God taught the tendril where to cling, and she Learned the same lovely lesson, with the same Unquestioning and pliant trust in Him. And yet that He should let a lyre of heaven Be played on by such hands, with touch so rude, Might wake a doubt in less than perfect faith, Perfect as mine, in his beneficence. * * * * * PARTING. BY MISS PHŒBE CAREY. Till the last mortal pang is o’er, Aid me, my human friend, Let thy sweet ministries of love Support me to the end! In such a fearful hour my soul Unaided cannot stand, Leave me not till my Saviour comes To take my trembling hand. My heart is weak, is earthly still, And though such love be crime, I cannot yield thee till my feet Have passed the shores of time. Gently, O, gently lead me on, Soothe me with love’s fond tone— Thou hast been near through all the past How shall I go alone? The last my lips shall ever drink Is life’s most bitter cup— Nearer the wave of death hath rolled, How can I give thee up? Closer, O, closer! let me feel Thy heart still fondly beat, While the cold billows of the grave Are closing round my feet! * * * * * MEN AT HOME: OR THE PRETTY MAN-HATER. BY MRS. C. B. MARSTON. CHAPTER I. What droll scenes hobgoblins and sprites catch a peep at, in their perambulations through this ludicrous world of ours! Now we, poor mortals, rarely stumble upon any thing funny, because, forsooth, we must ring the bell, or knock at the door, and then people throw themselves into proper positions and put on their company faces, and the farce is at an end. No human being, for instance, could have walked, unannounced, into Miss Ariana Huntingdon’s boudoir, on that morning when Mr. Atherton Burney was kneeling at her feet, but the merry sprites gathered around, and it is a wonder that he did not hear them shout: “Ha! ha! the wooing o’t.” Mr. Burney’s courtship was by no means a premeditated affair. Who ever thinks exactly _how_ he shall tell pleasant news? Such, that gentleman thought, would be the intelligence of his most honorable preference. And now that Miss Ariana looked coldly on his suit, he was lost in wonder at the blindness to her own interest which she exhibited. Like most men, he never dreamed that a refusal could arise from personal dislike, and while wounded pride turned his attempt at a pathetic face into a wry one, he desired to know the motives which had induced so uncomplimentary a decision.