A quiet nook for revery thou art In the dim hour of shade, When that wild, wondrous instrument, the heart, Is lulled, and tranquil made. My books—old friends that know not frigid change— When come the evil days, Unfold their lettered treasures, rich and strange, To my enamored gaze. While Folly wastes in lust and midnight wine, Manhood and moral health, True wisdom seeketh jewels in the mine Of intellectual wealth. Haunt, sacred to retirement and thought! At night’s dark noon alone, Within thy hallowed precincts I have caught Gleams of that world unknown, Where the soul harbors when this life is o’er, And closed our war with Time, And the hushed belfry of the heart no more Rings with a numbered chime. * * * * * [Illustration] THE BIRTH-PLACE OF BENJAMIN WEST. [SEE ENGRAVING.] We present our readers with an engraving of the birth-place of the celebrated American painter, Benjamin West, from an original drawing made by Mr. Croome, in the year 1845. The house is situated in the township of Springfield, Pennsylvania, about four miles north of Chester, on a considerable farm belonging to Mr. Peter Stewart. It will be perceived that the house is in rather a dilapidated condition, one of the posts of the portico being deficient. The house is substantially built of brick, and, at the time of its erection, must have been considered rather an elegant country residence; but its antiquity and state of decay will probably prevent any future attempt to put it in repair. The spot, however, will always be interesting to Americans, from its having been the scene of West’s childhood, to which are referred those delightful and well known anecdotes, of his early life, which display the dawnings of that brilliant genius which was destined to astonish the world by its achievements in the graphic art. * * * * * DREAMS OF HEAVEN. BY M. E. THROPP. IRREGULAR LINES. From orient climes to the lands that glow In the last red light of even, Indian, Paynim, Moslem, Jew— All have their dreams of Heaven. The Moslem dreams of a green, fair clime, Lit up by the sun’s broad beams, Where flowers gaze down at their own bright forms In still transparent streams; Where soft winds sigh, and gay birds sing, In tones so sweetly clear; Where palm groves rustle cool and still, And bright-eyed Houries cheer;