ANTICIPATION.

BY MRS. EMBURY.

WE'LL have a cot

Upon the banks of some meandering stream,
Whose ripple, like the murmur of a dream,
Shall be our music; roses there shall twine
Around the casement, with the jessamine,
Whose starry blossoms shine out from beneath
Their veiling leaves, like hope, and whose faint
breath

Is sweet as memory's perfume. All the flowers
That nature in her richest bounty showers,
Shall deck our home; fresh violets that, like light
And love and hope, dwell everywhere; the bright
And fragrant honeysuckle; while our feet

Shall press the daisy's bloom. Oh! 't will be

sweet

To sit within the porch at even tide

And drink the breath of Heaven at thy dear side.

LABOR.

BY THE AUTHOR OF THE POET'S OFFERING.

SCORN thou not the hands of labor,
Brawny arms have golden hearts ;
Labor wins the prize of beauty,

Labor health and strength imparts.

Labor is the key that opens

Avenues to wealth and fame;
Labor need not blush, though lowly,
For to labor brings not shame.

Labor builds the peasant's cottage,
Labor rears the palace gate;
Labor makes the rich more noble,
And the noble ones more great.

Work, and thou shalt be a brother
To the only royal line ;*

Work, and thou shalt clothe another—

Labor makes the soul to shine.

Laborare est orare―

So the ancient monk declares

Laborare est orare,

Echoes from the silent stars.

*The aristocracy of labor.

Industry is life and worship,
Idleness is guilt and sin;

Work, and thou shalt feel the presence
Of the present God, within.

Labor is the throne of Genius,
Holiest of holy things;
Greatest profit, greatest pleasure,
Labor to the laborer brings.

Ye whom, born to wealth and titles,
Sloth and luxury enthrall;

Labor, and ye shall inherit

Blessings that surpass them all.
15*

THE BRIGHTON COACH.

BY THEODORE HOOK.

A friend, on whose veracity I can perfectly rely, told me the following story; whether a repetition of it may interest a reader, I cannot say ; but I will hazard the experiment.

I WAS once (said my friend) placed in a situation of peculiar embarrassment; the event made a strong impression on me at the time-an impression, indeed, which has lasted ever since.

Those who know as well as I do, and have known as long as I have known, that once muddy, shabby, dirty, fishing-town on the Sussex coast, which has grown, under the smiles and patronage of our late beloved king, into splendor and opulence, called Brighton, will be aware that there run to it and from it, divers and sundry most admirable public conveyances in the shape of stage coaches; that the rapid improvements in that sort of travelling have, during late years, interfered with, and greatly injured the trade of posting; and that people of the first respectability think it no shame to pack themselves up in a Brighton coach, and step out of it at Charing-cross exactly five hours after they have stepped into it, in Castle-square.

The gallant gay Stevenson, with his prancing greys under perfect command, used to attract a crowd to see him start; and now, although he, poor fellow, is gone that journey whence no traveller returns, Goodman still survives, and the "Times" still flourishes; in that, is the principal scene of my embarrassment laid; and to that admirable, neat, and expeditious equipage must I endeavor to attract your attention for some ten minutes.

It was one day in the autumn of 1829, just as the Pavilion clock was striking three, that I stepped into Mr. Goodman's coach. In it, I found already a thin stripling enveloped in a fur pelisse, the only distinguishing mark of whose sex was a tuft of mustachio on his upper lip. He wore a travelling-cap on his head, girt with a golden band, and eyed me and his other fellow-traveller as though we had been of a different race of beings from himself.

That other fellow-traveller I took to be a small attorney. He was habited in a drab great coat, which matched his round, fat face in color; his hair, too, was drab and his hat was drab; his features were those of a young pig; and his recreation through the day was sucking barleysugar, to which he perpetually kept helping himself from a neat, white paper parcel of the luscious commodity, which he had placed in the pocket of the coach window.