A Key to Uncle Tom's Cabin, a collection of facts on the subject of slavery drawn from southern authorities. These, however, still leave the question of the probability of Uncle Tom's adventures an open one, the opponents of the book asserting that the pecuniary value of his virtues would have secured a permanent home and kind treatment to so exemplary a character, without regard to the confessedly strong feeling of attachment existing in the old settled portions of the south towards trustworthy family servants.

Uncle Tom was originally published in book form in two duodecimo volumes. A handsomely illustrated edition subsequently appeared. The sale of these editions had, by the close of 1852, reached to two hundred thousand copies. In England twenty editions in various forms, ranging in price from ten shillings to sixpence a copy, have been published. The aggregate sale of these up to the period we have mentioned, is stated by a late authority to have been more than a million of copies. In France," the Review adds, "Uncle Tom still covers the shop windows of the Boulevards; and one publisher alone, Eustace Barba, has sent out five different editions in different forms. Before the end of 1852 it had been translated into Italian, Spanish, Danish, Swedish, Dutch, Flemish, German, Polish, and Magyar. There are two different Dutch translations, and twelve different German ones; and the Italian translation enjoys the honor of the Pope's prohibition. It has been dramatized in twenty different forms and acted in every capital in Europe and in the free states of America."

Soon after the publication of Uncle Tom's Cabin Mrs. Stowe, in company with her husband and the Rev. Charles Beecher, her brother, visited Great Britain. Her observations were communicated to the public some time after her return by the issue, in conjunction with her husband, of two volumes of travels, Sunny Memories of Foreign Lands.

The great reputation of her novel, and the sympathy of all classes of the English people with the views it contained, had secured to the author an universally favorable reception, and we have consequently much in her volumes of lords and ladies, but these fortunately do not "all her praise engross," for she has an eye for art, literature, and humanitarian effort. She expresses her opinion on art with warmth and freedom, without, however, always securing the respect of the critical reader for her judgment.

The Rev. Charles Beecher contributes his journal of a tour on the Continent to his sister's volumes.

UNCLE TOM IN HIS CABIN.

The cabin of Uncle Tom was a small log building, close adjoining to "the house," as the negro par excellence designates his master's dwelling. In front it had a neat garden-patch, where, every summer, strawberries, raspberries, and a variety of fruits and vegetables, flourished under careful tending. The whole front of it was covered by a large scarlet bignonia and a native multiflora rose, which, entwisting and interlacing, left scarce a vestige of the rough logs to be seen. Here, also, in summer, various brilliant annuals, such as marigolds, petunias, four-o'clocks,

⚫ Edinburgh Review, April, 1855, p. 298.

found an indulgent corner in which to unfold their splendors, and were the delight and pride of Aunt Chloe's heart.

Let us enter the dwelling. The evening meal at the house is over, and Aunt Chloe, who presided over its preparation as head cook, has left to inferior officers in the kitchen the business of clearing away and washing dishes, and come out into her own snug territories, to " get her ole man's supper;" therefore, doubt not that it is her you see by the fire, presiding with anxious interest over certain frizzling items in a stewpan, and anon with grave consideration lifting the cover of a bake-kettle, from whence steam forth indubitable intimations of "something good." A round, black, shining face is hers, so glossy as to suggest the idea that she might have been washed over with white of eggs, like one of her own tea rusks. Her whole plump countenance beams with satisfaction and contentment from under her well-starched checked turban, bearing on it, however, if we must confess it, a little of that tinge of self-consciousness which becomes the first cook of the neighborhood, as Aunt Chloe was universally held and acknowledged to be.

A cook she certainly was, in the very bone and centre of her soul. Not a chicken, or turkey, or duck in the barn-yard but looked grave when they saw her approaching, and seemed evidently to be reflecting on their latter end; and certain it was that she was always meditating on trussing, stuffing, and roasting, to a degree that was calculated to inspire terror in any reflecting fowl living. Her corn-cake, in all its varieties of hoe-cake, dodgers, muffins, and other species too numerous to mention, was a sublime mystery to all less practised compounders; and she would shake her fat sides with honest pride and merriment, as she would narrate the fruitless efforts that one and another of her compeers had made to attain to her elevation.

The arrival of company at the house, the arranging of dinners and suppers "in style," awoke all the energies of her soul; and no sight was more welcome to her than a pile of travelling trunks launched on the verandah, for then she foresaw fresh efforts and fresh triumphs.

Just at present, however, Aunt Chloe is looking into the bake-pan; in which congenial operation we shall leave her till we finish our picture of the cottage.

