ngs and fairer expectations.

It is not true, that friends are few and kindness rare. No one ever
needed friends, and deserved them, and found them not; but we do not
know them when we see them, or deal with them justly when we have them.
We must allow others to be as variable, and imperfect, and faulty, as
ourselves. We do not wish our readers to love their friends less, but to
love them as what they are, rather than as what they wish them to be;
and instead of the jealous pertinacity that is wounded by every
appearance of change, and disgusted by every detection of a fault, and
ready to distrust and cast away the kindest friends on every trifling
difference of behavior and feeling, to cultivate a moderation in their
demands; a patient allowance for the effect of time and circumstance; an
indulgence towards peculiarities of temper and character; and, above
all, such a close examination of what passes in their own hearts, as
will teach them better to understand and excuse what they detect in the
hearts of others; ever remembering that all things on earth are earthly;
and therefore changeful, perishable, and uncertain.

KINDRED HEARTS.

Oh! ask not, hope thou not too much
Of sympathy below;
Few are the hearts whence one same touch,
Bids the same fountain flow;
Few, and by still conflicting powers
Forbidden here to meet,
Such ties would make this life of ours
Too fair for aught so fleet.

It may be that thy brother's eye
Sees not as thine, which turns,
In such deep reverence, to the sky
Where the rich sunset burns;
It may be that the breath of spring,
Born amidst violets lone,
A rapture o'er thy soul can bring,
A dream to his unknown.

The tune that speaks of other times--
A sorrowful delight!
The melody of distant chimes;
The sound of waves by night;
The wind that with so many a tone
Some cord within can thrill;
These may have language all thine own,
To _him_ a mystery still.

Yet scorn thou not for this the true
And steadfast love of years;
The kindly, that from childhood grew,
The faithful to thy tears!
If there be one that o'er the dead
Hath in thy grief borne part,
And watched through sickness by thy bed,
Call _his_ a kindred heart.

But for those bonds, all perfect made,
Wherein bright spirits blend,
Like sister flo