But there's nae hand can loose the band, Tho' the wee, wee cot maun be my bield, An' my claithing e'er sae mean, I wad lap me up rich i' the faulds of love, Her white arm would be a pillow to me, Fu' safter than the down, An' Love wad winnow owre us his kind, kind wings, An' sweetly I'd sleep, an' soun'. Come here to me, thou lass o' my love, Come here and kneel wi' me; The morning is fu' o' the presence o' God, An' I canna pray but thee. The morn-wind is sweet 'mang the beds o' new flowers, The wee birds sing kindly an' hie, Our gudeman leans owre the kail-yard dyke, An' a blythe auld body is he. The Book maun be taen when the carle comes hame, Wi' the holy psalmodie, An' thou maun speak o' me to thy God, An' I will speak o' thee! IT 's HAME, AND IT'S HAME. It 's hame, and it 's hame, hame fain wad I be, An' it's hame, hame, hame, to my ain countree! When the flower is i' the bud and the leaf is on the tree, It 's hame, and it 's hame, hame fain wad I be, The green leaf o' loyaltie 's beginning for to fa', It's hame, an' it 's hame, hame fain wad I be, There's naught now frae ruin my country can save, The great now are gane, a' who ventured to save, A WET SHEET AND A FLOWING SEA. A wet sheet and a flowing sea, A wind that follows fast, And fills the white and rustling sail, And bends the gallant mast; While, like the eagle free, Away the good ship flies, and leaves Oh, for a soft and a gentle wind! But give to me the snoring breeze, There's tempest in yon horned moon, And lightning in yon cloud; And hark the music, mariners! The wind is piping loud, my boys, [UNDER the assumed name of Barry Cornwall, Mr. PROCTER has written many short Poems, so graceful and elegant that the pleasure which they give is mingled with the regret that he, like many other workers in this every-day life, should have, in great part, bidden 'Farewell to his Muse.' Whilst the Scotch, from the days of Allan Ramsay, have been carrying away most of the honors of song-writers, Mr. Procter has made a vigorous effort to maintain our good old English reputation in this walk. Thomas Moore is, of course, an exception to the general superiority of those who have cultivated the Doric language of melody. His lyrics are universally known; and we, therefore, close our selection with two songs from a charming volume,'English Songs, and other small Poems,' by Barry Cornwall.'] THE SEA. The sea! the sea! the open sea! It runneth the earth's wide regions' round; I'm on the sea! I'm on the sea! I am where I would ever be; With the blue above, and the blue below, If a storm should come and awake the deep, I love (oh! how I love) to ride I never was on the dull tame shore, The waves were white, and red the morn, I've lived since then, in calm and strife, With wealth to spend and a power to range, Shall come on the wild unbounded sea! THE LEVELLER. The king he reigns on a throne of gold, But below, below, in his ragged coat, And the spinner is bound to his weary thread, And the debtor lies down with an aching head. So the stream flows! The lady lies down in her warm white lawn, And the bishop smiles, as on high he sits, So the stream flows! Yet there is a fellow, whom nobody knows, On land and sea, And forceth the rich like the poor to flee! 328.-CHARACTER OF COLONEL HUTCHINSON. MRS. HUTCHINSON. [THE Life of Colonel Hutchinson,' one of the Parliamentary leaders in the time of Charles I., written by his widow Lucy, is one of the most delightful of our English Memoirs. In those days of strife and domestic anxiety, it is touching to know what solace there was for the good men of either party, in the deep affection for their husbands of such wives as Mrs. Hutchinson and Lady Fanshawe. The following extract is an address entitled, 'Mrs. Hutchinson to her Children, concerning their Father.'] To number his virtues is to give the epitome of his life, which was nothing else but a progress from one degree of virtue to another, till in a short time he arrived to that height, which many longer lives could never reach; and had I but the power of rightly disposing and relating them, his single example would be more instructive than all the rules of the best moralists, for his practice was of a more divine extraction, drawn from the word of God, and wrought up by the assistance of his Spirit; therefore, in the head of all his virtues, I shall set that which was the head and spring of them all, his Christianity-for this alone is the true royal blood that runs through the whole body of virtue, and every |