In one corner of it stood a bed, covered neatly with a snowy spread; and by the side of it was a piece of carpeting of some considerable size. On this piece of carpeting Aunt Chloe took her stand, as being decidedly in the upper walks of life; and it and the bed by which it lay, and the whole corner, in fact, were treated with distinguished consideration, and made, as far as possible, sacred from the marauding inroads and desecrations of little folks. In fact, that corner was the drawing-room of the establishment. In the other corner was a bed of much humbler pretensions, and evidently designed for use. The wall over the fireplace was adorned with some very bril liant scriptural prints, and a portrait of General Washington, drawn and colored in a manner which would certainly have astonished that hero, if ever he had happened to meet with its like.

On a rough bench in the corner, a couple of woolly-headed boys, with glistening black eyes and fat shining cheeks, were busy in superintending the first walking operations of the baby, which, as is usually the case, consisted in getting up on its feet, balancing a moment, and then tumbling down,-each successive failure being violently cheered, as something decidedly clever.

A table, somewhat rheumatic in its limbs, was

drawn out in front of the fire, and covered with a cloth, displaying cups and saucers of a decidedly brilliant pattern, with other symptoms of an approaching meal. At this table was seated Uncle Tom, Mr. Shelby's best hand, who, as he is to be the hero of our story, we must daguerreotype for our readers. He was a large, broad-chested, powerfullymade man, of a full glossy black, and a face whose truly African features were characterized by an expression of grave and steady good sense, united with much kindliness and benevolence. There was something about his whole air self-respecting and digni fied, yet united with a confiding and humble simplicity.

He was very busily intent at this moment on a slate lying before him, on which he was carefully and slowly endeavoring to accomplish a copy of some letters, in which operation he was overlooked by young Master George, a smart, bright boy of thirteen, who appeared fully to realize the dignity of his position as instructor.

Not that way, Uncle Tom,-not that way," said he, briskly, as Uncle Tom laboriously brought up the tail of his g the wrong side out; that makes a q,

you see.'

"La sakes, now, does it?" said Uncle Tom, looking with a respectful, admiring air, as his young teacher flourishingly scrawled q's and g's innumerable for his edification; and then, taking the pencil in his big, heavy fingers, he patiently re-commenced.

"How easy white folks al'us does things!" said Aunt Chloe, pausing while she was greasing a griddle with a scrap of bacon on her fork, and regarding young Master George with pride. The way he can write, now! and read, too! and then to come out here evenings and read his lessons to us,-it's mighty interestin'!"

"But, Aunt Chloe, I'm getting mighty hungry," said George. "Isn't that cake in the skillet almost done?"

"Mose done, Mas'r George," said Aunt Chloe, lifting the lid and peeping in,-" browning beautifula real lovely brown. Ah! let me alone for dat. Missis let Sally try to make some cake, t'other day; jes to larn her, she said. O, go way, Missis,' says I; it really hurts my feelin's, now, to see good vittles spiled dat ar way! Cake ris all to one side-no shape at all; no more than my shoe;-go way!"

And with this final expression of contempt for Sally's greenness, Aunt Chloe whipped the cover off the bake-kettle, and disclosed to view a neatly-baked pound-cake, of which no city confectioner need to have been ashamed. This being evidently the central point of the entertainment, Aunt Chloe began now to bustle about earnestly in the supper depart

"They wanted me to come to supper in the house," said George; "but I knew what was what too well for that, Aunt Chloe."

"So you did-so you did, honey," said Aunt Chloe, heaping the smoking batter-cakes on his plate; "you know'd your old aunty'd keep the best for you. O, let you alone for dat! Go way!" And, with that, aunty gave George a nudge with her finger, designed to be immensely facetious, and turned again to her griddle with great briskness.

"Now for the cake," said Master George, when the activity of the griddle department had somewhat

subsided; and, with that, the youngster flourished a large knife over the article in question.

66

La bless you, Mas'r George!" said Aunt Chloe, with earnestness, catching his arm, you wouldn't be for cuttin' it wid dat ar great heavy knife! Smash all down-spile all de pretty rise of it. Here, I've got a thin old knife, I keeps sharp a purpose. Dar now, see! comes apart light as a feather! Now eat away you won't get anything to beat dat ar." "Tom Lincon says," said George, speaking with his mouth full, "that their Jinny is a better cook than you."

