, through the
tempest-swept streets, lest the slave-hunter should meet them. Her
brethren and sisters of the church raised a little money from their
scanty means to pay her passage, and to save her, for a few days, from
starving, after her first arrival in the cold land of strangers. Her
husband soon returned to Boston, to find his home desolate, his wife
and children exiles in a foreign land. These facts need no
word-painting.--_Burritt's Bond of Brotherhood_.

THE TONGUE OF FIRE.

BY MRS NEWTON CROSLAND.

I hear December's biting blast,
I see the slippery hail-drops fall--
That shot which frost-sprites laughing cast
In some great Arctic arsenal;
I lean my cheek against the pane,
But start away, it is so chill,
And almost pity tree and plain
For bearing Winter's load of ill.

The sombre sky hangs dark and low,
It looks a couch where mists are born--
A throne whence they in clusters flow,
Or by the tempest's wrath are torn.
I turn me to the chamber's Heart,
Low pulsing like a vague desire,
And strike an ebon block apart,
Till up there springs a Tongue of Fire!

It hath a jovial roaring tone,
Like one rebuking half in jest--
Yet ah! I wish there could be shewn
The wisdom that it hath exprest--
Or sinking to a lambent glow,
Its arched and silent cavern seems
A magic glass whereon to shew,
And shape anew, our broken dreams!

I vow the Fiery Tongue hath caught
Quaint echoes of the passing time;
Thus laughs it at my idle thought,
My longing for a fairer clime:
'So--so you'd like some southern shore,
To gather flowers the winter through,
As if there were on earth no more
For busy human hands to do!

* * * * *

'And guard your Own!--In this, oh mark
High duty and the world's far fate;
Thou art poor deluged Europe's Ark,
Her fortunes on Thy Safety wait;
And--couching lion at her feet--
In all her matron graces drest,
Let free Britannia smiling greet
Her radiant Daughter of the West!

'The broad Atlantic flows between,
But love can bridge the ends of earth;
Of all the lands my race have seen,
These two the rest are more than worth;
Not for their skies, or fruits, or gold,
But for their sturdy growth of Man,
Who walks erect, and will not hold
His life beneath a tyrant's ban.

'Yet do not curl your lips with scorn