He never had known what are called fine feelings, or sensibilities, or anything of that description whatPoets might talk of

ever.

66

the lustre of the tear that breaks For others' woes down virtue's manly cheeks."

His cheeks were manly enough, but they had never glistened with that brightness. He was doomed to be inhabited for a season by the soul of one of the most sensitive and the most tender-hearted of men. The conflict began. The neglect of those whom he once cared not for, then called up a blush upon his cold cheek. When proceeding to market, he found his attention diverted from the price of corn or stocks, to the woes of mankind, deserted friendship, and broken hearts. Once in particular, I observed a strange irritation visible in his whole frame, and I discovered that two orphans had been appealing to his charity. Orphans, he had once thought, were very necessary things to fill asylums, but now they crept into his heart. An unusual sensation in his eyes compelled him to raise his hand to relieve them, and, for the first time, he dashed away a TEAR! He gradually waxed thin, lost his colour, and much of his spirits. At length his old soul was given him on condition that he would never, in future, judge of others' feelings by his own.

As I cannot now stay to describe more of the strange cases brought before me in this singular vision, I shall merely add, that after a time, the supernatural power was withdrawn, and men were told to resume their former stations. A loud voice was heard through the whole assembly to the following effect. "Learn from your past experience, Oh ye sons of man, these two important sentiments. Learn to look with patience and respect upon those into whose motives and feelings ye cannot enter;-learn also to copy the excellencies, and avoid the defects of those around you." So I awoke, and behold! it was a dream.

THE FIVE STARS.

A NIGHT REVERIE.

In the clear heaven five stars appeared,
So closely joined as though they feared
That the fixed gaze of mortal eye
Should think them not in amity.
And though they uttered no sweet sound,
And though no motion could be found
To indicate a soul within,

To think them soulless were a sip.

And by its ardent glance confessed
The passion not in vain was given.

My vision closed.-A cloud of night,
Those five stars covered from my sight.
Yet time will come when forms like this,
Shall share with mortals all their bliss!

THE ANNUALS.

THE chief attractions of these pretty Christmas and New Year's gifts are the plates, and the poetry. The former must be seen in the Volumes themselves: the latter may be transplanted from their native soil, as specimens to attract the admiration of our readers. We shall select a few pieces now, and some more next month.

THE SONG OF DREAMS.

BY MISS M. A. BROWNE.

(From the " "Forget-Me-Not.")

In the rosy glow of the evening's cloud,
In the twilight's gloom,

In the sultry noon, when the flowers are bowed,
And the streams are dumb,

In the morning's beam, when the faint stars die
On the brightening flood of the azure sky,

We come!

Weavers of shadowy hopes and fears,
Darkeners of smiles, brighteners of tears,
We come!

We come where the babe on its mother's breast,
Lies in slumber deep;

We flit by the maiden's couch of rest,
And o'er her sleep

We float, like the honey-laden bees,

On the soft, warm breath of the languid breeze,
And sweep

Hues more beautiful than we bring

From her lip and her cheek, for each wandering wing To keep.

We sit by the miser's treasure-chest,
And near his bed,

And we watch his anxious heart's unrest;
And in mockery tread

With a seeming heavy step about;

And laugh when we hear his frightened shout
Of dread,

Lest the gnomes who once o'er his gold did reign,
To his hoards, to claim it back again,

Have sped.

But a sunnier scene, and a brighter sky,
To day are ours;

We have seen a youthful poet lie,

By the fountain's showers,

With his upturned eyes, and his dreamy look,
Reading the April sky's sweet book,
Writ by the hours;

Thinking those glorious thoughts that grow
Untutored up in life's fresh glow
Like flowers.

We catch the richest, brightest hue
Of the rainbow's rim,

The purest cloud that 'mid the blue
Of heaven doth swim!

The clearest star-beam that shall be
In the dew-drop shrined when the twilight sea
Grows dim;

And a spirit of love about them breathe ;
And twine them all in a magic wreath

For him!