Dem Lincons an't much count, no way!" said Aunt Chloe, contemptuously; "I mean, set along side our folks. They's 'spectable folks enough in a kinder plain way; but, as to gettin' up anything in style, they don't begin to have a notion on't. Set Mas'r Lincon, now, alongside Mas'r Shelby! Good Lor! and Missis Lincon,-can she kinder sweep it into a room like my missis, so kinder splendid, yer know! O, go way! don't tell me nothin' of dem Lincons!"and Aunt Chloe tossed her head as one who hoped she did know something of the world.

66

'Well, though, I've heard you say," said George, "that Jinny was a pretty fair cook."

Can

"So I did," said Aunt Chloe,-"I may say dat. Good, plain, common cookin', Jinny'll do;-make a good pone o' bread,―bile her taters far,―her corn cakes isn't extra, not extra now, Jinny's corn cakes isn't, but then they's far,-but, Lor, come to de higher branches, and what can she do? Why, she makes pies-sartin she does; but what kinder crust? she make your real flecky paste, as melts in your mouth, and lies all up like a puff? Now, I went over thar when Miss Mary was gwine to be married, and Jinny she jest showed me de weddin' pies. Jinny and I is good friends, ye know. I never said nothin'; but go long, Mas'r George! Why, I shouldn't sleep a wink for a week, if I had a batch of pies like dem ar. Why, dey wan't no 'count 'tall."

"I suppose Jinny thought they were ever so nice," said George.

"Thought so!-didn't she? Thar she was, showing 'em, as innocent-ye see, it's jest here, Jinny don't know. Lor, the family an't nothing! She can't be spected to know! Tan't no fault o' hern. Ah, Mas'r George, you doesn't know half your privileges in yer family and bringin' up!" Here Aunt Chloe sighed, and rolled up her eyes with emotion.

46

I'm sure, Aunt Chloe, I understand all my pie and pudding privileges," said George. "Ask Tom Lincon if I don't crow over him every time I meet him."

By this time Master George had arrived at that pass to which even a boy can come (under uncommon circumstances), when he really could not eat another morsel, and, therefore, he was at leisure to notice the pile of woolly heads and glistening eyes which were regarding their operations hungrily from the opposite corner.

"Here, you Mose, Pete," he said, breaking off liberal bits, and throwing it at them; "you want some, don't you? Come, Aunt Chloe, bake them some

cakes."

And George and Tom moved to a comfortable seat in the chimney-corner, while Aunt Chloe, after baking a goodly pile of cakes, took her baby on her lap, and began alternately filling its mouth and her own, and distributing to Mose and Pete, who seemed ra ther to prefer eating theirs as they rolled about on the floor under the table, tickling each other, and occasionally pulling the baby's toes.

"O! go long, will ye?" said the mother, giving now and then a kick, in a kind of general way, under

the table, when the movement became too obstreperous. "Can't ye be decent when white folks comes to see ye? Stop dat ar, now, will ye? Better mind yourselves, or I'll take ye down a button-hole lower, when Mas'r George is gone!"

What meaning was couched under this terrible threat, it is difficult to say; but certain it is that its awful indistinctness seemed to produce very little impression on the young sinners addressed.

*

"Well, now, I hopes you're done," said Aunt Chloe, who had been busy in pulling out a rude box of a trundle-bed; "and now, you Mose and you Pete, get into thar; for we's goin' to have the meetin'." "O mother, we don't wanter. We wants to sit up to meetin',-meetin's is so curis. We likes 'em."

'La, Aunt Chloe, shove it under, and let 'em sit up," said Master George, decisively, giving a push to the rude machine.

Aunt Chloe, having thus saved appearances, seemed highly delighted to push the thing under, saying, as she did so, "Well, mebbe 'twill do 'em some good."

The house now resolved itself into a committee of the whole to consider the accommodations and arrangements for the meeting.

"What we's to do for cheers now, I declare I don't know," said Aunt Chloe. As the meeting had been held at Uncle Tom's weekly, for an indefinite length of time, without any more cheers," there seemed some encouragement to hope that a way would be discovered at present.

66

"Old Uncle Peter sung both the legs out of dat oldest cheer, last week," suggested Mose.

"You go long! I'll boun' you pulled 'em out; some o' your shines," said Aunt Chloe.

"Well, it'll stand, if it only keeps jam up agin de wall!" said Mose.

"Den Uncle Peter mus'n't sit in it, cause he al'ays hitches when he gets a singing. He hitched pretty nigh across de room t'other night," said Pete.

