BY D,A. dr. C. H. BUEHLER% VOLUME XXV. . . The following touching stanzacare from the power Wolfo;wuthor of the burial of Sir John Moore. They were written soon offer the death of a beloved wife ' If 1 bad thought thou contact have died, I might not weep for.thee ; . . But 'I forgot' when by thy -side, ' That thou could'st Mortal be hevar through my mind had past The tints would e'er be o'er That I on thee should look my And thoti shoultrat smile no; more I And still upon thy hie I look. And think 'twill smile again,; And still the thought I cannot brook That I must look ha vain But when' I 'speak thdu duet not say What 'thou ne'er lerst unsaid ; And then I feel, as well I may, Dear Mary I then art dead. if thou cOurd'it Wed art; All meld and ell serene, I still might press thy silent heart, And where thy smiles have been : 1 While e'en thy chill , bleakcorpse I have Thou veetrest still m y own ; But oaf lay in thee grave, - I feel I OM alone ! I do not think, - whereer thou art, Than luau forgotten me ; - - - • And ; perhaps may soothe this heart In thinking, too, of thee ; Yet there was round thee such a dawn Of light ne'er seen before, As fancy never could have drawn, And never can restore ! 4, 111 y Mother's., Dead. I'm sc.• very, very lonely, Alas ! I esnnot play ; I am so sad. I sit and weep. Throughout thelivelong day. I miss dear mother's welcome, Her light hand on my head, - Her look or love, her tender word ; Alas! my mother's dead. r have no heart to play alone; To-day I thought l i d try, And got my , little hoop to roll, But th ! it made nao cry ; For who wilearnile to see me come, MAw mother dear has gone, And look so kind!, in 'my Arid kids her little son CII get my blessed Bible, And sit me down and read ; My mothersaid that precious book Would be a friend in need. - I seem to see dear mother now, To hear her voice of love; She may be looking down on me, From her bright home above. She said that I must come to her ; .ho cannot come to rno ; Oar Father, teach a little one How he may Como to thee. For I am very lonely 110 W ; Our father, may I come, And join my mother in the skies I And heaven shall he our home. -04 ) .e in the naafi - 1014 wife. the mother, religious shines 'with a ,holy benignant beauty of her own, Which nothing of earthean mar. Never yet' as the female character perfect without the steady faith of piety. Beauty, intellect, wealth ! they are like pit falls in the brightesi day, unless the divine light, ',M icas religion throw her soft beams around them, to purify and exalt, makiiig twice glorious that which seemed all loveliness • before. Re!igloo is .very beautiful—in health or eickness, in wealth or poverty. We nev er enter the sick chamber of the good, but soft music seems to float on the air. and the burden of their song is, ‘.lLio ! peace is here." Could we look into thousands of fami lies,to•day, when discontent tights sullenly with life, we should find the chief • cause of unhappiness, want of religion in wo• man. A nd in felons' cells--1n places of crime ; misery, destitution, ignorance- 7 —we should belwld in all its moat horrible deformity, the fruit of irreligion in woman. • Oh, religion 1 benignant majesty, high on thy throne thou siuest, glorious and exalted.' Not above the clouds, for earth eland's come never between thee and truly pious - souls—not • beneath the clouds, for above thee in heaven, opening through abroad vista of exceeding beauty. Its•gates are the splendor of jasper and precious stones, white with dewy light that neither flashes 'nor blitzes, but steadily pro ceedeth trim the throne of God. Its tow ers,bathed in,refulgent glory ten times the brightest of ten thousand suns, yet soft, undatzling to the eye. And' Mere religion' goints.' Art thou weary 1 ..rest=up there-4- ihere--forever.' Art thou sorrowing? joy." An that weighed down with un merited ignorniayl "kings mid priests IR Ills' brag home s " Art .thou ;poor ;1 the very street, before thy, 'Mansion' shall , be g01d.7 Art 'boo friendless! ‘ithe angels eintll be thy' Ocimpaitioni, and God thy Friend and Father," • ,Is religion beautiful t We • newer, all is 'desolaiioninddiformity where reli gion is not. ' ' • ' • PERSONAL CLEANLINESS. -4( Some parts mf the surface of the body'. be kept per. (eddy elenni,w bele other parte are compare •tivety •tmeleansed. the sitrn of the former has bstri work to do, and it compensates by indreased activity for the • forced mono. ;-• tion of other portions, - It cannot do this ~:without: more , •or lees derangement. and consequently we see pimple eruptions on the eiposed parts of the skin, which are simply. the result of over work, and which disappear whert otherparti of the skin arei made-to resumetheir functions. • . THE SeigRIMUL TREIL—At Goa, near Bombay There is a. singular vegetable— , tiiiscirrpwful tree—so called because it Oely tioniish'es in the night. At sunset flowers are to be seen; and yet, half an hour after it is full of them. They „yield. a sweet smelk; .but no sooner does •, the sup begin to shine on them, than some .of them tall oft and others close up, and thus it continues floiering in the night all the year. • • BosWell complained tolohnson that the noistfof the company the day before bad made huiht4d ache. "No, sir, it was not thitnolie that made your head ache ; it was the sense we put into it." "Has sense • that effect on the head?" "Yes, ow, on• heads not used' to it." • Story.of- the Back own/Window; BY BARRY CORNWALL. . • , We live In a World of busy passions.