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püz T. JOPIPI A4

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THE FISHER BOY.

Thou recallest to me, rosy boy, the careless mornents of my early youth. How often, with my rod in my hand, have I sought the shelter of some shady thicket, when the sun had risen too high to pursue the sport which had engaged me from early dawn by the margin of the tumbling brook. With old Izaak Walton as my companion, to give to my idle occupation the charm of imagination and genius, and my basket of provisions by my side, I have happily wasted away the hot hours, until the cooler breezes of evening again welcomed me to my sport.

Who that has enjoyed the pleasures of wandering free and far among scenes of rural beauty, has not learned to loathe more deeply the irksome bondage of a city life. Give me the blue and lofty mountain shutting out another world behind it—the sequestered valley where I may quietly muse among overhanging rocks, soothed by the murmurs of the bubbling stream. Let my companions be nature's free denizens. Let me watch the finny tribe glancing over the yellow

sands, and dashing at the thoughtless insect who ven. tures too near the treacherous wave. Let me listen to the songs of various birds as they first hail the rising of the sun, or seek their nests as he descends into the west. Let me sit unfeared by the sportive squirrel or timid rabbit that plays around my feet; or cull the ever-varying flowers that cover the face of earth with the gayest of vestures.

These are the scenes which gradually impress upon the mind the truest knowledge of the quiet sublimity and variety of nature; they give to it that tone which at once enlarges and exalts its views; they create in us new and happier emotions; they impart

That serene and blessed mood
In which the affections gently lead us on.'

These are the scenes which calm and soften the heart and fill us more deeply with that silent devotion, which seems naturally to arise towards the inscrutable being, who has created them all for his own good ends, and whom we learn to adore with deeper humility and admiration.

THE HEROINE OF SULI.

BY GODFREY WALLACE.

Many, many are the hours I have spent in the glorious wilderness of imagination! Who would ever exchange it for the plodding regularity of matter of fact existence? 0! the joy of revelling the owner of half the treasures of the world, and using your exhaustless wealth in gladdening that circle of creation of which you are the centre !-0! the rapturous exultation of the moment of successful affection, when the eye

of beauty, before clouded by the staid prudery of female decorum, beams with all the mild softness of the tenderest love, when she, you have so long adored, hangs on each word of the tale of past mental suffering with rapt attention, and repays each by-gone pang with those endearing looks which woman only can bestow, and which make the heart of man throb with passionate emotion !-0! the glories of the field of combat; the trumpet's call, the hasty preparation, the dread array of opposing hosts, the thunder of ar

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