* * * * * REJOICE. The world is full of Joy. The sweet rose flings Her fragrance out to invite the zephyr’s kiss: The morning lark in wantonness of bliss To meet the sun, with song of welcome, springs: The little brook to her own motion sings: The storm laughs wild—down comes the dancing rain, The mountain stream leaps shouting to the plain And with high glee the echoing valley rings. The strong wind whistles in his desert caves; The thick clouds ride triumphant down the sky; The old green wood his trusty branches waves; Huge ocean shakes his foamy crest on high; Earth springs exulting in her fadeless prime; And the glad sun rolls on his course sublime! S. S. * * * * * THE CLAM-BAKE. JEREMY SHORT AMONG THE RHODE ISLANDERS. Well, sirs, Robin is a gallant poney, but riding over these confounded hills has almost shaken me to pieces, and, at every stride, for the last ten minutes, I’ve heard my bones rattling like pennies in a beggar’s alms-box. My mouth’s as parched as if dried up by lightning—but be sociable, lads, and give us a drinking cup, if it’s no better than a clam shell. Ah! that’s divine, better than ambrosia, real Cogniac I declare. How are you, captain? doctor? general?—bless my soul! if yonder isn’t Providence. Egad! this is a delightful place—beats Rowseville all hollow—it only wants a few trees here, and a clump of woodland there, to make it as cool and shady as a Mussulman’s paradise. The bay is alive with craft, and yonder—just look at them—are two jaunty rascals racing. How the little fellow eats to windward—they are throwing ballast overboard from the larger craft—whizz, whizz, one can almost hear the water bubbling along the wash-board as she bends to the blast—and now, side by side, they go, the foam crackling over the bow, and drenching the crew all the way aft. Huzza! the little fellow has won, and dances into the wind as Taglioni when she springs on the stage, more like a spirit than a human being.