wers looked brighter, there was fragrance in the air,
The earth seemed new created, there was gladness everywhere;
And above the dark clouds, gleaming on the clear blue arch of Heaven,
The Rainbow, in its beauty, like a smile of love was given.

'Twas a sweet and simple lesson, which the story told, I thought,
Not alone and single-handed our kindliest deeds are wrought;
Like the sunbeam and the raindrop, work together, while we may,
And the bow of Heaven's own promise shall smile upon our way.

A PLEA FOR SOFT WORDS.

STRANGE and subtle are the influences which affect the spirit and touch
the heart. Are there bodiless creatures around us, moulding our thoughts
into darkness or brightness, as they will? Whence, otherwise, come the
shadow and the sunshine, for which we can discern no mortal agency?

Oftener, As we grow older, come the shadows; less frequently the
sunshine. Ere I took up my pen, I was sitting with a pleasant company of
friends, listening to music, and speaking, with the rest, light words.

Suddenly, I knew not why, my heart was wrapt away in an atmosphere of
sorrow. A sense of weakness and unworthiness weighed me down, and I felt
the moisture gather to my eyes and my lips tremble, though they kept the
smile.

All my past life rose up before me, and all my short-comings--all, my
mistakes, and all my wilful wickedness, seemed pleading trumpet-tongued
against me.

I saw her before me whose feet trod with mine the green holts and
meadows, when the childish thought strayed not beyond the near or the
possible. I saw her through the long blue distances, clothed in the
white beauty of an angel; but, alas! she drew her golden hair across
her face to veil from her vision the sin-darkened creature whose eyes
dropped heavily to the hem of her robe!

O pure and beautiful one, taken to peace ere the weak temptation had
lifted itself up beyond thy stature, and compelled thee to listen, to
oppose thy weakness to its strength, and to fall--sometimes, at least,
let thy face shine on me from between the clouds. Fresh from the springs
of Paradise, shake from thy wings the dew against my forehead. We two
were coming up together through the sweet land of poesy and dreams,
where the senses believe what the heart hopes; our hands were full of
green boughs, and our laps of cowslips and violets, white and purple.
We were talking of that more beautiful world into which childhood was
opening ou