Better was it for her, that she should go in this blessed ignorance, than that knowing the truth she should have fallen into hopeless stupor, fatal to herself and to her son. For in the strange new land, with such calls upon her for firmness and with none to delegate her mother's duty to, she will find within herself a strength she else would never know. Near to this woman so strong in her love and hope, stood a couple of men, whose looks and dress, and whole appearance, shewed them to be in almost the last stage of want and beggary. They seemed as though they had resigned their part in the struggle of life, and were determined only to pick up what the waves of fortune might wash ashore for them, without effort of their own. For a minute or two, they looked towards the coming boat, but whispering to each other of the uncertainty of what would come of the voyage, of the perils of the way, and the uselessness of exertion, they turned their faces inward and left the shore. Two men and two women, who were talking earnestly together, would have attracted more of my attention, but that it was drawn towards one solitary man standing upon the very verge of the water. He evidently belonged to the higher ranks of society, and his figure, though slightly bent, was still noble, and when I caught a sight of his face, it revealed an expression so sad and yet so kind, so full of noble feeling and evidence of manly bearing of sorrow, as to claim attention and regard. As I first saw him, he was looking with earnest and abstracted gaze across the waters, as though his spirit could see the land that lay so far from him, and where those whom he had loved best dwelt. In his hand he held two letters, one was from those friends across the sea, telling him of the home which they had built up, and which only wanted his presence to be complete; it spoke of house and land, of happy children, and calm peaceful days, and wooed him there to come and be at rest. And what said the other letter, it was from one of many whom in this time of trouble he had helped, blessing him for what he had done, and bearing a humble intimation of others in even worse distress than he had helped them in, and they knew it would not be in vain, for he was one who would not take the pleasures and enjoyments of high station, and neglect its duties, and they who in their health and strength administered to him, he would aid in their distress. So bound by the solemn ties of duty, he lived a lonely, isolated man,--for his fortunes were not as they had been; while he had sufficient to enable him to follow to a great extent his charitable wishes, he still could not main tain the same position and expenses to which he had been used. So while those who truly loved him had been forced to seek themselves a home in another land, many of his mere acquaintance had fallen away from him, and he was left much to himself and his own resources. And what thoughts crossed him as he stood by the sea side there alone, and looked upon the ship which might bear him where he would find happiness and peace. Not once did he think to desert what he considered to be his bounden duty. But if for one moment in the heavy thoughts that pressed upon him, he looking upward longed for the moment that should set him free at once from life and all its trials, weaknesses and doubts, its heartbitterness and self-despondencies, who shall judge him! Who has not at some time in his life, when surrounded by the littlenesses of of every day life, eating into the heart as doth a canker, looked across the solemn path of duty and of right, and almost doubted of the possibility of living a noble and devout life; who in such a time, much less in the time of great and heavy trouble, has not wished that the end might come if it were only to save the danger of a future and lower fall. Nay, did not He, up to whom we look as the ideal of humanity, pray in one bitter moment that the cup might pass. Such moments come to the strongest, and teach to all who are teachable, humility and patience. Such thoughts, if they crossed the mind of him whom I was watching, stayed but a little time for turning towards those who stood preparing to depart, he bade each farewell. There was not one there who had not known his kindness, and not one who did not deeply feel it. And as he pressed the hand of each, and spoke some few words of advice and support, all hung listfully upon his accents, and stored them in their heart; and each seemed strengthened even by the very contact with him. Truly there are men whose very presence makes others feel bolder and better, whose words inspire men to energy, whose praise is enough reward for toil and effort. Noble men be they, who working manfully at their own life-task, however hard it is, can still find time to look up therefrom, and lend a word, or it may be a hand, to cheer or aid their fellows. And when to such true souls, as will happen, there come great work and great joys, there also come great sorrows, beneath which lesser minds must sink; may the blessings of those whom they have helped send sweet moon-rays of comfort to their soul if for a time their own bright sun be hid. But while I watched, the boat had reached the shore, the hopeful had taken their way towards