True friendship's laws are by this rule expressed: Welcome the coming, speed the parting, guest.

Who does the best his circumstance allows,
Does well, acts nobly; angels could no more.

How fleet is a glance of the mind!

Compared with the speed of its flight, The tempest itself lags behind,

And the swift-wingéd arrows of light.

Millions of spiritual creatures walk the earth Unseen, both when we wake and when we sleep.

Now the bright morning star, day's harbinger, Comes dancing from the east, and leads with her The flowery May, who from her green lap throws The yellow cowslip and the pale primrose.

Extol not riches then, the toil of fools,

The wise man's cumbrance, if not snare; more apt
To slacken Virtue, and abate her edge,
Than prompt her to do aught may merit praise.

Verse sweetens toil, however rude the sound:
All at her work the village maiden sings,
Nor, while she turns the giddy wheel around,
Revolves the sad vicissitudes of things.

'Tis sweet to hear a brook; 'tis sweet

To hear the Sabbath bell;

"Tis sweet to hear them both at once, Deep in a woody dell.

Honor and shame from no condition rise:

Act well your part, there all the honor lies.

O, many a shaft at random sent,
Finds mark the archer little meant;
And many a word at random spoken
May soothe or wound a heart that's broken.

No radiant pearl which crested fortune wears,
No gem that twinkling hangs from beauty's ears,
Not the bright stars which night's blue arch adorn,
Nor rising sun that gilds the vernal morn,
Shine with such lustre as the tear that flows
Down virtue's manly cheek for others' woes.

And they whose hearts are dry as summer's dust
Burn to the socket.

I am as free as nature first made man,
Ere the base laws of servitude began,

When wild in woods the noble savage ran.

Heaven first taught letters for some wretch's aid,
Some banished lover, or some captive maid:

They live, they speak, they breathe what love inspires,
Warm from the soul, and faithful to its fires.

Bright as the sun, her eyes the gazers strike,
And like the sun, they shine on all alike.
Yet graceful ease, and sweetness void of pride
Might hide her faults, if belles had faults to hide.
If to her share some female errors fall,

Look on her face, and you'll forget them all.

Mont Blanc is the monarch of mountains;
They crowned him long ago,

On a throne of rocks, in a robe of cloud,
With a diadem of snow.

O, it is excellent

To have a giant's strength; but it is tyrannous To use it like a giant.

The quality of mercy is not strained:
It droppeth as the gentle dew from heaven
Upon the place beneath: it is twice blessed;
It blesseth him that gives and him that takes.

How far that little candle throws his beams!
So shines a good deed in this naughty world.

Errors, like straws, upon the surface flow:
He who would search for pearls must dive below.

The world was sad, the garden was a wild,
And man, the hermit, sighed, till woman smiled.

Know then this truth, (enough for man to know,) Virtue alone is happiness below.

"Tis education forms the common mind: Just as the twig is bent the tree's inclined.

To gild refined gold, to paint the lily,
To throw a perfume on the violet,
To smooth the ice, or add another hue
Unto the rainbow, or with taper light

To seek the beauteous eye of heaven to garnish,
Is wasteful and ridiculous excess.

O, blessed with temper, whose unclouded ray
Can make to-morrow cheerful as to-day.

Breathes there the man with soul so dead,
Who never to himself hath said,

"This is my own, my native land?"

How happy is he born and taught,

That serveth not another's will,

Whose armor is his honest thought,
And simple truth his utmost skill!

Stone walls do not a prison make;
Nor iron bars a cage.
Minds innocent and quiet take
That for a hermitage.

V. - BIRDS.

KNICKERBOCKER MAGAZINE.

We love birds. When the first soft days of spring come on in all their gentle sweetness, and woo us with their warmth, and soothe us with their smile, then come the birds. With us they do rejoice that winter's reign (and snow) is ended. No one of the seasons that come to "rule the varied year," abdicates his throne more to his subjects' joy than winter. While he rules, we lose all respect for the mercury in our thermometer. When we remember how high it stood in our estimation only a few short months ago, we did not think that it could get so low. We resolve to have nothing more to do with it; for "there is a point beyond which forbearance ceases to be a virtue," and we conceive that point to be thirty-two degrees above zero, at the very least.

How pleasant are the early hours of a day in spring! The

air is laden with the perfect perfume of a thousand flowers, and leaves, and buds. And then, besides the pleasure of seeing jocund day go through that difficult gymnastic feat, described by Shakspeare, of standing "tiptoe on the misty mountain tops," we have a glorious morning concert, to which we have a season ticket; for

"Innumerous songsters in the freshening shade

Of new-sprung leaves their modulations mix
Mellifluous."

Such music! It seems the pure outpourings of the greatest gratitude to Him who made the morn so beautiful, so full of joy and light. It is the expression of most perfect praise, in ecstasy of song. Yes, indeed, we love birds!

There is a deal of pleasure, as well as profit, and advantage with amusement, to be derived from studying the habits and the character of birds. Nor is the study burdensome. Of all the lower orders of creation, as they frequent most freely the haunts and homes of men, so they approach us nearest in intelligence. They have their labors and amusements, their conjugal relations, and, like us, they build with taste and skill their houses; they have society, moreover, and the opera. In very many things they are our equals, and in some, superiors; and what in other animals at best is only instinct, in birds is almost reason.

Among the first returning tourists from the south, in spring, are these pleasant little people, the bluebird, martin, and wren. They have particular confidence in man. Nor is their confidence misplaced; for every body hails with joy these harbingers of spring. Their company is peculiarly agreeable, and they seem to know it; for every year they come again to occupy the boxes, or perchance old hats, which were put up for them, and in them build their nests, and there they live rent free; yet not exactly so; for they pay us with their notes. Sometimes these little people have a deal of difficulty among themselves about these habitations. The martins come, and find the bluebirds have taken all these places, and there is a