And Peter points the narrow way in which the saints are lead.

John in his three epistles on love delights to dwell, While Jude gives awful warning of judgment, wrath, and hell.

The Revelation prophesies of that tremendous day

When Christ, and Christ alone, shall be the trembling sinner's stay.

ON DRESS.

J. ASHBY-STERRY.

When days grow short and chilly,
And folks return at last;
When bright grows Piccadilly,
As autumn leaves fall fast,
Sad, yellow, sere and sober,
We watch them drift away,
Then, though in chill October,
Will turn to new array!
Still Fashion has surprises

To agitate the town;

And novelties devises,

When Autumn leaves drift down!

Will higher grow our shoulders?
Or sleeves be made to charm,
The heart of male beholders-

By fitting to the arm?
Will otter be or sealskin

The wrapping of each fair?
Or powder, rouge or real skin,
The fashionable wear?
Will hose be silk and sable

Or white or russet-brown?

To forecast who is able?

When Autumn leaves drift down!

Will petticoats be snowy,

Will frocks be short or long?
Will hats be high and showy?
Will minds be weak or strong?
Will maidens clad in waistcoats
To manly taste incline!
And buttons on their best coats
Be sporting in design?
And shall we wear a dimple,

A simper, smile or frown?

Or will our style be simple,

When Autumn leaves drift down?

THE MILLER OF THE DEE.

CHARLES MACKAY.

There dwelt a miller hale and bold,

Beside the river Dee!"

He work'd and sang from morn to night,

No lark more blithe than he; And this the burden of his song For ever used to be,—

"I envy nobody: no, not I,

And nobody envies me!"

"Thou'rt wrong, my friend!" said old King Hal "Thou'rt wrong as wrong can be;

For could my heart be light as thine,
I'd gladly change with thee.

And tell me now what makes thee sing
With voice so loud and free,

While I am sad, though I'm the King,
Beside the river Dee?"

The miller smiled and doff'd his cap:
"I earn my bread," quoth he;
"I love my wife, I love my friend,
I love my children three;

I owe no penny I cannot pay;

I thank the river Dee,

That turns the mill that grinds the corn,
To feed my babes and me.'

"Good friend," said Hal, and sigh'd the while,

"Farewell! and happy be:

But say no more, if thou'dst be true,

That no one envies thee.

Thy mealy cap is worth my crown,-
Thy mill my kingdom's fee!
Such men as thou are England's boast,
O miller of the Dee!"

MARINER'S HYMN.

ROBERT SOUTHEY.

Launch thy bark, mariner!
Christian, God speed thee;
Let loose the rudder bands,
Good angels lead thee!
Set thy sails warily,

Tempests will come;
Steer thy course steadily,

Christian, steer home!

Look to the weather bow,
Breakers are round thee;
Let fall the plummet now,
Shallows may ground thee.
Reef in the foresail, there!
Hold the helm fast!
So, let the vessel wear,-
There swept the blast.

What of the night, watchman? What of the night? "Cloudy, all quiet,

No land yet, all's right." Be wakeful, be vigilant,

Danger may be

At an hour when all seemeth

Securest to thee.

How! gains the leak so fast?
Clear out the hold,-
Hoist up thy merchandise,
Heave out thy gold;-
There, let the ingots go;-
Now the ship rights;
Hurra! the harbor's near,-
Lo! the red lights.