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of a hundred pupils of the Hartford Asylum are married, the greater part among themselves, though a few have partners who can hear and speak. The fear which we might naturally entertain with respect to their offspring, has been, by a gracious Providence, disappointed. “With a few exceptions, they are blessed with children enjoying all their faculties, which will be a great consolation to them in old age.” The men are freemen, and have votes.

The reader may now be better prepared, as I am, to enter into the sentiment of the American poetess, when with her usual feeling and delicacy she describes


“No word ! no sound! But yet a solemn rite

Is consummated in yon festive hall.
Hearts are in treaty, and the soul doth take
That oath which, unabsolved, must stand till death,
With icy seal, doth stamp the scroll of life.
No word ! no sound! But still a holy man,
With strong and graceful gesture, doth impose
The irrevocable vow, and with meek prayer
Present it to be registered in heaven.
Methinks the silence heavily doth brood
Upon the spirit. Say, thou flower-crown'd bride,
What means the sigh which from that ruby lip
Doth 'scape, as if to seek some element
Which angels breathe?

“ Mute-mute-'tis passing strange
Like necromancy all-and yet, 'tis well ;
For the deep trust with which a maiden casts
Her all of earth, perchance her all of heaven,
Into a mortal's hand-the confidence
With which she turns in every thought to him
Her more than brother, and next to her God,
Hath never yet been shadow'd forth in sound,
Or told in language.

“So, ye voiceless pair,
Pass on in hope. For ye may build as firm
Your silent altar in each other's hearts,
And catch the sunshine through the clouds of time,
As cheerily as though the pomp of speech
Did herald forth the deed. And when you dwell
Where flowers fade not, and death no treasured link
Hath power to sever more, ye need not mourn
The ear sequestrate, and the tuneless tongue,
For there the eternal dialect of love
Is the free breath of every happy soul.”

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It is of great value to the subjects of instruction, that what they are taught of Christianity is in general sound and heartfelt ; and very touching to observe that the prominent felicity of heaven dwelt on by the pupils in letters and compositions is, that their ears shall be there unstopped, and their tongues loosed.

* Poetical Works, p. 257.



“Yes, there are some who sorrow's vigils keep,

Unknown who languish, undistinguish'd weep."

THERE is poverty everywhere in the world. In the United States there is enough of it, but it is emigrant poverty, or poverty among the depressed coloured race. One heard marvels about the comfortable condition of the native people. In one small town in New England, a society of ladies, who met for devotional purposes, agreed to form a fund for the help of the poor. Having raised their means, they began to look about for their objects, but they were nowhere to be found, or only found in the persons of one coloured family. After the humane ladies had new-rigged all the children, and got them roused and sent to school, they added various comforts in the way of furniture, then they sent one man to repair the dripping roof, another to fill up the boards in the broken floor, and—their work was done! They were obliged to turn the flow of their contributions into the wide bed of the Home Mission,

for they had no poor The gentleman who told me this was personally cognizant of it. It seems to realise the saying I have heard in my childhood, that there is but one beggar in America, and he rides on horseback. That New England village must have been happy in the absence of inebriates, “ of gin palaces,” and intoxicating drinks,. for, where they are found, it is in vain that industry plies her diligence and the earth pours forth her stores—there will be poverty, misery, wickedness, and degradation in their vicinity. I had sometimes wished to see some native poor besides those to be found so comfortably provided for in the institutions, and at last I was gratified. It seems almost necessary to premise, that our visit to widow R. was entirely unpremeditated on our part, and unexpected on hers, otherwise an incident or two which occurred might wear the air of acting in the poor woman, when it was not so. She was lonely, borne down with grief, and nearly blinded by tears with which no one sympathised. We found, in a neat, orderly room, a tall, wasted figure beside a very small table, on which lay ink and paper, and two or three bright little books, very like school prizes. She was dressed in rusty black, with a cap, whose former pretensions to smartness made its faded black lace add to the desolate appearance of the wearer. She was writing when we entered, but on seeing strangers she laid down her pen, took out a poor muslim rag to wipe tears which were flowing fast. Without taking heed at all to who her guests might be, she began her lament: “I had one bright spot in my gloom, but God has taken it away from me; my dear R- is gone, and I don't know where she is gone to,” looking round the roof with an indescribable vague expectancy, as if she might learn from the ceiling where her daughter was. “Don’t you believe in a state of happiness for those who love the Lord 7" “O yes, I was brought up in true religion. I am a New Englander; my parents taught me about the fall of man, and salvation by Jesus Christ, about the resurrection, and the judgment, and I taught it all to my child. R– believed in all that, but I can't see her now. I don't know where she is gone to.” “If she believed in Jesus, you do know, and if she is with Jesus where he is, you know she is happy.” “You talk, but you never lost your one bright spot as I have done.” “I have lost children, and have had very bright spots darkened. It is not because I do not feel for you that I speak, but because I know that there is consolation for those who weep.” My companion, hoping to turn the current of her thoughts, said, “Perhaps you have heard of Mary Lundie. This is her mother.” “Is it?” hardly turning her streaming eyes to me. “I have read her life many a time, and sold hundreds of it here in the streets of New York.” “You sold books! how was that 7" was born to affluence. I married, and live

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