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VOLUME 11. | BY C. R. HANLEITER. IP © E T R Y “ Much yet remains unsung IN MY DOWER SO BRIGHT. In my bower so bright, As I layl ant night, The moon through the freali leaves streaming, There were sounds in the air, But I could not tell where, Kor if I were waking or dreaming. ‘Twas the sound of n lute To a voice half mute, That sunk when I th ought it was swelling; And it came to my cars As if drown’d in the tears Os the being whose woes it was telling. Some accents I heard Were like those of the bird Who the livelong night is mourning; And some were like those That we hear, when the Rose Sighs soft for her Zephyr’s returning. The tones were so sweet, I thought it most meet, They should not be tones of gladness; There are notes so fine, That, were melody mine, They should only belong to sadness. And the air cteature sung, And the wild lute rung Like the bell when a cherub is dying: 1 can tell no more, But the tale was of woe, For the sounds were all lost in the sighing. And still it sung on Till the stars were gone, And the sun through the dews was peeping : When 1 woke in my bower, Eve ry leaf, every flower, Every bud, every blossom—was weeping ® E L [E©Y IE) HOPES. BY FKKDERIKA BREMER, Authoress of the ‘ Neighbors ,’ ‘the Home,’ SfC. I, bail n method, peculiar to myself, of walking withoutmm.hu, .1 path of life ; although I was obliged, both physically and morally speaking, to do it nearly bare-footed. I hoped and hoped, from day to day, from morning to evening, from autumn to spring, from spring to au tumn, from this year to next year ; and thus had I got over, with mere hope, nearly thir ty years of my journey through life without suffering much from any of my numerous privations, excepting the want of whole hoots. I consoled myself easily even for this, when I was out in the open air; but, in company it always gave me an uneasy sensation to turn my heels forward, at the least torn part. It was much harder for me however, to have nothing to take with me into hovels of misery, but words of consola tion. I comforted myself, as a thousand others have done, with casting a hopeful glance at Fortune's rolling wheel, and with the phi losophical remark, ‘With time, comes coun sel.’ In the situation of curate to a parish in the country, with a poor salary and meagre diet, experiencing a moral famine in the so ciety of the scolding mistress of the house, of the indolent, self-indulgent pastor, of the strutting son, and of the daughter of the family, who, with high shoulders n ci feet turned in, was going in a;ia out, and paying visits from mor:;j n g till night, I was sensi ble of a peculiar emotion of pleasure and hoy*., when I received a letter from one my acquaintances, informing me that an uncle who was personally unknown to me, a merchant in Stockholm, was lying at his last extremity, and had inquired, in a sudden fit of death-bed affection, for his good-for-noth ing nephew. Seated in an uncommonly hard and jolt ing farmer’s cart, the grateful nephew soon set out. With a very thin, small bundle, and a million of hopes, he rattled up and ■down the hills, and reached at last without ‘broken bones the capital city. At the inn where I alighted, I ordered a small, only a very small breakfast—a trifle— •a bit of bread and butter—a couple of eggs. The host and a stout man were walking mpand down the room, busily talking. ‘ISo, 1 must say,’ said the stout gentleman, ‘this great merchant, Mr. P., who died the day before yesterday, was and odd fellow enough. ‘Yes, yes,’ thought I, ‘aha! aha! an odd fellow, who had plenty of money ! Here, my friend,’ said I to the servant, ‘could you get me apiece of beef-steak,or a little some thing solid 1 Do you hear 1 a bowl of hot ■soup would not be entirely out of place. Get it, if you can, but be quick.’ ‘Yes,’ said mine host, ‘he was pretty strong. Thirty thousand rix dollars, and more in the bank. Nobody in the whole ci ty had dreamed of such a thing—thirty thou 'Thirty thousand ! 1 repeated, in my ti t- Timphantsoul, ‘thirty thousand! HeiP.young rtiah—waiter! give we thirty thou —no,give me bank at—bo. give me a bottle of wine, I *ay 1’ and from my head to my heart, the alternate echoes ringing within me at every pulsation—thirty thousand! thirty tbou sand!’ , , i ‘Yes,’ proceeded the stout geutleman, and can you really believe it, that, among the mass of debts, there are nine hundred t*x & JPiimtlg Jlctospaper: Dcfootetr to Hitcvatuvr, Slgriculture, jEecftaHtcs, duration, jFoteiflw Domestic tuteiUflcncc, &c. dollars due for cutlets, and five thousand dollars for champaigne 1 How the credi tors are all standing round, gaping ! All the things in the house are scarcely worth two pence ; and without if, to maker up for this deficiency, there stands a single miserable— caleche !’ ‘Aba! that is a Little different. Here, young man—waiter ! take away again the meat and the soup, and the wine ! and, do you hear 1 take particular notice that I have not tasted a morsel of these things ; indeed, how should I ? for I have done nothing but eat and drink since I opened my eyes this morning, (a horrible falsehood.) and it just struck me that it was not worth while, there fore, to pay anything for such a superfluous meal.’ ‘But you have ordered it, sir,’ answered the waiter, exceedingly provoked. ‘My friend,’ I replied, putting my hand behind my ear, a place from which persons who are in perplexity are accustomed to seek necessary aid, ‘my friend, it was a mis take, for which I am not bound to pay ; it was not my fault, that a Tich heir, for whom I ordered the breakfast, has become poor all at once, indeed, poorer than before, since he has not more than half of his credit for the future. If, then, in such a change of cir cumstances as you can well understand, lie cannot pay for an expensive breakfast, yet that does not hinder me from paying for the eggs which I have eaten, and giving you, at the same time, a penny for douceur, since my allairs oblige me to go away from here at once.’ By means of my excellent logic and good drink money, I was able, with a bleeding heart and thirsting lips, to get rid of my costly breakfast, and set off with my little bundle under my arm, to walk round the ci ty looking for a room, which I could hire for a small sum ; thinking, in the mean time by what means I could procure even this small sum. I had got a bad headache by the sudden shock caused me by the difference between the reality and my hopes. But when, dur ing my perambulations, I saw an elegantly dressed gentleman adorned with stars and ribbons, alighting from a splendid coach, and 1 *'***.• ami the deep wrinkles on his forehood, and over his eyebrows—the characteristic lines of ill humor; when I saw', also, a young count, whom I had known at the University at Trp sula. walking as if he could scarcely bold himself up from premature old age and wea riness of life—then I raised my hand, dtew in a long breath of air, which happened (un luckily) just in this place to be strongly im pregnated with the smell of sausages, and celebrated poverty and a good conscience ! 11l an obscure street in theoutskirtsof the city, I found at last a little room better suit ed to my darkened circumstances, than to the bright hopes 1 had cherished a few hours before. I had obtained permission to pass the win ter in Stockholm, and expected to spend my time here quite differently from what I had now reason to anticipate. But what was to be done 1 The worst of all would be, to lose courage : to cross one’s arms, and look to Heaven for help, not much better. ‘The sun breaks forth when it is least ex pected,’ I thought, whiledatk autumn clouds were hovering heavily over the city. I de termined to exert all my energies to be ob taining, for the present, a decent support, with something better in prospect than w- 6 opened to me under the miserable *-, a t ron . age of the. pastor G-., at>'i meanwhile to earn my daily bread, ’ey copying papers—a wretched m.feans of escape from a wretched condition. And thus 1 passed my days in fruitless at tempts to find ears which were not deaf, in the w’earisome occupation of transcribing fairly the empty ideas of empty beads, with food constantly diminishing, and hopes as constantly rising, until the evening, against which 1 afterwards made a cross in my cal endar. My host had just left me with the friend ly warning, to pay my first quarter’s rent the next day, unless I should prefer (the po liteness was quite ala Francaise,) to make another voyage of discovery with duck and pork through the streets of the town. It was on an intensely cold November evening which had worked its eighth hour, that, on my return from a visit to & poor sick person where 1 had—perhaps rather im prudently—emptied my purse, 1 was gree ted in this affectionate manner. I snufied my dim and sleep-inspiring co velle with my fingers, and looked around the little dark room, for whose further use, it was absolutely necessary I should obtain some money. ‘Diogenes had a worse one,’ I said in a re signed mood, while I drew a rickety table from the window, on the outside of which the wind and rain were not civil enough to remain. My eyes fell at the same moment upon a brilliantly burning fire in the chim ney of a kitchen, tantalizingly situated just opposite to my small room, in which the chimney was exactly the darkest thing.— ‘Men and women cooks have a happy fate among erring mortals!’ thought I, as I look ed with secret envy at the jolly well-fed dame, who was standing amid gridirons and stew-pans,in the full splendor of the fire, like a queen, brandishing majestically the scep tre of the fire-tongs, in the midst of her glowing empire. A story higher up I had a view through MADISON, MORGAN COUNTY, GEORGIA, SATURDAY MORNING, JUNE 17, 1843. a window veiled by an envious curtain, <f a brightly-lighted room, where a ntimerotii family had assembled round a well-spreat, table. I was thoroughly stiffened with cold and wef —how empty in that part of the body, sometimes called the stoie-house, I will not mention : but oh heaven, (I thought to myself,) if that pretty girl who is (offer ing'a cup of tea-nectar, and such delicious cakes to that stout gentleman on the sofa, who can scarcely rise from over-eating, could hut stretch out her beautiful hand far ther, and would, she should with a thousand kisses. In vain—ah! the lazy man takes the cup —he dips and dips in his biscuits so slowly and lazily—it is enongh to make one weep to see him. How the sweet girl caresses him ! lam envious to know whether it is the dear Papa himself or an uncle—or perhaps—ah, the envialde mortal ! but no, it is quite impossible—he at least forty years older than she is. See, that must be his wife—an elderly lady who sits by him on the sofa, and to whom the young lady offers biscuits—the old lady has a very matronly appearance. But to whom is she going now, 1 cannot see the person ; an ear and a part of the shoulder is all that I can discern on account of the window frame—l cannot complain that the honora ble lady should sit with her back to me, but that she should let the young lady stand be fore her a quarter of an hour, bowing and offering Iter refreshments—that vexes me greatly—it must be a woman, a man could not beso uncivil to that angel—but—or— now she takes the cup —and now, oh mis ery, the hand of a large man is thrust into the cake basket; the brute ! and how he grasps, the awkward creature—l should re ally like to know whether he is her brother! he was probably hungry, poor fellow. Now two little children come into the circle—like their sister. I cannot but wonder whether the man with the ear has left them any thing. How that lovely creature caresses and kiss es the little ones ; and gives them all the bis cuits and cakes which the long fingers of Mr. Devour-all, have left ! And now, the sweet attgel herself has nothing of the whole provision any more than I —except the per fume. ■ - , VV l.at the room : the old gentleman gets up from the sofa; the person with an ear i ushes for ward,and in doing so gives the git Ia push, (the dromedary !) so that she strikes against the tea-table, throwing back upon the sofa the poor old lady who was just getting up ; the child ten skip and clap their hands—the doors fly open ! a young officer steps in— the young lady throws her arms around him. Ah so ! Aha! There we have it! I shut my window-shutter with violence that makes it crack, and sit down quite wet through, and shivering on my chair. What bad Itodo at the window 1 That is what one gets for his curiosity. A week ago this family came from the country and took possession of the fine house just opposite, and it never came into my head to ask who they were, or where they came from. What occasion had I this even ing to make myself acquainted with their household affaits ? How should this \Titec est me ? I was out of bume; r j heart too was rather heavy but never theless true to principles, never to give myselt uy, so Anxious thoughts, unless they cr “uid lead to some useful end. I seized the pen with stiffened fingerg, and in order to direct my thoughts, I determined to at tempt to draw a picture of domestic happi ness—ol a happiness—of a happiness which L had never enjoyed. For the rest 1 philo sophized wltile I breathed upon my frozen hands: “Am I then the first who has sought in the hot-house of fancy a warmth which the hard world of reality has denied him ? Six dollars a cord for birchvvood ; but it will not last till December. 1 write!’ • Happy, thrice happy the families in whose narrow circle, no heart can grieve or rejoice alone—no glance, no smile can be unreturned —and where friends say to each other daily with actions rather than words —‘thy happiness, are mine too.’ ‘ Beautiful is the peaceful, the quiet home, which protectingly incloses the weary pil grim of earth, which collects around the friendly blazing hearth—the old man lean ing on the staff’—the strong middle-aged man, the loving wife and happy children, who dance and sport around their blessed earthly heaven, and who finish a day passed in innocence, with grateful prayers upon their smiling lips ; falling asleep on the breast of their parents, while the soil voice of the mother tells them in whispering lul laby tones, how around their couch The Angels are awake, Forming a circle, Surrounding the beds, Where innocence sleeps.’ There I was oldiged to leave off’, for I felt something like a drop of rain coming from my eyes, which prevented my seeing how to write fairly. ‘ How many,’ thought I, my reflections taking involuntarily a melancholy turn— ‘how many are obliged to their sorrow, to go without t’ne highest bliss of earthly life— domestic happiness !’ I looked at myself fora moment in the only whole mirror which I had in.my room—that of truth, and then wrote again with sad feelings, ‘He may entirely be called unfortunate who, in the chill and anxious hours of life, (which occur so often,) is ptessed to no faithful heart whose sighs no one answers, whoso silent sorrow no one softens, by saying—l under stand you ! I suffer with you! ‘ He is cast down, no one raises him up ; he weeps, no one sees it, no one w ill see it ; he goes out, no one follows him; he rests, no one watches over him—he is solitary: O how unhappy he is. Why does be not die? Ah, who would weep for him ? How colj is a grave, bedewed by no warm tears of iftection ! ‘He is solitary in tlie winter nights : for him the earth has no flowers, and the lights of leaven burn dimly. Why should he walk forth, the solitary one—why should he stay inthe house, why does he not flee away a shadow among shadows ? Ah he still hopes—he is a poor wretch, begging for joy, who still, in the eleventh hour, waits for the benevolent hand that shall give him alms. ‘He would gather one little flower on earth, and wear it iu his bosom, that be need not afterwards go to rest so solitarily, so en tirely alone.’ I was describing my own situation—l was lamenting over myself. Deprived of my parents in early life, without brothers and sisters, friends or rela tions,! still remained so solitary and desert ed ill the world, thaf f migk* niXou 1.0 17., vviot. ed toquit it, if I had not an inward trust in Heaven, and a naturally cheerful tempera ment. Until now, however, I had almost constantly hoped in the future—and at the same time with an instinctive feeling that this was best, rather than from philosophy, I had suppressed all to earnest desires for pie sent comfort, when it was entirely out of my power. But for some time, this had been unfortunately not the case with me ; I felt, and more than ever this evening, an inex pressible desire to have someone to love —to have a friend with me—one who should be mine—in short, for the highest happiness of life, a wife, a beloved and adored wife. O, she would console me, she would make mo happy ; her tenderness would make me a king, though in the poorest cottage. That the fire of love in my heart would not se cure the faithful friend at my side from free zing, was made but too certain, by the in ftis ever, and walked round my room a few times—that is I took two steps forward, and then turned directly about. The conscious ness of iny condition followed me as the sha dow on the wall, and for the first time in my life, I felt dejected, and threw a dark look into my obscure futurity. I had no patron, and could not therefore for a long time ex pect any income, by which to procure even my own bread—ergo, nothing fora friend— nothing for a wife. ‘ But of what use in the world,’ said I again quite seriously to myself, ‘is complain ing I I tried once again to dismiss all my anxious thoughts. ‘Ah! if but one Chris tian soul would come to me this evening. Whoever it might be, friend or foe any thing is better than his solitude. Yes, even it an iiihabitP’ut the invisible world should ope l ’ Liitj uoor, he should be welcome to me! ‘V ho is this V Three knocks at the door 1 I cannot believe—three more ! 1 went to the door and opened it; there was no one there. Blasts of wind alone were howling through the passage. I shut the door again hastily, thrust my hands into my pockets, and walked about humming to myself a lit tle while. A few minutes afterwards I thought 1 heard a sigh : I was silent, and listened—again I distinctly heard a sigh, and yet again, so deep and so melancholy, that I cried out with inward distress : ‘Who is there V No answer. I stood still an instant, considering what this might portend, when a frightful noise on the stairs, as if a legion of cats were cater wauling on the*anding-place, and finishing by a violent knock at my door, put an end to my uncertainty. I took up the candle and a stick, and went out. At the instant that I opened the door, the candle was blown out. A gigantic figure in white, ap proached tne, and I felt myself suddenly seized by two strong arms. I shrieked for help, and struggled so manfully to get free, that I fell to the ground with my antagonist, hut in such a manner that I was the upper most. I sprang up again swift as an arrow, and was going away to get a light, when 1 stumbled over something—God knows who’ it was; (l firmly believe that someone took me by tho heels,) be that as it may, 1 fell a second time, struck my bead against the ta ble and lost my consciousness, bearing at the same time a provoking noifb, which much resembled laughter. When I opened piy -eyes, they were met by a dazzling biightncss. I closed them again, and listened to a confused murmuring around me—opened then, again a little, and endeavored to distinguish the oiyects about me, which seemed so extraordinary and wonderful, that I was almost afraid that my senses were disturbed. I was laying on the sofa, and—no, I certainly was not mistaken —tlie charming girl who had been constant ly hovering before my fancy this evening, stood actually at my side, and with a heav enly expression of sympathy, was washing my head with vinegar. A young man whose countenance seemed familiar to me, was holding my hand in both of his. I perceiv ed also the stout gentleman, another thin one, the lady, the children, and in a more remote twilight 1. saw glimmering the para dise of the tea-table ; I found myself by an inconceivable whim of fate, in the midst of the family I had just beui observing with so lively an interest. Afterwards, when I had fuliy recovered my senses, the young man embraced me sev eral times with military impetuosity. “Do you not recognize me then ?” lie cried out, astouished to see me like a statue in soul and body. “ Have you then so entirely for gotten Augustus Do., whose life you pre served so lately at tlie risk of your own 1 whom you so bravely fished out of the wa ter, exposing yourself to the danger of re maining forever in the uninteresting society of fishes ? See here: my father, my mother, my sister Wilhelmina !” I pressed his hand, and now the parents also embraced me.