FUNERAL AT SEA.
"Yesterday we were informed that a child had died in
the strip. To-day I read the English burial service, and
committed the body to the mighty deep, until the day when
the grave and sea shall give up their dead. The mother lay
in tears in her berth-the father could scarce repress his
anguish—and I felt the agony of their grief, as I pronounced
the solemn words which accompanied the body into the
pathless deep."-Journ. of the late Rev. H. B. McLellen.

The deep sea took the dead. It was a babe,
Like sculptured marble, pure and beautiful,
That, lonely to its yawning gulphs went down.
-Poor cradled nursling-no fond arm was there
To wrap thee in its fold;-no lullaby
Came from the green sea-monster, as he laid
His shapeless head thy polish'd brow beside,
One moment wondering at the beauteous spoil
On which he fed. Old ocean heeded not
This added unit to his myriad dead.

But in the bosom of the tossing ship

Rose up a burst of anguish, wild and loud,

From the vex'd fountain of a mother's love.

-The lost! The lost!-oft shall her startled dream

Catch the drear echo of the sullen plunge

That 'whelm'd the uncoffin'd body-oft her eye

with pride, all the pomp of its colors, ignorant
of the short duration of its frail existence.
Every where the ground was enamelled with
flowers, the concaves of which glistening with
dew presented so many cups full of precious
liquid. The sweet-briar seemed to have turn-
ed its thorns against itself, and, from the trem-
bling of its foliage, one might think the willow
feared for its life.-The narcissus, reclining
its head, dropped chrystal tears; and the tulip,
placed beneath the rose, received in its beau-
teous chalice the precious rubies which distil-
led from the perfumed bosom of the super-in-
cumbent tree. But, alas! the duration of the
one is but an instant, and the other is old before
the end of the day.

Happy flowers! the period of their existence
is determined by the setting sun, and they
bloom, without anxiety for the moment that is
to succeed. The philosopher, having retired
with regret from the delicious place, had occa-
sion to return a few months after. Alas! how
changed! Instead of the rose-instead of the

Strain wide through midnight's long, unslumbering watch, nightingale, which lately joined to embellish

Remembering how his soft, sweet breathing seem'd

Like measured music in a lilly's cup,

And how his tiny shout of rapture; swell'd
When closer to her bosom's core she drew

His eager lip.

Who thus with folded arms,
And head reclined doth seem to count the waves,
And yet to heed them not? The sorrowing sire
Doth mark the last, faint ripple, where his child
Sank down into the waters. Busy thought
Turns to his far home, and those little ones,
Whom sporting 'mid their favorite lawn he left,
And troubled fancy shows the weeping there,
When he shall seat them once more on his knee,
And tell them how the baby that they loved
Hid its pale cheek within its mother's breast,
And pined away and died-yet found no grave
Beneath the church-yard turf, where they might plant
The lowly mound with flowers.

What lifts the heart

Up from its bitter sadness? Hark—His voice
That o'er the thundering wave doth pour sublime
Such words, as arch the darkest storm of life

With faith's perennial bow.

Thou, who dost speak

Of His eternal majesty, who bids

Both earth and sea to render up their dead,
Know'st thou how soon thy tomb shall drink the tears
Of mourning kindred? Thou, who thus doth stand
Serene in youthful beauty, to yield back

What God hath claim'd,-know'st thou how full the tide
Of sympathy, that now thy bosom thrills
For strangers,-in thine own paternal halls
Shall flow for thee?

And if thou couldst, the flush
Would not have faded on thy glowing cheek,-
For thou hadst made the countenance of death
Familiar as a friend, through flim who pluck'd
The terror from his frown, and from his sting
The venom. At thine early tomb we bend,
Taking that deep monition to our souls,
Which through embowering verdure seems to sigh
On every breeze-how frail is earth's best hope,
And how immortal that, which roots in heaven.
Hartford, Conn., Aug. 1533

this happy spot, the ear was struck with the
piercing cries of the kite, and the mournful
croaking of the frog. The smiling verdure of
the shrubbery was changed into grayish gloom,
and the once charming clusters of roses, pre-
sented nothing but masses of pointed thorns.
He cast a look of regret on the place which
had so lately enchanted him, and was unable
to refrain from tears, as he meditated upon the
short duration of existence.