the untried new world they sought, the wavering and cowardly slunk back to perish in the wretchedness they would not escape from; and the man who had formed to me the chief feature in the scene, he also slowly and thoughtfully turned his step towards his home, to toil earnestly on the shore of life until should come the summons to the unknown land which lies across the great dark sea of Death. THE DEE REVISITED. O GENTLE river, sacred stream! The surring trees bent over thee, No wonder thou wert sacred deemed, And worshipped, simple-hearted; And many are the ancient songs, In praise of thee, thou lovely stream, And well art thou, beloved Dee, Few rivers in this honoured land, And now, reposing on thy banks, I feel thy scenes are haunted By all the spirits, who of old Thy praise in song have chaunted; A pure and holy river, And with thy music blends my voice, As song hath blended ever. JOHN ALFRED LANGFORD. APRIL. BY SHAGGYQUILL. "March winds-April showers WE are stepping lightly into the Rainbow-month, into the teeming month of the woods and the fields, into the ever varying April. SUMMER, as it would seem, holds up in his right hand a golden goblet, over-brimming with the rich food of molten sunlight; and the months are standing on either side, with their eyes upturned to him. He whirls the vessel above his head, and as he sprinkles the beaming liquor over that admiring crowd, even as a priest sprinkles the consecrated water, this APRIL, though standing far from the throne, catches oftentimes a many straggling drops upon her brow, and on her garments. Again we may say— SUMMER is the sun beyond the mountains yonder in its lurid glory. APRIL is this little cloud above our heads, catching up on its edges a faint tinge of the distant light! APRIL is the year in its hours of maidenhood, clad in raiment the most chaste in colour and delicate in texture, in a virgin-dress of Spring-flowers. SUMMER is the year in its full passionate prime, clothed in garments of bright yellow. The poets, from "The Father of English Poetry," who sang from under his monkish hood of down to him who bears the laurel in our own day, have had somewhat to tell of this April: and perhaps it may be that this season of sudden transitions, of golden gleamings with little stability, has much in kindred with the poetic temperament itself the varying sky to the varying mind, "One foot in sea, and one on sand, To one thing constant never." Not only in the inner man, but in outer circumstances of the poet does the simile hold good. Glance along the file of our poetteachers, pass in review the glittering column of glorious spirits who have gladdened our earth, think again over their history and thou wilt soon be informed how the sudden flittings of light across darkness, the instantaneous shadowings of light, the drying tears in smiles, and the melting of smiles into tears, are as incidental to those histories as to the heaven of an April day. The face of an infant, one moment in tears, and the next in a tiny grin, has long been a stock figure of speech for this season: but it lacks something-it lacks sentiment? A baby is but a superfices, a shadow of the image divine, and not, (as the lady-writers love to call it,) an "epitome;" it is a sucking, "mewling and puking" animal-utterly incapable and void of sentiment, whilst on the other hand bud and every young leaf of an April morn is charged with it even unto overflowing. every No-the April season of our life is that when the imagination is full and powerful, and the judgment not yet formed, and faintly struggling for a seat on the throne-the hour when we totter between youth and manhood-the season of ungoverned passions and of insane ambition-the season of delirious excitement and bitter tears for follies and crimes: tears the bitterer because they are again dried in a second whirl of uncontrouled passion. This is the April of our life, and the tears shed then are like the soft April tears of the heaven-they speed forth the flowers of our after-life, they speed on the fruits which are to gladden our golden Autumn. Oh! rejoice that such a time is! for the April of life is as glorious a boon to our souls as the April of the year to our senses. As there is a notion of the open-aired, Arcadian, green-leafed, and blue-skied enjoyment conveyed to us even in the very name of June, "Joyous, noisy, gypsey June," so April speaks to us in a gentler voice, of gentler pleasures-of thoughtful loungings in forest avenues, over-arched with a delicate and half-transparent green, of long, loving loiterings of trusting hearts, begun ere the sun has laid him down, and prolonged in the moonlight, for "Venus loves the whispers Of plighted youth and maid, Beneath the chestnut shade.' April cometh singing to open the Spring, and the Spring, we know, is the patron season of Gardeners and-Lovers. In the SPRING the market gardeners begin to feel anxious about their vegetables. In the SPRING the seedsmen and horticulturists are counting their chances as prize-men in the coming exhibitions. In the SPRING blacklegs lay their heads, and plot and plot and plot for the handicap of Summer. In the SPRING -the wanton lapwing gets himself another crest, In the spring a fuller crimson comes upon the burnished dove, |