'Twas Art! sweet Art! new radiance broke Where her light foot flew o'er the ground, And thus, with seraph voice, she spoke :

The curse a blessing shall be found!"

She led him through the trackless wild,
Where noontide sunbeam never blazed
The thistle shrunk, the harvest smiled,
And Nature gladdened as she gazed.
Earth's thousand.tribes of living things,
At Art's command, to him are given ;
The village grows, the city springs,
And point their spires of faith to heaven.

He rends the oak, and bids it ride,

To guard the shores its beauty graced ; He smites the rock,-upheaved in pride, See towers of strength and domes of taste. Earth's teeming caves their wealth reveal, Fire bears his banner on the wave, He bids the mortal poison heal,

And leaps triumphant o'er the grave.

He plucks the pearls that stud the deep,
Admiring Beauty's lap to fill ;
He breaks the stubborn marble's sleep,
And mocks his own Creator's skill.
With thoughts that swell his glowing soul,
He bids the ore illume the page,
And, proudly scorning Time's control,
Commerces with an unborn age.

In fields of air he writes his name,

And treads the chambers of the sky;
He reads the stars, and grasps the flame
That quivers round the throne on high.
In war renowned, in peace sublime,
He moves in greatness and in grace;
His power, subduing space and time,
Links realm to realm, and race to race.

THE VAUDOIS PEDDLER.

'Oh, lady fair, these silks of mine Are beautiful and rare

The richest web of the Indian loom,

Which beauty's self might wear :—

And those pearls are pure as thy own fair neck,
With whose radiant light they vie :—

I have brought them with me a weary way;
Will my gentle lady buy?"

And the lady smiled on the worn old man
Through the dark and clustering curls
Which veiled her brow, as she bent to view
His silks and glistening pearls ;

And she placed their price in the old man's hand,

And lightly turned away;—

But she paused at the wanderer's earnest call,

"My gentle lady, stay!

Oh, lady fair, I have yet a gem,

Which purer lustre flings

Than the diamond-flash of the jewelled crown

On the lofty brow of kings;

A wonderful pearl of exceeding price,
Whose virtue shall not decay;
Whose light shall be a spell to thee,

And a blessing on the way!"

The lady glanced at the mirroring steel

Where her form of grace was seen,

Where her eyes shone clear and her dark locks wav'd

Their clasping pearls between ;

"Bringing forth thy pearl of exceeding worth,

Thou traveller gray and old;

And name the price of thy precious gem,
And my pages shall count thy gold."

The cloud went off from the pilgrim's brow,
As a small and meagre book,
Unchased with gold or diamond gem,

From his folding robe he took ;
"Here, lady fair, is the pearl of price-
May it prove as such to thee;
Nay-keep thy gold-I ask it not,
For the Word of God is free!"

The hoary traveller went his way;
But the gift he left behind
Performed its pure and perfect work

On that high-born maiden's mind;
And she hath turned from the pride of sin
To the lowliness of truth,

And given her human heart to God
In its beautiful hour of youth.

And she hath left the gray old halls,
Where an evil faith had power,

The courtly knights of her father's train,
And the maidens of her bower;

And she hath gone to the Vaudois vales,

By lordly feet untrod,

Where the poor and needy of the earth are rich
In the perfect love of God.

LIEUTENANT LUFF.

THOMAS HOOD.

All you that are too fond of wine,
Or any other stuff,

Take warning by the dismal fate
Of one Lieutenant Luff.

A sober man he might have been
Except in one regard―

He did not like soft water,

So he took to drinking hard.

Said he, "Let others fancy slops,
And talk in praise of tea,
But I am no Bohemian,

So do not like Bohea.

If wine's a poison, so is tea,
Though in another shape;
What matter whether one is killed
By canister or grape?"

According to this kind of taste

Did he indulge his drouth, And being fond of port, he made A port-hole of his mouth! A single pint he might have sipped And not been out of sorts:

In geologic phrase, the rock

He split upon was quartz!

To"hold the mirror up to vice'
With him was hard, alas!
The worse for wine he often was,
But not " before a glass."

No kind and prudent friend he had
To bid him drink no more;
The only chequers in his course
Were at the tavern door

Full soon the sad effects of this

His frame began to show, For that old enemy the gout

Had taken him in toe!

And joined with this an evil came

Of quite another sort,

For while he drank himself, his purse Was getting "something short.

For want of cash he soon had pawned
One-half that he possessed;
And drinking showed him duplicates
Beforehand of the rest.

So now his creditors resolved

To seize on his assets,

For why, they found that his half-pay Did not half pay his debts.

But Luff contrived a novel mode

His creditors to chouse,

For his own execution he

Put into his own house!
A pistol to the muzzle charged,
He took devoid of fear;
Said he, "this barrel is my last,
So now for my last bier."

Against his lungs he aimed the slugs,
And not against his brain;

So he blew out his lights, and none
Could blow them in again!

A jury for a verdict met,

And gave it in these terms: "We find as how as certain slugs

Has sent him to the worms."