— With a loud stroke of his fist on the table, jhe father of Augustus now exclaimed : “ And because you have saved my son’s life, and because you are so good and honorable a fellow, and suffer hunger yourself while you give bread to others, therefore you shall have the curacy at Halle—yes, you shall be shepherd of the flock I say. 1 have juat patronatus, you must know.” I was not for a long time able to under stand, think or speak, and not until by a thousand explanations all was explained, could I understand anything clearly, but *hat Willw.lminn wns not —that Wilhelmina was the sister of Augustus. He had arrived that evening from service with his regiment, when with which duiirtg the preceding summer, an accident had giv en me an opportunity of rescuing him from a danger into which he had thrown himself by youthful ardor and presumption. I had not seen him after this circumstance; had accidentally made his acquaintance at an ear lier period—taking with him the cup of bro therhood at the University, and afterwards forgotten my dear lirother. He had now, with the easily-kindled en thusiasm of youth, been telling these cir cumstances to liis family, and what else he knew or did not know about me. The fath er who had a living at his disposal, and who (as I afterwards learned,) had made from his window some compassionate observa tions upon my meagre dinner-table, deter mined, at his son’s earnest entreaties, to taise me from the lap of poverty to the height of teiicity. Augustus in nisr transport, wisn ing to make me immediately acquainted with my good fortune, and at the same lime to indulge his fancy for droll tricks; an nounced himself on my stairs in a manner, whose consequences for me were a consider able, though not dangerous contusion upon my head, and the unexpected transition to the opposite side of the street—from the deepest darkness to the brightest light. The good young man begged my pardon a thou sand times for bis bcedlessness : I assured him a thousand, times, that it was not worth while to spcaj; of so trifling a circumstance. And certainly the curacy was a balsam which Would have made a deeper wound unfelt. With surprise and some embarrassment, I now perceived that the ear and shoulder, whose possessor made such a frightful grasp, in the cake-basket, and at which my wrath was so much kindled, belonged to the father of Augustus, and my patron. The stout gatitlcman vyfjtj sat oir tlie soIB, was NYll* hehijiua’s uncle. The kindness and cheerfulness of my new friends, soon made me feel happy and at home. The old people treated me as one of their children, the young man es a bro ther, and the two little ones seemed to re gard me as a future companion for their sports and frolics. After I had received two cups of tea from Wilhelrnina’s beautiful hand, to which l had almost feared that in my absence of mind, I should add .more biscuit than did my worthy patron, 1 rose to take leave. They entreated me to pass the night at their house, but I remained fixed in my deter mination to pass the first night of happiness in my old habitation, in giving thanks to tlie High Ruler of my destiny. They all embraced me anew, and I em braced them also very heartily, even Wil hclmina, yet not till a gracious permission was granted. “ I might as well have let that alone,” I thought to myself afterwards, “if it is to he the first and last time !” Augustus went back with me. In my room we found mine host in the midst of overturned tables and chairs, with an expression of countenance hovering be tween rain and sunshine ; on one side of his face his mouth was stretched open as far as the ear, with a horrible smile ; on the oth er side it was drawn down to the chin with vexation ; his eyes followed the same direc tion, and the whole had the appealance of a cramp, until the manner in which Au gustus ordered him to leave us alone, changed his whole aspect into that of the most friendly grin ; while the man himself vanished from the door with the most hum ble bows. Augustus was in despair about my table, my chair, my bed, &c ; I had much difficul ty in restraining him from beating the host, who insisted on being paid for sttch a hole I I could only satisfy him by making a solemn promise that I would go somewhere elso the very next day. “ But be sure to tell him,” Augustus insisted, “ before you pay him, that he is a rogue, a rascal, a , or if you will not, I will tell him sci.” “ No, no, beware !” I said, interrupting him,“ let roe alone, I will make all right.” After my young friend had left me, I pass