a few friends is insufficient, when not followed But when at day-break summoned from his bed, Sung hymns to freedom and the rising morn. Compare Bloomfield's "Skylark" to Shelley's poem, and James Hogg's, also, on this fortunate bird of the poets; all are beautiful, in a different style. Shelley's lark is a winged spirit; Hogg's a mountain fairy; but Bloomfield's the sweet bird herself: - Music waking speaks the skylark nigh: Just starting from the corn she cheerly sings, And trusts with conscious pride her downy wings : Still louder breathes, and in the face of day Mounts up, and calls on Giles to mark her way. Close to his eyes his hat he instant bends, And forms a friendly telescope, that lends Just aid enough to dull the glaring light, And place the wandering bird before his sight: Yet oft beneath a cloud she sweeps along, Lost for awhile, yet pours her varied song. He views the spot, and as the cloud moves by, Again she stretches up the clear blue sky; Her form, her motion, undistinguished quite, Save when she wheels direct from shade to light. He sees her yet, but sinking to repose, Unwittingly his jaded eyelids close. Here is a description of a thunder-storm at night, which we think is almost unequalled : Still twilight, welcome! Rest, how sweet art thou! Feels, too, a joy relieve his aching breast, And this beautiful poetry was written in a shoemaker's garret! Such is the "Farmer's Boy." It is by far the finest effort of Bloomfield's muse; yet many of his songs, tales, and lyrical pieces are very charming; we give, as a specimen, an extract from one: A GOSSIP ON FLOWERS AND BIRDS. BY A. S. To those who have been born and bred in the country, whose knowledge of Nature has been made from actual observation, before bookknowledge had biased the mind to look for such and such results, it is curious what world within world lies around the familiar things that meet one in after-life, transplanted from their natural homes. The violets and primroses offered for sale in the crowded streets of London have a different and stranger language to such, than a Londoner can comprehend. They tell of the young moss and the banks of spring herbage-of the brooks that are sparkling through the thickets that have already taken courage to put forth their first young leaves. Often I have seen, a pale, haggard face pause and look wistfully at the basket of flowers, whose quiet, fading beauty seems so little in harmony with the busy street; it looks wistfully on my favourites, and seems to call upon a fellow-worshipper of their beauty, and perhaps of some sweet associations, to share the handful of blossoms our eager hands have seized and so I do; they belong to you, pale, careworn stranger, as well as to me, who never looked upon your face before. Who knows what holy thought lies sleeping which those wild flowers may awaken?-what frozen tears may fall, the hard, harsh voices around have long forbade to flow?-what breath of Childhood's purity may sweep over the tearless, prayerless heart? : I remember once a girl-in years—a faded, mournful face, with a child clinging to her neck, who paused beside me as I rescued some such firstlings of the year from the March dust. I thought she looked wistfully at the coppers I had placed in the hands of the little flowermerchant, and putting back part of my greedy store, I offered her the money still in my hand. "No, no-the flowers," she said, timidly advancing. "Better take the money, girl; what's the like o' you to do with flowers?" said a man, brushing by her roughly. of those around, why do we not oftener look for sad hearts and pale faces to share with us our spring flowers? is The voice of the thrush, in his wicker cage, another spell for me. Poor fellow! they have mocked him with a plot of turf two inches square; and there he strives madly for a glimpse of the blue sky, that he knows belongs in some way to the daisy roots on which he stands. Ten to one but his home is some close, dark court, or an area window: there he sings, louder, shriller than he would do in the free air. When the wild grief of the captive is poured forth more wildly than usual, those who have seldom or never listened to him in his native woods will say 'How sweet!" but those who have studied him from the first time he is seen to open his eager beak, in his strong, comfortable nest, until he takes his share of the strawberries and cherries in the golden summer, will pause and say, "How sad!" 66 Well! and if he does eat the strawberries! who shall forbid him? Not you, Mr. Lumley; you might be thankful if all songsters were as moderate. Before the foreign birds will sing, it will cost you half a plum! There is one sings all the season, and many seasons, through sun and shower, from dawn to night, never pleading sore throat or prior engagement, and all for a little summer fruit! Pray remember the poor prisoner! Reader, when the summer comes, and you miss the strawberries from the beds, and mark the mangled cherries on the tree, be not too severe on my poor favourite: the world is wide enough for all; let him share your fruit, and he shall share with you his song. In the garden of an ancient house that was once my home, a strange adoption took place; a thrush had built its nest in a