Is the learning of our childhood, is the pure and easy lore Speaking in a heart unsullied, better than the vaunted store Heaped, like ice, to chill and harden every faculty save mind, By the hand of haughty Science, sometimes wandering, sometimes blind? But no answer reached my senses; for my feeble voice was lost, When the Future came in darkness, like a rushing armed host; Shouting cries of fear and danger, shouting words of hope and cheer, Racking me with threat and promise, ever coming, never here. Then my spirit stretched its vision, prying in the doubtful gloom, Half a glimpse to me was given o'er Time's boundary-stone--the tomb. With a shriek, like that which rises from a sinking, night-wrecked bark, Burst my soul the bounds of slumber, and the world and I were dark! While the dull and leaden Present on my palsied spirit pressed, Till the soaring thoughts rose upward, bounding from their earthly rest; Shaking down the golden dew-drops from their pinions proud and strong, And the cares of life fell from me, fading in the realm of Song. THE MAID OF BOGOTA. A TALE FROM COLOMBIAN HISTORY. BY W. GILMORE SIMMS. Whenever the several nations of the earth which have achieved their deliverance from misrule and tyranny shall point, as they each may, to the fair women who have taken active part in the cause of liberty, and by their smiles and services have contributed in no measured degree to the great objects of national defence and deliverance, it will be with a becoming and just pride only that the Colombians shall point to their virgin martyr, commonly known among them as La Pola, the Maid of Bogota. With the history of their struggle for freedom her story will always be intimately associated; her tragical fate, due solely to the cause of her country, being linked with all the touching interest of the most romantic adventure. Her spirit seemed to be woven of the finest materials. She was gentle, exquisitively sensitive, and capable of the most true and tender attachments. Her mind was one of rarest endowments, touched to the finest issues of eloquence, and gifted with all the powers of the improvisatrice, while her courage and patriotism seem to have been cast in those heroic moulds of antiquity from which came the Cornelias and Deborahs of famous memory. Well had it been for her country had the glorious model which she bestowed upon her people been held in becoming homage by the race with which her destiny was cast--a race masculine only in exterior, and wanting wholly in that necessary strength of soul which, rising to the due appreciation of the blessings of national freedom, is equally prepared to make, for its attainment, every necessary sacrifice of self; and yet our heroine was but a child in years--a lovely, tender, feeble creature, scarcely fifteen years of age. But the soul grows rapidly to maturity in some