and yet, though all nature looks on him so kindly, he is
wretched.

Let us now change the scene. Why is that crowded assembly so
attentive--so silent? Who is speaking? It is our old friend, the little
disconsolate schoolboy. But his eyes are flashing with intellect, his
face fervent with emotion, his voice breathes like music, and every mind
is enchained.

Again, it is a splendid sunset, and yonder enthusiast meets it face to
face, as a friend. He is silent--rapt--happy. He feels the poetry which
God has written; he is touched by it, as God meant that the feeling
spirit should be touched.

Again, he is watching by the bed of sickness, and it is blessed to have
such a watcher! anticipating every want; relieving, not in a cold,
uninterested way, but with the quick perceptions, the tenderness, the
gentleness of an angel.

Follow him into the circle of friendship, and why is he so loved and
trusted? Why can you so easily tell to him what you can say to no one
else besides? Why is it that all around him feel that he can understand,
appreciate, be touched by all that touches them?

And when heaven uncloses its doors of light, when all its knowledge, its
purity, its bliss, rises on the eye and passes into the soul, who then
will be looked on as the one who might be envied--he who _can_, or he
who _cannot feel_?

THE SEAMSTRESS.

"Few, save the poor, feel for the poor;
The rich know not how hard
It is to be of needful food
And needful rest debarred.

Their paths are paths of plenteousness;
They sleep on silk and down;
They never think how wearily
The weary head lies down.

They never by the window sit,
And see the gay pass by,
Yet take their weary work again,
And with a mournful eye."

L. E. L.

However fine and elevated, in a sentimental point of view, may have been
the poetry of this gifted writer, we think we have never seen any thing
from this source that _ought_ to give a better opinion of her than the
little ballad from which the above verses are taken.

They show that the accomplished authoress possessed, not merely a
knowledge of the dreamy ideal wants of human beings, but the more
pressing and homely ones, which the fastidious and poetical are often
the last to appreciate. The sufferings of poverty are not confined to
those of the common, squalid, every day inured to hardships, and ready,
with open hand, to receive charity, le