one rare mental endowment, or a single
lofty trait, she had followed her appointed path, a serene and
contented woman. A glance at the household circles around us, will
prove this contrast a common one; the most gifted are not the most
blessed--and the earth has no fulfillment for the aspirations that
rise above it.

And what of Theresa, the richly and fatally endowed, she who, with all
the faculties for feeling and bestowing gladness, yet wasted her youth
away; she who sadly tested the beautiful combination of genius with
womanhood, yet lavished her powers in vain--why need I trace the
passing away of one beloved so well? My task is finished; and I
willingly lay aside a record, written through tears. Wouldst thou know
more? There is a grave in yonder church-yard that can tell thee all!

SONNETS.

BY JAMES LAWSON.

I.--HOPE.

I mark, as April days serenely smile,
Clouds heaped on clouds in mountain-like array,
While radiant sunbeams with their summits play,
Gilding with gorgeous tints the mighty pile;
And earth partakes of every hue the while!
Oft have I felt on such a day as this,
The sudden shower down-pouring on my head,
Though in the distance all is loveliness.
Thither, in vain, with rapid step I've sped.
I liken this to Hope: although with sorrow
The heart is overcast, and dim the eye;
Delusive Hope--not present, ever nigh,
Presages gladness on a coming morrow,
And lures us onward, till our latest sigh.

II.--A PREDICTION.

The day approaches, when a mystic power,
Shall summon mute Antiquity, to tell
The buried glories of the long lost hour;
And she will answer the enchanter's spell--
Then shall we hear what wondrous things befell
When the young world existed in its prime.
The truths revealed will turn the wisest pale,
That ignorance so long abused their time.
Vainly may Error blessed Truth assail
With specious argument, and looking wise
Exult, as millions worship at her shrine;
Yet, in the time ordained, shall Truth arise
And walk in beauty over earth and skies,
While man in reverence bows before her power divine!

PHANTASMAGORIA.

BY JOHN NEAL.

I don't believe in night-caps. That is, I don't believe in stopping
the ears, in shutting the eyes, in sealing up the senses, nor in going
to sl