large lilac tree that hung its thick blossoming branches over my window. Four speckled eggs were next seen-they were hatched; one day the parent birds were missing, A fierce expression passed over the face that we held a council as to the proceedings in such had been bent upon her breast, and as she raised a case, and began to prepare food for the forit I saw a tear had fallen upon her thin, faded saken brood. To the astonishment of all, a cheek. I divided with her my store: she did robin took the place of the lost parents, fed not speak loud enough for me to hear, but her them by day, kept them warm by night. Weeks smile was a shadow of something strangely passed-they were old enough to quit the nest, beautiful; it was wonder-almost love, and her and it was an interesting sight to watch the lips moved. Maybe the spring flowers knew robin teaching his young nurslings to fly and the pulse of my heart was beating warmer and feed themselves. They soon became far more swifter towards them-sweet, first friends of majestic in form than their foster parent, who childhood!--for I pressed them close to my listened when they first began their own wild breast; maybe the whisper of this poor wan-notes--so different from his own winter cavaderer had a blessing on its breath, for I seemed tina; and, strangely enough, they remained rich in some unknown wealth as I turned to my nearly as long again in the nest as the time they home. When such trifles make the happiness generally do. It often gave rise to conjectures, in my mind, if robin had been left guardian over these young thrushes; or by what misfortune could the mother of this promising family have been prevented from fulfilling the duties of her maternal character. She and her mate, perhaps, victims to a stray shot, little could she think that her treasures in the lilac bower would find another protector. And this is the robin, called a robber, and a quarrelsome, cruel bird; yet it was the robin who sang the requiem of the babes in the wood, and performed the rites of sepulture; and the same bird that watched over the forsaken thrushes in that cold spring of the year 1835. The robin is a household favourite, and mingled with sad memories in my heart. One winter the severity of the weather brought them to our windows, and even to our tables for the crumbs. Among them one was tamer than the rest, who nestled by the music books on the piano, and sang in rivalry of the fair small fingers that fell for the last time on those ivory keys. The cold, that drove the robins to our hearth, attracted one whose icy breath and hand stole joy from many a heart-comfort and happiness from many a roof. The instrument that had poured such sweet music, even to the last, upon our hearts, was silent; and the glorious eyes, that seemed to call forth love on all they looked on, were closed; and the birds came no more, until death came again to our hearth; and then, I know not how, but strange forebodings came upon my heart. I, who loved birds so well, could never feel one near me, that choking sobs did not stop my voice, and tears force themselves to my eyes; and yet, how I love them! When, joyous from their sports, the sportsmen have brought forth their game, and showed me the bright plumage, and strove to induce the timid child to touch the dead but beautiful creatures, the shriek of agony and pale trembling form have made the roughest pause, and hold me fondly and fearfully in his arms, with his rough face full of sorrow for the tear he had made flow. Once-only once-I knelt by the grave where they all rest. Above their resting-place a leafless tree spread its wild branches. I was pale enough then-sad enough then. The kind arms that had clasped me in their fond embrace will never clasp this poor, weak form again. I was alone; but above me a robin-the only occupant of that shadowed, silent resting-place-poured forth a song, such as I had listened to with them; and a memory awoke, at that dim grave, of the low, sweet voice that had mingled gentle teaching with the words of Him who careth for the flowers of the field and the birds of the air, and listeneth to the cry of the sorrowing soul, and knitteth the bonds of every fair living thing around it in the great chain that holds it to heaven. CREDULITY AND INCREDULITY; ок, A PAGE FROM THE WORLD OF PHANTOMS. BY THE HON. JULIA MAYNARD. A mulish and bull-headed Incredulity to proach of danger or of death! When we conevidences of the strongest character is certainly sider the perpetual jar and crash of antagonistic about as unreasonable and idiotic, as the weak-creeds and opinions, they would seem enough to est and most open-mouthed Credulity, if not more so. Disbelief in facts attested by those whose affirmations we have little cause to doubt, should make us consider, ere we dismiss the subject with a haughty "Stuff!" or a sneering "Who'd take that in?" and other such like choice expressions. The fact is, with regard to supernatural apparitions, we only think them marvels because we are not in the habit of encountering such visitations. The truth is, the whole world is a riddle and a wonder, that man's sense is not strong enough to grasp, so that Europeans would be as much alarmed and surprised at the appearance of