Good Lor! get him in it then," said Mose," and den he'd begin, Come saints and sinners, hear me tell,' and den down he'd go,"-and Mose imitated precisely the nasal tones of the old man, tumbling on the floor, to illustrate the supposed catastrophe.

"Come now, be decent, can't ye?" said Aunt Chloe; an't yer shamed?"

Master George, however, joined the offender in the laugh, and declared decidedly that Mose was a "buster." So the maternal admonition seemed rather to fail of effect.

"Well, ole man," said Aunt Chloe, "you'll have to tote in them ar bar'ls."

"Mother's bar'ls is like dat ar widder's, Mas'r George was reading 'bout in de good book,-dey never fails," said Mose, aside to Pete.

I'm sure one on 'em caved in last week," said Pete, "and let 'em all down in de middle of de singin'; dat ar was failin', warnt it?"

During this aside between Mose and Pete, two empty casks had been rolled into the cabin, and being secured from rolling by stones on each side boards were laid across them, which arrangement, together with the turning down of certain tubs and pails, and the disposing of the rickety chairs, at last completed the preparation.

"Mas'r George is such a beautiful reader, now, I know he'll stay to read for us," said Aunt Chloe; "'pears like 'twill be so much more interestin'."

George very readily consented, for your boy is always ready for anything that makes him of importance.

The room was soon filled with a motley assemblage, from the old gray-headed patriarch of eighty

to the young girl and lad of fifteen. A little harm. less gossip ensued on various themes, such as where old Aunt Sally got her new red head-kerchief, and how "Missis was a going to give Lizzy that spotted muslin gown, when she'd got her new berage made up;" and how Mas'r Shelby was thinking of buying a new sorrel colt, that was going to prove an addition to the glories of the place. A few of the worshippers belonged to families hard by, who had got permission to attend, and who brought in various choice scraps of information, about the sayings and doings at the house and on the place, which circulated as freely as the same sort of small change does in higher circles.

After a while the singing commenced to the evident delight of all present. Not even all the disad vantage of nasal intonation could prevent the effect of the naturally fine voices, in airs at once wild and spirited. The words were sometimes the well-known and common hymns sung in the churches about, and sometimes of a wilder, more indefinite character, picked up at camp-meetings.

The chorus of one of them, which ran as follows, was sung with great energy and unction:Die on the field of battle, Die on the field of battle, Glory in my soul.

Another special favorite had oft repeated the words

O, I'm going to glory,—wont you come along with me? Don't you see the angels beck'ning, and a calling me away? Don't you see the golden city and the everlasting day?

There were others, which made incessant mention of "Jordan's banks," and " Canaan's fields," and the "New Jerusalem;" for the negro mind, impassioned and imaginative, always attaches itself to hymns and expressions of a vivid and pictorial nature; and, as they sung, some laughed, and some cried, and some clapped hands, or shook hands rejoicingly with each other, as if they had fairly gained the other side of the river.

One

Various exhortations or relations of experience followed, and intermingled with the singing. old gray-headed woman, long past work, but much revered as a sort of chronicle of the past, rose, and leaning on her staff, said

"Well, chil'en! Well, I'm mighty glad to hear ye all and see ye all once more, 'cause I don't know when I'll be gone to glory; but I've done got ready, chil'en; 'pears like I'd got my little bundle all tied up, and my bonnet on, jest a waitin' for the stage to come along and take me home; sometimes, in the night, I think I hear the wheels a rattlin', and I'm lookin' out all the time; now, you jest be ready too, for I tell ye all, chil'en," she said, striking her staff hard on the floor, "dat ar glory is a mighty thing! It's a mighty thing, chil'en,-you don'no nothing about it, it's wonderful." And the old creature sat down, with treaming tears, as wholly overcome, while the whole circle struck up

on all hands, that "a minister couldn't lay it off better than he did;" that "'twas reely 'mazin'!"

Uncle Tom was a sort of patriarch in religious matters in the neighborhood. Having naturally an organization in which the morale was strongly predominant, together with a greater breadth and cultivation of mind than obtained among his companions, he was looked up to with great respect, as a sort of minister among them; and the simple, hearty, sincere style of his exhortations might have edified even better educated persons. But it was in prayer that he especially excelled. Nothing could exceed the touching simplicity, the child-like earnestness of his prayer, enriched with the language of Scripture, which seemed so entirely to have wrought itself into his being, as to have become a part of himself, and to drop from his lips unconsciously; in the language of a pious old negro, he "prayed right up." And so much did his prayer always work on the devotional feelings of his audiences, that there seemed often a danger that it would be lost altogether in the abundance of the responses which broke out everywhere around him.