— Love and hate, sorrew.aud joy,,in ar then- I sand shapes, are forever near us:-. peat I t is at our threshhold. Life sPrings. up tils most at.our feet. . Our neighbors- are "ex l ultations, agonies !" And yet we seem to live on, ignorant of all. ' Could 'we but unroof (Asmoduti-like) the heu4es which, day after day,: 'present towards us so insensible. an aspect, what marvels might we not disclose! W.hat ful thoughts:what radiant visions, 'would throng into Our brain I The 'mystery of human conduct would lie unveiled. :Wo should see and know all men truly: We ithould.see the miser, the spendthrify, the adheler,.. the toilirtg ; artisan; the:: Ilappy bride; and the girl deserted (like the peo ple in the palace of Truth,} all tiontribu= ting.their ahamto theUuknOwn 'romance,. which time is forever weaving around us. As it is, 'each Of theiri spiny net, his little 'thread, and 'dies; almost unknown, and aeon forgotten ; unless some curious acid. dent should arise, to extend his .influence into region, or to hold his lama' in suspension, twenty years after his coffin has been lowered in the dust. It was some such chance as Pima just adverted to, that threw into oar knowl edge certain facts regarding a neighboring family, wiich else had prc k hably Slipped very a . ukifly into oblivion. You will ob serve,.that what I ton about to relate is al. most literally a Lot 'Some years ago, we lived, m you know, in Square. The room in which we usually dwelt was at the back of the' house. It was spacious and not without some pretensions to be graceful, the marble chimney placd' being distinguished by a painting of Cipriana, whilst on the ceiling lay scattered some of the conventional el egances of the Augelica Kauffman. From the windows that occupied the northern extremity of the room we looked • (to thh. It:flats large erica talplane) upon the back: of a eteseent'bf houses—the points of the arc receding from, us. CI mention these things merely to recall to your mind 'our precise position.] "In rho centre of this crescent was' a house which Tied for a long time been un tenanted. :Whilst its neighbor dwellings were all busy with life and motion, this only was, for some reason, deserted. We were beginning to speculate on the (Anse s of,this accident, and to pity the unhappy landlord, whose pockets were lamenting the lack of rent, when suddenly--it was on an April mottling—we perceived,' fur the first time, it: ! kis of Amigo. The min im .wor men we net ng 'au its different rooms. 1. here was an air of pre paration, evidently, which announced an' incoming tenant. I" said A , "at last that unhappy man has discovered some one bold. enough to take his haunted house; or perhaps, after all, he is merely endaav cring to decoy the unwary pusseuger We shall see." "A few weeks determined the question; for after the house bad been duly cleansed and beautified, and the odor. ef •the paint sufired to fade away, 'various articles 'of furniture wore brought into the roonls... These were of moderate price, and explain ed to us that the new tenant WAS a person of respectable station, but not rich. IVe . began to fitel a wish to know "what man-' nor of . man" he was. Our interest in the once empty house had receivbd. a now im pulse ; and we looked out, day after day, for the stranger's arrival. "At last a young man of lively and a. greeable presence, was one morning been giving direetions . toa female servant, about the dispositien of the furniture. ThiS was evidently master of the mansion. He stayed for half an hour, and then departed; and ho repeated his short visit daily. •Ho was probably a clerk iu some publio office, a merchant, or professional man, whose time was required elsewhere. But, wily did ho not reside there 1" - ' That was a pro blem that we strove to solve' in' vain. -' In the end, ho went away altogether. "Each morn we mined trim iu ae accustomed maid, "And now ne one, except the solitary seen throwing open the win. Bows in the morning to let in the vernal May; closing them at night; rubbing with a delicate hand the new furniture ; gazing at the unknown neighborhood ; or sitting listlessly in the afternoon, "impaia• dised" in rustic dreamp; slit appeared to be the solo spirit of the spot, It was not the genius