a veritable ghost, as a savage red Indian would be on seeing, for the first time, an express train in motion. No one with three grains of common sense in his composition could imagine for a moment that all the silly superstitions attached to many daily occurrences have any real truth in them; but that there are often signs and warnings before the consummation of great and vital catastrophes I do think may be the case, How often has it happened that the black cloud of presentiment has darkened over the lightest heart on the ap raise the very dead out of their graves; and when we further think how the wishes of deceased persons are so frequently utterly disregarded and spurned at, and they but scarcely cold; when dearest plans, which lay so near in life to their yearning hearts, are frustrated and forbidden-then is it not a wonder that at these wrongs they do not start from their very tombs to protest against the offenders? And surely, if such offenders possessed but the average tenderness of heart of even a poor-law guardian, they might still occasionally be conscience-stricken at their own enormities. Is the disembodied spirit then so completely cut off from all communion with matter, and the spiritual world yet bound in fellowship with the material? Who can tell? In this in some respects cold, unfeeling, three-and-three-make-six sort of a world, whoever, I should like to know, troubles his head to consider? Down comes the black curtain of Death rolling over our senses and reason, and says, "Die, and find out!" There is no other road-no royal one-for inquisitive and crude ideas to stumble over. PASSAGES FROM THE GERMAN OF FREDERIKA BREMER, HAPPY CONSORTS. BY MRS. W. P. O'NEILL. At the approach of death many a countenance, which through life was cast down, becomes elevated, and blazes with wonderful brightup ness ere its light is extinguished for ever; many a chained tongue becomes loosed, and utters evangelical and glorious words. Many a breast breathes forth its love for the first time on the bed of death; all had been so still there, men deemed it a waste; but the deliverer approaches, and now the heavenly bird that sat there, dumb and imprisoned, is heard to sing. Ah, there are beings who first begin really to live on the bed of death. GRIEF. If a heart-oppressed with deep grief-breaks, if the canker in the wound which grief has made strikes root, and burns on to death, then let none of us say that the overburthened heart should not have broken; that the vigour could have been recalled; that the anguish ought to have been borne. No! we will cast no word of blame upon the fallen, who cannot raise themselves up until the resurrection beyond the grave! But beautiful, but strengthening and glorious, is the face of him who presents a courageous and patient breast to the poisoned arrows of life; who, without defiance and without weakness, fearlessly proceeds on his way; who suffers without complaining; who has been robbed of his dearest hope by fate, and yet spreads joy around him; who only lives to bless. Ah! how beautiful is the countenance of him who wears his crown of thorns, but glorifies in wearing it! MISUNDERSTANDINGS. "I gave thee life," says the father to the child; "I protected thy infancy; thou eatest my bread; thou art sheltered by my roof; I give thee the liberty and amusements suitable to thy years. Be thankful; obey my will; anticipate my wishes; live to give me pleasure." "Give me happiness,' answers the child; "give me the happiness that my heart requires, thee, but the life which thou gavest longs for else I cannot rejoice thee. I asked not life of back to thee thy first gift; it is a burthen!" happiness! If thou wilt not grant this, I cast And thus it stands with those unhappy perof each other, become from day to day more sons who, mutually complaining and requiring bitter. Grant, oh, God! that an explanatory word-a tone of love may dissolve this misunderstanding, one of the bitterest upon earth, and again knit heart to heart! INSANITY. The night of insanity has perhaps also its morning. MOONSHINE. There is moonshine even in human life; there is moonshine in the human heart. It comes sweetly after a disturbed and stormy day. It is a reconciliation between light and shade-a clear twilight, a silent sadness, a slumber of the feelings, a sorrow-but likewise a solace; then calm tears fall, sweet as the dew to burning plains. But oftentimes it is long before this tranquillity, this heavenly beam descends into the heart. SISTERS. I can conceive no lot more blest than that of two sisters, who proceed hand in hand through life; who awaken together to the enjoyment of it; who share each other's thoughts and feelings; who weep at the same grief, and partake of the same festival-be it a Midsummer banquet, or the Holy Supper. They stand side by side, like two young trees; each new spring, each new leaf entwines their branches more closely together. Happy beings! how fully they must be acquainted with each other! how well they must understand and be able to see into each other's breast, as in a clear mirror! Can existence ever become sad and gloomy to either of them? If one suffers, the other has the key to her heart; she can enter there, into that house of mourning; she