HARRIET FARLEY,

THE editor of "The Lowell or New England Offering," in an autobiographic sketch published in Mrs. Hale's "Woman's Record," gives the following characteristic account of her career:

"My father is a Congregational clergyman, and at the time of my birth was settled in the beautiful town of Claremont, in the state of New Hampshire. Though I left this place when six years of age, I still remember its natural beauties, which even then impressed me deeply. The Ashcutney Mountain, Sugar River, with its foaming falls, the distant hills of Vermont, all are in my memory. My mother was descended from the Moodys, somewhat famous in New England history. One of them was the eccentric and influential Father Moody. Another was Handkerchief Moody, the one who wore, so many years, the minister's veil.' One was the well known Trustee Moody, of Dumwell Academy, who educated my grandmother. She was a very talented and estimable lady.

My father was of the genuine New Hampshire stock-from a family of pious, industrious, agricultural people; his brothers being deacons, and some of his sisters married to deacons. I have not learned that any of them ever committed a disgraceful act. His grandmother was eminent for her medical knowledge and skill, and had as much practice as is usually given to a country doctor. His mother was a woman of fine character, who exerted herself, and sacrificed much, to secure his liberal education. His sisters were energetic in their coöperation with their husbands, to secure and improve homes among the White and the Green Mountains, and Wisconsin. So much for progenitors.

"I was the sixth of ten children, and, until fourteen, had not that health which promises continued life. I was asthmatic, and often thought to be in a consumption, I am fortunate now in the possession of excellent health, which may be attributed to a country rearing, and an obedience to physical laws, so far as I understand them. At fourteen years of age I commenced exertions to assist in my own maintenance, and have at different times followed the different avocations of New England girls. I have I plaited palm-leaf and straw, bound shoes, taught school, and worked at tailoring; besides my labors as a weaver in the factory, which suited me better than any other.

"After my father's removal to the little town of

VOL. II.-39

Atkinson, New Hampshire, he combined the labors of preceptor of one of the two oldest Academies in the state, with his parochial duties; and here, among a simple but intelligent people, I spent those years which give the tone to female character. At times there was a preceptress to the Academy; but it was in the summer, when I was debilitated, and my lessons were often studied on my bed. I learned something of French, drawing, ornamental needlework, and the usual accomplishments-for it was the design of my friends to make me a teacher-a profession for which I had an instinctive dislike. But my own feelings were not consulted. Indeed, perhaps it was not thought how much these were outraged; but their efforts were to suppress the imaginative and cultivate the practical. This was, undoubtedly, wholesome discipline; but it was carried to a degree that was painful, and drove me from my home. I came to Lowell, determined that if I had my own living to obtain, I would get it in my own way; that I would read, think, and write, when I could, without restraint; that if I did well I would have the credit of it; if ill, my friends should be relieved from the blame, if not from the stigma. I endeavored to reconcile them to my lot, by a devotion of all my spare earnings to them and their interests. I made good wages; I dressed economically; I assisted in the liberal education of one brother, and endeavored to be the guardian angel of a lovely sister, who, after many years of feebleness, is now perhaps a guardian angel to me in heaven. Twice before this had I left the mill,' to watch around the death-beds of loved ones-my elder sister, and a beautiful and promising brother. Two others had previously died; two have left their native state for a Texan home. So you will see that my feelings must have been severely tried. But all this has, doubtless, been beneficial to me.

"It was something so new to me to be praised and encouraged to write, that I was at first overwhelmed by it, and withdrew as far as possible from the attentions that some of my first contributions to the 'Offering' directed towards me. It was with great reluctance that I consented to edit, and was quite as unwilling at first to assist in publishing. But circumstances seem to have compelled me forward as a business woman, and I have endeavored to do my duty.

"I am now the proprietor of The New England Offering.' I do all the publishing, editing, canvassing, and, as it is bound in my office, I can in a hurry help fold, cut covers, stitch, &c. I have a little girl to assist me in the folding, stitching, &c.; the rest, after it comes from the printer's hand, is all my own work. I employ no agents, and depend upon no one for assistance. My edition is four thousand."

The Lowell Offering was commenced in 1841. In 1848 Miss Farley published a volume chiefly made up of her contributions to that periodical, entitled Shells from the Strand of the Sea of Genius. Another volume from the various writers in the same publication was collected by Charles Knight, in London, and published in one of his popular libraries in 1849-Mind among the Spindles.

ELIZABETH F. ELLET.

