The first
offers some fine delineations of foliage, intermingled hemlock, and
deciduous trees, and the latter is a spirited and truthful
representation of a beautiful bit of Catskill scenery. The Hunter and
Plattekill Mountains, Haines's Fall, the Clove Road and intervening
ravines, the winding woodpath, and burnt trees, are close records of
fact, set in a far-away sky and a real atmosphere.

Miss Virginia Granbery's 'Basket of Cherries' (No. 81) and
'Strawberries' (No. 73) are tempting specimens of fruit.

No. 202, 'The Seamstress,' by Miss C. W. Conant, gives proof of future
excellence in the truthful pathos of its conception and the energetic
rendering of the idea.

But our hour has come to an end, and we have only space left to mention
the names of Bierstadt, Constant Mayer, Hennessy, May, Durand, Griswold,
Suydam, Bradford, Brevoort, Cropsey, Colman, Cranch, De Haas, Hart,
Homer, Hubbard, Huntington, Vedder, and White, who are all
characteristically represented, and to counsel such of our readers as
are fortunate enough to have the opportunity, to go and see for
themselves. Americans are beginning to comprehend the full value of the
arts, and to appreciate their own artists accordingly.

APHORISMS.

NO. V.

With us it may not be the actual suffering of death, as it was with our
Lord; but that we may truly follow Him, and do what we can for the good
of others, we must hold life, with all its endearments, subject to any
call for sacrifice that may be made on us; and actually give up, from
day to day, just as much of the present life, its pleasures or
interests, as may be necessary, that we may render the best possible
service in the kingdom of Christ. We have the privilege of daily
martyrdom, to be followed by its honors and blessedness, in whatsoever
circumstances we may be placed: how much of the sufferings that
sometimes accompany the spirit and the act, we need not concern
ourselves to inquire.

THE UNKIND WORD.

Ay--far in the feeling heart
Cast the unkind word till it smiteth,
Till deep in the flesh like a poisoned dart
It stingeth--and ruthlessly biteth!
What need that the blood
In a crimson flood
Flow fast from the throbbing veins--
What need--if a sob
Or the heart's wild throb
Betoken the horrible pains?

The tears are forced from the mournful eyes
As the angry word proceedeth;
Little it cares fo