Health bounds to thy pathway, joy shouts in thy course, The virtues of manhood thy breathings enforce; The pure, and the fair, and the brave, and the free, Are purer, and fairer, and braver, for thee; As flames sweeping wildly o’er mountain and heath, But burn the more fiercely the colder thy breath, So glow, but more brightly for thee, in the breast, The virtues of freedom—soul-stirring Nor-West. Forever, forever, be thine, purest wind, The lakes and the streams of my country to bind; And oh, though afar I am fated to roam, Still kindle the hearths, and the hearts of my home! While blows from the Polar skies holy and pure, Thy trumpet of freedom, the land shall endure, As snow in thy pathway, and stars on thy crest, Unsullied and beautiful—glorious Nor-West. Philadelphia, March, 1841. * * * * * OUR BILL. BY MRS. LAMBERT. “I am gone sir, and anon I’ll be with you again.” _Tempest._ Some years since I chanced to stop, during one of my summer rambles, in a pretty village, picturesquely situated in the county of F——d. I arrived about sun-set, and the quiet loveliness which appeared every where around, won me to the spot. A row of neat white houses, with pretty gardens in front, arose on each side of the way, for the distance of nearly half a mile. At this point the road branched off in different directions, and exactly on the centre of division stood the village church; a plain, unpretending edifice, whose slender spire rose high above the full tops of venerable elms and dark pendant willows that surrounded its peaceful walls. A row of fine trees planted regularly at the road side, gave the appearance of an avenue to the village street, which viewed from its entrance, has an uncommonly pleasing effect, the eye ranging through the grass-bounded road, and the umbrageous arch which overshadows it, till the consecrated building terminates the vista. The country immediately adjoining the village is divided into numerous enclosures, bearing marks of good cultivation; while pretty farm-houses are scattered in every direction, with woods, streams, rocks and groves, beautifying the landscape. A chain of hills, which might without the charge of an extraordinary degree of presumption, aspire to the name of mountains, bounds the view on the south-east—their undulating outline beautifully marked against the clear horizon. Through an opening of the range, a glimpse is caught of the deep blue waters of the sound—a sail just distinguished—diminished by distance to a mere speck, gives frequent interest, and adds to the magic of the scene.