Oh, I owned her might too well! Groveling in the dust I fell! Then wondering heard a whisper low, “Let’s be friends, my causeless foe.” Doubtfully I raised my eyes; Down she gazed with mild surprise. Naught to fear I saw was there, But purity and beauty rare. As she raised me with a kiss, Through her veil laughed Happiness. When I slumber at her feet Light pinions scatter odors sweet; While her step keeps pace with mine Round my neck soft fingers twine; If I chase him, he is gone; But the rogue returns anon, Charged with heavenly fruit, to bless, The handmaid meek of Holiness. * * * * * NIGHT. BY MISS AUGUSTA. C. TWIGGS. Brightly the moonshine Gleams on the flower, Sweetly the woodbine Twines round the bower; Lowly the lover Whispers his love, Angel forms hover Around from above. Purple-robed foxglove Is deep in the dell, Where the night-fays love To wind their dark spell; Beauty is hurled O’er meadow and lea, The sails are all furled, The ship sleeps at sea. The night-breeze now sighs So sweet and so sad; Bright gems deck the skies, So blue and so glad; The lapwing that brushed The dew from the hill, Now sleeps—all is hushed, ’Cept the laughing rill. Moonlight’s soft glances On every thing smile, Pure water dances Out laughing the while; The cricket’s chirp shrill Most merrily sounds, The fisher’s barque still O’er moonlit wave bounds. Trees bathed in moonbeams Wave gracefully low, With beauty all teems ’Neath its silvery glow; All nature’s at prayer. The holy thoughts rise, On wings of the air, Up, up to the skies.