loci which *o had reckoned upon. Our imaginations were not satisfied; and we looked forward confidently to another • comer. • "We were not disappointed. After the lapse of's fortnight from the young man's departure, our inquisitive eyes disoovered him again. He was sitting at breilkfast with a lady by his side. Pretty, young, neat, and attired from _head to foot In white ; she was evidently • a bride. ' We rushed at once upon this conjecture; and certain tender manifestations, on the hus band's leave-taking, confirmed us in our opinion. He•went away; and she, left to hertielf, explored, as far as we could ob serve, all the rooms in the house. Every. thing was surveyed with a patient admira tion • every drawer opened; the little. book-ease , contemplated, and its slender rows of books all, one by one, examined.— Finally, the maid was called up, some : in quiries made, and the survey recommenced. The lady had now some one to, encourage her open expressions of delight. --We could almost fancy that wo heard her words : "How beautiful it is I What a comforta ble sofa I What a charming screen I How kind, how good, how considerate of ----- I" It was altogether a pretty scene.. "Let us pass over a portion of the au tuMn and winter months. During a por tion of this time, we ourselves were absent in•the country ; and when at home, were=member but little of what. happoned,:, There was little or no variety to remark upon, or, positaibly, our curiosity' had be come abated. "At WI, spring came, ant with it came frk'iT YSB URG,..TA:,..F.RLD AT-:.:E I Y . ! - .1N.:G, - , :.:..0:01..Q . ,8iE Rl3?-1.8.54. .b' thntisand signs if cheerfulness and life.— a be . plain put forth its tender leaves; the sky grew blue ovor head (even' in Lon4on) and , the Aindowe of the' one melancholy Souse shelllit 'blushing with 'many, flowers. So May patted ; , and Juno' came, on, with its air, all rich with roses. But tile lady ' —Ali'l her 'cheek, now waxed pale, and her stop grew weak and faltering. Some. times she ventura into her small garden, when the sun was full upon it. All other times she might be, seen wearied with needle-work, or sitting langnidly doge ; or, when - her husband was at home (befao and after' his hours of business) she walk ed a little to and fro, loaning on him for support. His devotion increased with her infirmity. It was curious to observe how love hail tamed the high and froliCsome ' spirit of the mao. A Joyous and perhaps! 6 - e - c common manner am o serious and re fined. Tho weight of thought perhaps lay on htm—theresponsibility of lova.— It is thus that, in some natures, love is I wanting in Abair full developments MI raises, tutlrefities, and magnifies the - Intel. lect, which would else remain dull, trivial, and prostrate. From a seeming barren ncas, the - human heart tipingsinto - fertility —from vagueness into character—from' dullness into vigor and beauty, under the "charming wand" of love. But let us proceed. "On a glittering night in August, we saw light flashing about the house, and people hiirrying up and down, as on some urgent occasion, By degrees the tumult subsided; ' the passings backyards and forwards became less frequent i and at lag tranquility warrestored; A single light burnin g in an upper window, alone told that some ono kept watch through. out the night. The next morning the knocker of the house Was (we were told) shreuded in white leather; and the lady had brought her .busband a child I We drank to its health in wine. "For a few days quiet hung upon the house. But it wasdoomed speedily to de part. Hurry and alarm came again.— Lights were seen once more flickering to and fro. The physician's carriage was heard. It eamo' and departed. The maid now , held- her alumn'to her eyes. The bus ' band, burying his face in hie hands, strove (how vainly I) to hide a world of grief.— Bre long the bedroom window was thrown open; the shutters of the house were clos ed, and in a week a hearse was at the door. The mystery was at an end ; .she was dead. °She died I No poet ever wove around r her the gaudy tissue of his verse. The I grave she sleeps in is probably nothing more than the common mould. Her name , even.is unknown. But what of - this It- SttellYed antrdied;"atid hurionted. 'The proudest can boast of bat little more. She made the light and happiness of one mortal creature, fond and fragile as herself —and for a name, a tomb'? Alas I for all !the purposes of 1070, nothing is wanted save a little earth—nothing but to keep I the spot where the beloved one rests forever. We fear, indeed, to give the creature whom we have 'maraud in our hearts to the deep and ever-shifting waters—to the oblivion of the ssai ! We desire to know where it is we have laid nor fading treasure. Oth erwke, the pilgrimage is as easy and us I painful to the simple church-yard hillock, las to the vault in which a king.reposes. I The gloomy arches 'of stately tombs, what 1 are they to the grandeur of the over-hang. ing heavens ! and the cold and ghastly marble, how poor •and hideous it is, in coin parisz with the turf whereon many a dai sy grows t "The child survived. The cares lately exhausted on another, were now concen trated on a little child. The solemn doc tors came, and preseribed for it, and took their golden fees., •The nurse transferred to it her ready smiles. The services which had been purchased for the mother, were now-the property of another claimant.