ies of our
lot and that gives thee altogether to us at its close, gentle, refined,
affectionate, soothing, bland, and unreserved? The hour that precedes
retirement for the night, when the early luxury of languor begins to take
possession of the senses? When the eyes are not heavy, but threaten to
become so, and long silken lashes first make love to each other? When it
is time to confine part of that rich hair en papilotte and fold the whole
into that pretty cap; to place the feet in small graceful slippers, and
let ease put fashion tastefully on one side in the arrangement of the
dress?

Doubtless there is a period during the delirium of youthful fancy when the
calmer pleasures are unappreciated at their value, but the Andante of
existence follows the Allegro of boyhood; its precious strains fall deeper
and more touchingly upon the Sense; and the full Soul longs to yield
itself to them, and to share its emotions with the beloved one in tones
heard only in her ivory ear----how beautiful! Oh pure of heart, how
beautiful!----and, when the belle, still delighting to please, has become
the friend; and the mistress, still fascinating, the wife; and one
interest, one faith, one hope, one joy, one passion, one life, animate
both hearts----oh then,

Go, bid thy mistress, when my drink is ready,
She strike upon the bell. Get _thee_ to bed.'

JOHN WATERS.

THE SMITHY.

BY ALFRED B. STREET.

There was a little smithy at the comer of the road,
In the village where, when life glow'd fresh and bright, was my abode;
A little slab-roof'd smithy, of a stain'd and dusky red,
An ox-frame standing by the door, and at one side a shed;
The road was lone and pleasant, with margins grassy-green,
Where browsing cows and nibbling geese from morn till night were seen.

High curl'd the smoke from the humble roof with dawning's earliest bird,
And the tinkle of the anvil first of the village sounds was heard;
The bellows-puff, the hammer-beat, the whistle and the song,
Told, steadfastly and merrily, Toil roll'd the hours along,
Till darkness fell, and the smithy then with its forge's clear deep light
Through chimney, window, door, and cleft, poured blushes on the night.

The morning shows its azure breast and scarf of silvery fleece,
The margin-grass is group'd with cows, and spotted with the geese;
On the dew-wet green by the smithy, there's