imes of intelligence they have
done, and will do; and the brainless slaves, so lashed, shouted and went
forward to the murderous work which rivetted their own fetters, even as
in our time they have done, and will again do in times to come."

* * * * *

SPIRIT OF THE PUBLIC JOURNALS.

* * * * *

TWENTY YEARS.

BY THOMAS HAYNES BAYLY.

They tell me twenty years are past
Since I have look'd upon thee last,
And thought thee fairest of the fair,
With thy sylph-like form and light-brown hair!
I can remember every word
That from those smiling lips I heard:
Oh! how little it appears
Like the lapse of twenty years.

Thou art changed! in thee I find
Beauty of another kind;
Those rich curls lie on thy brow
In a darker cluster now;
And the sylph hath given place
To the matron's form of grace.--
Yet how little it appears
Like the lapse of twenty years.

Still thy cheek is round and fair;
'Mid thy curls not one grey hair;
Not one lurking sorrow lies
In the lustre of those eyes:
Thou hast felt, since last we met,
No affliction, no regret!
Wonderful! to shed no tears
In the lapse of twenty years.

But what means that changing brow?
Tears are in those dark eyes now!
Have my rush, incautious words
Waken'd Feeling's slumbering chords?
Wherefore dost thou bid me look
At you dark-bound journal book?--
_There_ the register appears
Of the lapse of twenty years.

Thou hast been a happy bride,
Kneeling by a lover's side;
And unclouded was thy life,
As his loved and loving wife;--
Thou hast worn the garb of gloom,
Kneeling by that husband's tomb;--
Thou hast wept a widow's tears
In the lapse of twenty years.

Oh! I see my error now,
To suppose, in cheek and brow,
Strangers may presume to find
Treasured secrets of the mind:
_There_ fond Memory still will keep
Her vigil, when she _seems_ to sleep;
Though composure re-appears
In the lapse of twenty years.

Where's the hope that can abate
The grief of hearts thus desolate
That can Youth's keenest pangs assuage,
And mitigate the gloom of Age?
Religion bids the tempest cease,
And, leads her to a port of peace;
And on, the lonely pilot steers
Through the lapse of future years.

_New Monthly Magazine._

* * * * *

MEMOIRS OF THE MACAW OF A LADY