— Even the father turned towards 'it, all hi , . heart,whieh WWI not in the grave. It, was part, of her who.hal strewn sunshine in his path, and lie, valued it, accordingly. "But all would not do. A month, 'a little month,' and the shutters were again closed. Another funeral followed awiftly Upon the, last. The mother and her child' were again together. "From this period a marked. change a: rose in the Man's character. The grief which had bowed him down at his wife's death, (relieved a little; by the care which he bestowed upon her child) now changed to a sullen, or reckless. indifference. In the morning he' was clouded hod oppressed; but at night a midnestiand:dissonant jolity, (the madnees,of wine,) usurped the place of early sorrow. • His orgies were ,often carried, into, , Sometimes he drank with wild companions; sometimes ,he was seen alone, staggering towards the wintrow, stupid and' bloated, ere the last light of the autumn Sunset concealed bini from °insight, There were *.steadier in tervals indeed when reflection would come upon him—perhaps remorse; when ho would gse with a grave (or oftener ti" sad) look . upon the few withered flowers 'that once flourished in his gay window. What wash Olen thinking: oft Of vanished hopes and happy hours ! Of her patience, her gentleness, her deep, untiring love / Why did ho not 81191111.011 up More cheer ful visions ? Where was his old vivacity ? his young and happy spirit ? The world offered thc.same alurements as before; with tho exception of one' ingle joy. Oh ✓ but that was all. That was the ono hope, the one thought, that had grown vast and "ab sorbed all 9thers. That was the mirror which had reflected - happiness a- thousand ways. • Under that influence the present, the past, and the bright to come—all had seemed to cast back upon him ,the pictures of innumerable blessings. lie had trod, even in dreams, upon a sunny shore.— And now— "But why prolong the pain and disgrace of the story,? He fell, step, by sop.— Sickness was on his body . ; despair was ,in his mind. He shrank and wasted away, 'old before his time,' and might hare sub. sided into a paryalized cripple, or a moody idiot, bad not a death (for once. a friend) . acme .suddenly to him. aud rescued from further misery. "FEARLESS 'AND FREE." "Hs died, as his' lite and ekild had died I before him. The same' signs were thertt.- the unnatural 4uiet 7 the Oiled shutters— and the funeral , tra i n. But all in their time disappeared; and 'in: a few weeks • workmen came ihronging;again to', the . empty house; the.rooms were again scour i ed—the walls beautiful. The same board Iwhich two years before had been nailed to' the 'wall, with the significant *bids, 'P6 i • was again . I LET' upon. it, fixed . there.. It I seemed - almost as though the old time had returned again, and that tiw interval was nothing but a dream. , - • , And is this all ? Yes, that is all: ` I wish that I eculd have crowned my 14te tale with a hrighter ending. But it Ives not to be. I wish ,even that I could. have Inadelit more herdic, or have , develop!d some grand'Moral for your like. . Ai itM, if . ecatiiiitilittle hojond - t tri - ioniniiitilbli,ad bare'etory of human life.-first hope, 'add then'enjoyment,'end thep sotrbw- 2 -all end ing quietly in the grave. rt , is au ancient tale.' The vein runs throttliman's many histories. - Borne of them, may ^present seeming vaßetiett—a life without hope'er ,joyor a career. beginning gaily, and' rim ninginerrily to its close, But this is be cause we do not read the inner seerets of the soul--the thousand, .thousand small pulsations, which yield pain or• pleasure to the human mind. Be turatind that there is no more of equality, or , iu the, heart, than in the OVettmoving ocean. You will ask me, porhaps, to point out something from wltich \ yen may derive a profitable lesson.' Aro'yet; to learn bow to regulate your pallpions ? to arm your heart with iron preCepts ?Leo let iri-rteither too much love nor sorrow, and to shut • out all, despair Y. Some wise friends will tell you that, you may learn, by precepts, never to lean too muck on others; for that I thereby you loose your independent mind. To be the toy of a worn rest your happiness on the axis ittkof &fragile girl, whom the breath oft ' i ivied may blow t s into dest-,-it . is any ~ g let the act of a wise and _prudent third