knows every corner, and can open the closed up chambers to the beams of day. ABSURDITIES OF EXPRESSION. BY J. J. REYNOLDS. In a late number of this periodical we favoured | the reader with a few remarks on some extravagances of expression incidental to common parlance. It is our present intention to point out a few conversational absurdities; and our friends must not be surprised if among them we hold up to ridicule words and sentences frequently and generally employed by all, and which on utterance are no more considered peculiar or out of place than a shake of the hand at parting. Let it be distinctly understood that our aim is not so much to find fault as to shew what strange phrases long-established usage and universality of adoption have fixed at our tongues' ends. Here is one to commence with-"I dare say." "Do you expect Mr. will return home to-night?" says A. "He did not state positively that he would do so, but I dare say he will," replies B. -- Given the above question and answer: wanted the amount of daring required by B. to make such a reply. He dares say; in other words, he has the moral courage to state, on his own individual responsibility. Truly, how often is this kind of daring exercised? I dare say, or more commonly, “I des'say," is in every one's mouth, but nobody reflects what an uncalled for avowal he is making. "Have you written to your friend, as you intended the other day?" asks C. "No, I really have not," answers D; "but I've a great mind to do so now." Important announcement! D informs us above that he is possessed of a mind noble and enlarged enough to do what the poorest capacities are capable of doing. Thousands of us have the greatest minds under similar trivial circumstances, and perchance very little ones in affairs of importance. And now, worthy Reader, do not drop the New Monthly Belle Assemblée for March, 1848, in utter astonishment, when we introduce another absurdity of expression in these three little words, so extensively employed, to omit which is an undoubted mark of ill-breeding and want of courtesy-" if you please.” "Allow me to assist you to a little turkey," observes E to his intimate friend F, whom he has invited to take a family dinner with him. F, who always sits down to table with a remarkably keen appetite, replies, "I'll trouble you-if you please." Thoughtless man! sharp set as he is, he actually throws himself on the pleasure of his friend whether he shall have any dinner or not. "Pshaw!" cries the reader; " F only replied as common politeness dictated." Granted, say we; for him to have said, "Yes, I'll take some," would have been particularly rude." Bear in mind that we are merely setting forth the literal signification of the words employed. How numerous are the occasions in which all of us, in matters of the deepest self-interest, are thus contented-or rather express ourselves contented-to abide by the will of another. In epistolary correspondence what a host of absurdities society is guilty of under the guise of "My dear," "Yours very obediently," "Your obedient servant," "Yours most truly," &c., &c., &c. Many a lawyer, in dunning for a debt, signs himself "Yours very obediently,' Truly his obedience is great when the debtor solicits a week's grace, instead of granting it, to commence immediate legal proceedings. Many a gentleman, at daggers drawn with a relation, signs himself "Faithfully yours." Faithful in what way? do we ask. Not in affectionate brotherhood? No, but in a deep-rooted and longcherished enmity. A most pure Christian faith indeed! Many a lordling replies to the petition of some low-born correspondent, as his "Very humble servant to command," and at the same time refuses his solicitations. Many a successful supplicant signs himself to his patron as "Yours truly obliged," or "Your ever indebted," where the obligation is either not felt or so feebly impressed as to be quickly effaced. “Oh, yes, but " Pardon the interruption. We know what you were about to observe, namely, that all these appendages are such as no one may consistently dispense with. Must we then again remind you that the purport of these remarks is not to throw blame anywhere? Who has not seen, at the commencement of a newspaper paragraph, or elsewhere, some such sentence as the following:-"The real facts of the case are these"? Now if the dictionaries, from Johnson's noble tome to Maunder's compact Treasury, are to be relied on, the word "fact" means 66 a thing actually done," a reality. Hence then, we have above the ridiculous expression, "real realities." Is not this near akin to saying, "whole total, or most perfect"? And yet, while we should smile if either of these phrases were made use of, we allow the real fact to pass unobserved and unobjected to. Another common inconsistency is the expression, "You know." Many people will introduce a round half-dozen of "you knows," in relating something which perchance their hearers have never heard before, and consequently cannot know. Behold a specimen :-" Well, you know, as I was saying, I shall in the first place go down to Brighton; and then, you know, if I find myself unable to carry out my plan there, I can easily try elsewhere, you know. But, you know, it will not do for me to be wandering N |