'We have only a few moments to live!' ex-
claimed helet us, then, endeavor to take
advantage of them all to insure happiness; to
effect which, there is only one mode-by con-
secrating them to virtue !'

TASTE is the sensibility of our nature to the various forms of beauty which the Creator hath spread with such profusion around us. He who made the mind for beauty, also made beauty for the mind. He hath pencilled it upon the spangled meadow and on the burnished cloud. He hath chiseled it in the gigantie majesty of the cedar of Lebanon and in the trembling loveliness of the tendril that twines around its branches. In obedience to its laws, He hath taught the linnet to flutter in the grove, and the planets to revolve in their pathway through the heavens. We hear it in the purling brook, and in the thundering cataract, and we perceive it yet more legibly inscribed on all those social and moral qualities in the exercise of which our Maker hath intended that we should be for ever approaching nearer THE PHILOSOPHER AND THE GARDEN. and nearer to the exhaustless Source of uncreA Translation from the Fersian of Nisami. ated excellence. These are the models which AN Indian philosopher, who travelled like a nature presents for the contemplation of the sage (that is, on foot) to study Nature, chanced artist; and just in proportion to his power of one day to enter a garden. He reposed with detecting among her complicated forms, the delight in this place, which belonged to a simple elements of loveliness, and of combinmagnificent palace, and trode with transport ing them according to the examples which she the precious tapestry with which the ground herself has set before him, will he fill the was adorned. There the tender button of the vacant canvass with images of beauty, and opening rose began to expand itself, imitating animate the dull, cold marble with breathing in its numerous folds the brilliant knot of a intelligence. It is this communion with Narich purple cestus. There the tulip unfolded, | ture, which endows the artist with what Lord

L. H. S.

SOFT are the fruitful things that bring
The welcome promise of the spring,
And soft the vernal gaïe;
Sweet the wild warblings of the grove,
The voice of nature and of love,

That gladdens every vale.
But softer in the mourner's ear
Sounds the mild voice of mercy near,
That whispers sins forgiven;
And sweeter far the music swells
When to the raptured soul she tells
Of peace and promised heaven.
Fair are the flowers that deck the ground,
And groves and gardens bloom around,
Unnumber'd charms unfold;
Bright is the sun's meridian ray,
And bright the beams of setting day,
That robes the clouds in gold.
But far more fair the pious breast,
In richer robes of goodness drest,

Where heaven's own graces shine
And brighter far the prospects rise,
That burst on faith's delighted eyes

From glories all divine.
All earthly charms, however dear,
Howe'er they please the eye or ear,
Will quickly fade and fly;
Of earthly glory faint the blaze,
And soon the transitory rays

In endless darkness die.
The nobler beauties of the just,
Shall never moulder in the dust,
Or know a sad decay;
Their honors, time and death defy,
And round the throne of Heaven on high,
Beam everlasting day.

WE were surrounded by a large flock of sheep, which were leaving their fold to go to their pasture; one of our party took his flute out of his pocket, and saying "I am going to turn to Corydon, let us see whether the sheep will recognise their pastor," began to play. The sheep and goats, which were following each other towards the mountain with their heads hanging down, raised them at the first sound of the flute; and all with a general and hasty movement, turned to the side from whence the agreeable noise proceeded. Gradually they flocked round the musician, and listened with motionless attention. He ceased playing; still the sheep did not stir. The shepherd with his staff obliged those, nearest to him to move on. They obeyed; but no sooner did the fluter begin again to play, than his innocent auditors returned to him. The shepherd, out of patience, pelted them with clods of earth, but not one of them would move. The fluter played with additional skill; the shepherd exasperated, whistled, uttered many oaths, and pelted the fleecy amateurs with stones. Such as were hit by them began to march, but others still refused to stir. At last the shepherd was obliged to entreat our Orpheus to cease his magical sounds. The sheep then moved off; but continued to stop at a distance as often as our friend resumed his instrument.-Bombet's Life of Haydn.

NEW YORK, OCTOBER 1, 1835.

The sleeping is here the object of the inquiry. ing portion of Elocution, we would observe,
This fact is demonstrated by the reply: