BY THE AUTHOR OF “HOWARD PINCKNEY.” And Helen, not neglectful she Of her proud sex’s dignity, If, in the mazes of the dance, Perchance she met her loved of all, You’d think that nothing met her glance Between her and the wall, Her eye around is thrown so free, Her laugh rings out so merrily: How soon a slighted woman learns To hide that pang, however deep, Though in her tortured heart it burns, Her bosom-thoughts seem all asleep: You’d think that peace was resting there, With her light shawl upon her breast, That exercise and healthy air, And day-dreams that be wondrous fair, With hopes that sweetest fruitage bear Had caused the slight unrest: Know you that her young heart bleeds— That in this laughing mood. The Pelican of Passion feeds Her ever hungry brood— The two extremes approach we know And therefore often laughs our woe; Hers tells, that laugh which rung so loud, Of withered hopes within their shroud. * * * * * UNEQUALLY YOKED. BY REV. J. KENNADAY. “Why don’t you hurry, woman? Sure it is no wonder that the child sleeps in your arms. And yourself will be asleep next, if you walk at this creeping rate.” “Be patient, William. You know that the mountain is steep; the child is heavy; and it’s but little strength I have, any way.” This was part of a dialogue I chanced to hear, while passing the parties, who were clambering up one of the most rugged roads in the Catskill mountains; a road so steep indeed, that my horse puffed at every step, and the saddle creaked beneath me as I grasped the pummel. The man was some twelve or fifteen feet in advance of the woman, and at the sound of my horse’s feet, paused till I passed, when he turned the hasty glance of his eye from me, in a heavy frown upon her whom he upbraided. A light breath of wind touching the hood, together with the effort of the woman to step aside from the road till I passed, laid open the face of the sleeping child, and gave evidence, in the fullness of its face, of the weight of its frame, and of health, derived almost at the expense of the one upon whose bosom it reposed. Possessing an enormous and hardy frame, the man trode the mountain path almost with the step of an elephant, and appeared to require nothing but a palanquin upon his huge shoulders to enable him to carry both the mother and the babe. The woman was of small and delicate form. Her face was round and very fair, over which was cast the mildness of a bright but modest eye. Although her age was about thirty, she appeared at least fifteen years younger than her husband.