then, sneer at what in their wisdom they call untruth-at what is false, because it has no material presence: this does not create falsity; would to Heaven that it did! 9. And yet, if there was actual, material truth, superadded to Reverie, would such objectors sympathize the more? No!-a thousand times, no; the heart that has no sympathy with thoughts and feelings that scorch the soul, is dead also-whatever its mocking tears and gestures may say-to a coffin or a grave! Let them pass, and we will come back to these cherished letters. 10. A mother who has lost a child, has, she says, shed a tear -not one, but many-over the dead boy's coldness. And another, who has not, but who trembles lest she lose, has found the words failing as she reads, and a dim, sorrow-borne mist spreading over the page. Another, yet rejoicing in all those family ties that make life a charm, has listened nervously to careful reading, until the husband is called home, and the coffin is in the house-"Stop!" she says; and a gush of tears tells the rest. Yet the cold critic will say "It was artfully done." A curse on him!-it was not art; it was nature. 11. Another, a young, fresh, healthful girl-mind, has seen. something in the love-picture-albeit so weak-of truth; and has kindly believed that it must be earnest. Ay, indeed is it, fair and generous one,-earnest as life and hope! Who, indeed, with a heart at all, that has not yet slipped away irrep'arably and forever from the shores of youth-from that fairy-land which young enthusiasm creates, and over which bright dreams hover-but knows it to be real? And so such things will be real, till hopes are dashed, and Death is come. Another, a father, has laid down the book in tears.-God bless them all! How far better this, than the cold praise of newspaper paragraphs, or the critically contrived approval of colder friends! 12. Let me gather up these letters carefully,-to be read when the heart is faint, and sick of all that there is unreal and selfish in the world. Let me tie them together, with a new, and longer bit of ribbon,-not by a love knot, that is too hardbut by an easy slipping knot, that so I may get at them the better. And now they are all together, a snug packet, and we will label them, not sentimentally (I pity the one who thinks it), but earnestly, and in the best meaning of the term--REMEM BRANCERS OF THE HEART. D. G. MITCHELL 1. 52. THE SETTLER. HIS echoing ax the settler swung Amid the sea-like solitude, And rushing, thundering, down were flung Loud shriek'd the eagle as he dash'd And the first sunlight, leaping, flash'd 2. Rude was the garb, and strong the frame The soul that warm'd that frame, disdain'd 8. The paths which wound mid gorgeous trees, These scenes and sounds majestic, made 'See Biographical Sketch, p. 162.-Titans, in heathen mythology, men of gigantic stature and force, said to be the sons of Coelus and Terra. The wars of the Titans against the gods are very celebrated in mythology. The name Titan is now applied to any thing gigantic, as in this line to the large trees of the wood. 4. His roof adorn'd, a pleasant spot, Mid the black logs green glow'd the grain, The smoke-wreath curling o'er the dell, 5. The violet sprung at Spring's first tinge, His garden spade, or drove his share 6. He mark'd the fire-storm's blazing flood He mark'd the rapid whirlwind shoot, With streaming bough and sever'd root, 7. His gaunt hound yell'd, his rifle flash'd, The grim bear hush'd its savage growl, The beaver sank beneath the wound, Its pond-built Venice' by. Pond-built Venice. The city of Venice, one of the finest in Europe, 8. Humble the lot, yet his the race, Who cumber'd Bunker's' height of red, Blaze on a nation's banner spread, A nation's freedom won. A. B. STREET. ALFRED B. STREET was born in Poughkeepsie, a large and beautiful town on the Hudson, on the 18th of December, 1811. His father, Gen. RANDALL S. STREET, was an officer in active service during our second war with England, and subsequently several years a representative in Congress. When the poet was about fourteen years of age his father removed to Monticello, Sullivan county, then what is called a "wild county," though extremely fertile. Its magnificent scenery, deep forests, clear streams, gorges of piled rocks and black shade, and mountains and valleys, called into life all the faculties that slumbered in the brain of the young poet. He studied law in the office of his father, and attended the courts of Sullivan county for one year after his admission to the bar; but in the winter of 1839 he removed to Albany, where he successfully practiced his profession. For several years past he has been State Librarian. The most complete edition of his poems was published in New York, in 1845. Mr. STREET is a descriptive poet, and in his peculiar department he has, perhaps, no superior in this country. He writes with apparent ease and freedom, from the impulses of his own heart, and from actual observations of life and nature 1. WH 53. THE AMERICAN FLAG. WHEN Freedom, from her mountain height, She tōre the ǎzure robe of night, And set the stars of glory there! is built on 82 small islands, separated by 150 canals, which are crossed by 360 bridges. The beaver constructs his habitation in the water, and the different parts have no communication except by water, and hence the poetical allusion.-' Bunker Hill, a height near Charlestown, Massachusetts, celebrated as the place where the first great battle was fought between the British and Americans, on the memorable 17th of June, 1775.-Yorktown, a port of entry in Virginia, celebrated as the theater of one of the most important events in American history-the final battle of the Revolutionary war, which resulted in the surrender of Lord Cornwallis to General Washington, on the 19th of October, 1781. She mingled with its gorgeous dyes And striped its pure, celestial white, 2 Majestic monarch of the cloud! Who rear'st aloft thy regal form, When strive the warriors of the storm, To guard the banner of the free, 8 Flag of the brave! thy folds shall fly, Like shoots of flame on midnight's pall; And cowering foes shall sink beneath |