ow was lost,
Roses to the wind she tost.
One, a bud of smiling June,
Falling on thy lips, as soon
Left its color, and in death
Willed its fragrance to thy breath!
Then two drops of crystalled dew
From the hyacinth's deep hue,
Brought she for thine eyes of blue;
And lest they should miss the sun,
Bade thy soul to shine thereon.
Lilies, Nature gave thy face--
Say, thy _heart_ do lilies grace?

_St. Paul's College._ G. H. H.

LITERARY NOTICES.

A CHRISTMAS CAROL, IN PROSE: Being a Ghost-Story of Christmas. By
CHARLES DICKENS. New-York: HARPER AND BROTHERS.

If in every alternate work that Mr. DICKENS were to send to the London
press he should find occasion to indulge in ridicule against alleged
American peculiarities, or broad caricatures of our actual vanities, or
other follies, we could with the utmost cheerfulness pass them by unnoted
and uncondemned, if he would only now and then present us with an
intellectual creation so touching and beautiful as the one before us.
Indeed, we can with truth say, that in our deliberate judgment, the
'Christmas Carol' is the most striking, the most picturesque, the most
truthful, of all the limnings which have proceeded from its author's pen.
There is much mirth in the book, says a competent English critic, but more
wisdom; wisdom of that kind which men possess who have gazed thoughtfully
but kindly on human life, and have pierced deeper than their fellows into
all the sunny nooks and dark recesses of the human breast. The barbarous
notion has long been exploded, that comic writers were only to be esteemed
for their jests, and useful for provoking laughter. CERVANTES, first among
the moderns, sent it out of fashion, and blessed that union of wit, sense,
and pathos, which so many renowned writers have since confirmed; until it
has come to be acknowledged, that rich genuine humor is rarely an inmate
of the mind, if there be not a corresponding depth of earnestness and
feeling in the heart. Many of DICKENS' writings, it is justly claimed,
exhibit this fine, healthy, benevolent spirit. 'His sympathy for human
suffering is strong and pure, and he reserves it not for imaginary and
fictitious distress, but for the real grinding sorrows of life.' And this
sympathy is more finely displayed in the work under notice, than in any of
his previous productions. The design is very fanciful, and there is
crowded into i