MRS. ELIZABETH FRIES ELLET was born at Sodus Point, on Lake Ontario, New York, in October,

1818. Her maiden name was Lummis. Her father was a physician, Dr. William Nixon Lummis, the pupil and the friend of Rush, whom he strongly resembled in person. He was of a New

Jersey family, and became one of the pioneers of Western New York, expending a fortune in improvements in the country adjoining Sodus bay, of which others reaped the advantage. He was a man of talent and religious character, and adinired for his social qualities. His second wife, the mother of our author, was Sarah, the daughter of Captain John Maxwell, an officer in the American army during the Revolutionary war, and the niece of General William Maxwell in the same service.

Mrs. Ellet was educated in English and French at the female seminary, under the care of Susan Marriott, an accomplished English Quaker lady, at Aurora, Cayuga county, New York. She was early married to Dr. William H. Ellet, who has occupied the professorship of chemistry at Columbia College, New York, and in the South Carolina College at Columbia. In 1849 they came to reside permanently in New York.

EF Ellet.

The poetical talent was marked in Mrs. Ellet at a very early age. She wrote good verses at fifteen, and in 1835 published a volume of poems. At the same period appeared a tragedy from her pen entitled Teresa Contarini, founded on a Venetian historic incident, which was performed on the stage. In 1841 a volume in prose appeared from her pen, The Characters of Schiller, a critical essay on the genius of that author, and analysis of his characters. Scenes in the Life of Joanna of S cily, partly historical and partly fanciful; and a small volume for children, Rambles about the Country, appeared about the same time. Mrs. Ellet also, at this period, contributed articles to the American Quarterly Review, the North American and the New York Reviews, on Italian and French dramatic and lyric poetry, and wrote tales and poems for monthly magazines in New York, Philadelphia, and Charleston. In 1848 she published her work, The Women of the American Revolution, in two volumes, to which a third was subsequently added. It was an undertaking requiring not only a special sympathy (which Mrs. Ellet possessed through her family associations) and literary skill, but much labor and research.

These memoirs, which shed so important a light on the history of the Revolution, were chiefly compiled from original materials, manuscripts of the times, or personal recollections of the surviving friends of the heroines. A companion volume, The Domestic History of the Revolution, is a connected narrative exhibiting the life of the period.

Another collection of memoirs is The Pioneer Women of the West, v ritten from original materials. Summer Rambles in the West describes a tour through several of the western states, with a full description of parts of Minnesota Territory.

She is also the author of a pleasant volume. Evenings at Woodlawn, a collection of European legends and traditions; of Novellettes of the Musicians, a series of tales, original and selected from the German, founded on incidents in the personal history of artists, and illustrative of their character and the style of their works. Her Watching Spirits, an illustrated volume, is an essay on the presence and agency of spirits in this world, as described in the Holy Scriptures.

LINES TO

Thou in faithfulness hast afflicted me.-Ps. cxix. 75. Smitten of Heaven-and murmuring 'neath the rodWhose days are heavy with their freight of gloom: Drooping and faint, with eyes

Not yet by Faith unclosed

Art thou repining that thou stand'st apart,
Like the tree lightning-blasted? wrung with pain,

No sympathy can heal

No time can e'er assuage.

This life to thee is but a sea of woe,

Whose deep unto its deep of sorrow calls:
While others walk a maze

Of flowers, and smiles, and joys!

Look up-thou lone and sorely stricken one!
Look up-thou darling of the Eternal Sire!
More blest a thousand-fold

Than they-the proudly gay!

For them earth yields her all of bliss;-for thee Kind Heaven doth violence to its heart of love; And Mercy holds thee fast,

Fast in her iron bonds

And wounds thee lest thou 'scape her jealous care,
And her best gifts-the cross and thorn-bestows,
They dwell within the vale,

Where fruits and flowers abound.
Thou on affliction's high and barren place;
But round about the mount chariots of fire-
Horses of fire-encamp
To keep thee safe for heaven.

JEDIDIAH V. HUNTINGTON. MR. HUNTINGTON was born in 1814, and educated as a physician. After practising his profession for several years, he became, in December, 1839, a candidate for orders in the Protestant Episcopal Church, and a professor in St. Paul's College, Flushing. After his ordination he was for a short time rector of a church in Middlebury, Vermont. He then visited Europe, and remained for several years in Italy. On his return he be came a Roman Catholic, but did not enter the priesthood of that communion. After a residence of a few years in New York, he removed to Bal timore, where he edited a monthly magazine. Ir