the rest of peace; but retirement in a far-off nook, apart from the society of men, wherein he could pass his hours in greater unreserve, to chew the cud of gorged passion, or hide his childish tears of self-earned melancholy. Let no one then pour his sentiment into the mould of Lord Byron’s recklessness; for that would be destruction; and in this, it seems to me, lies the only danger. Yet there is a pervading, seductive beauty that might thrill an angel’s bosom, in a moment of forgetfulness; and there are few conceptions, no matter from what inspired source they may spring, which, in their decided earthly limitation, the powers of darkness could not with malignant meaning consistently _encore_. * * * * * =ZULMA.= =BY MRS. JULIA C. R. DORR.= Sweet little baby mine, Gift from a Hand Divine, What shall I sing thee this bright summer morn? Is it a fairy dream? All things more lovely seem To this fond, grateful heart since thou wert born! Strange that we love thee so! Let us the secret know, Tell us the way that all hearts thou hast won; Surely some magic lies Deep in thine earnest eyes, Or in that smile of thine, beautiful one! Over thy baby brow Brown locks are waving now, When the sun toucheth them changing to gold, Sweeter art thou by far Than the pale lilies are, Or the blue violets that thou dost hold. Dear little household pet, With thy bright eyes of jet, Shining so softly the long lashes through, Wert thou not born to be Cherished as tenderly, Treasured for aye by as fond hearts and true! Oh! if a mother’s prayer Reach Heaven’s purer air, Not for the wealth of this world will I plead, But that the boon of love, Holy as that above, May be thine own in thine hour of need! And that the smile of Him, Greater than seraphim, Before whom angels and archangels bow, Always may rest on thee, So shall my darling be Ever as pure and as happy as now! * * * * * =THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A BOARDING-HOUSE.= =BY CORNELIA CAROLLA.=