ed a few happy houtsin thinking of the j number 12. WM. T. THOMPSON, EDITOR. change in my prospects, and in blessing God for it. Then my thoughts fixed on my parsonage; and heaven knows what fat oxen and cows, what parks adorned with flowers, fruits arid vegetables, I saw in spirit surrounding my beautiful paradise, in which my Eve was walking by my side, and supported by my arm ; and, especially, what countless num bers of happy and improved human beings I saw streaming out of the church in which I had been preaching. I christened, I con firmed, I married the dear children of my flock; in the joy of my heart, 1 forgot only the burying. Every hungry priest who has obtained a living, every mortal, especially one who sees a long-cherished hope unexpectedly fulfil led, may imagine my feelings. Later in the night, a veil seemed to fall before my eyes, and my thoughts fell, by degrees, into a state of confusion which cre ated all sorts of extraordinary images. I was preaching with a loud voice in my church, and the whole congregation were sleeping. After the service, the people, as they came from church, were transformed into oxen and cows, who came lowing to meet me, when 1 was about to admonish them. 1 attempted to embrace my wife, but cotilJ > oeptoto tier (Tom a larfTfi cow, which was continually increasing in size, and finally grew over the heads of us both. I tried to climb up to heaven upon a ladder—the stars shining down upon mo clearly and invitingly—but potatoes, grass, pea-vines, and straw, were unmercifully twisted about my feet, and prevented every step. At last 1 found myself going heels ovei head in the midst of my possessions, and while I was wondering quietly at my self in my sleepy soul, I fell soundly asleep while thinking about my dreams. Still, I carried on unconsciously, the chain of my pastoral thoughts, and went on preaching in my sleep during the whole of the night, for, in the morning, I was awakened by the sound of my own voice, uttering a loud “ Amen.” That the events of the evening before, were real truths, and not wholly dreams, I could not easily persuade myself, until Au gustus came in and invited me to dine with ms parents. The parsonage, Wilhelmina, the dinner, the new succession of hopes for the future, which were.illuminated by the clear sun of the present, all surprised me anew, with a joy which may indeed be felt, but which can hever be described. I welcomed from the depths of a thank ful heart this new life which was opening upon me, with the fixed determination, that, whatever might come of it, yet that I would always endeavor to do right and to hove for the best. Two years aftqrWards, I was sitting ohe summer afternoon at my dear parsonage, before a cheerful fire. Near Vne was sitting my sweet Wilhelmina, at herspinnitig-wheel. I Was just about to read to bet a little ser mon which I intended to deliver next Sun day, and from which I promised tnyself much edification both for her ami the wfoJ cuiigiegaimn. wnTle I was turfiifig it ovei, a loose leaf fell out; it was the very paper on which, the same day two years before, under totally different circumstances, I had written down my sad and happy thoughts, I showed it to my wife. She read it, smi led with a tear in her eye, arrd with rather a roguish look, which is, I belreVe, peculiar to herself, she took her pen anrd Wrote on the other side of the paper : “The author can now, God/be praised, make a sketch of himself, which shall be exactly opposite to this which be drew in an unhappy hour of a wretched solitary mortal. “ He is no longer solitary, no longer for lorn. The silent sigh is answered, his se cret sorrow is shared by a tenderly attach ed wife. He goes out, her heart follows him; he comes back, she goes smiling to meet him ; his tears do not flow unmarked, they are dried by her hand, and bis smile is again reflected in hers ; she gathers flowers to adorn his brow, or to streW in his path, He has a family, attached friends, ahd wants among his oWn relatives all those who have none.” My Wilhelmina had described truly the happy present, and kindled by feelings which are bright and joyful as the rays of the spring sun, I will now, os before, let my little troop of light hopes dance on into the future. I hope, then, that my next Sunday’s ser mon will not be without benefit to my hear ers; and should the tired ones sleep, I hope that I shall not let that, or any of the great er or smaller inconveniences of life go to my heart, or disturb my tranquility. I know my Wilhelmina, and 1 think I know myself too, well enough to hope with certainty that I shall always make her happy. The sweet angel has given me a hope that she will soon add another to the number of our tru ly happy little household, J hope there will be more in future. For tny child I have all sorts of hopes ill petto. Should I have a son. I hope that he will be my successor; should I have a daughter, so—if Augustus should wait—but, I believe, that he is now about to marry. I hope, in lime, to find a publisher sot my set mens. I hope to live with my wife at least a hundred years,