It only remains for us to add, that Mr. Bowles wrote a somewhat poor life of Bishop Ken--that he was famous for his Parson Adams-like forgetfulness--that his wife died in 1844, at the age of 72--and that he himself at the time of his death was in his eighty-eighth year.--_London Athenæum._ MORNING IN SPRING. (FROM THE GERMAN OF GUSTAV SOLLING.) From the valleys to the hills See the morning mists arise; And the early dew distills Balmy incense to the skies. Purple clouds, with vapory grace, Round the sun their soft sail fling; Now they fade--and from his face Beams the new-born bliss of Spring! From the cool grass glitter bright Myriad drops of diamond dew; Bending 'neath their pressure light, Waves the green corn, springing new Nought but the fragrant wind is heard, Whispering softly through the trees, Or, lightly perched, the early bird Chirping to the morning breeze Dewy May-flowers to the sun Ope their buds of varied hue. Fragrant shades--his beams to shun-- Hide the violet's heavenly blue A joyous sense of life revived Streams through every limb and vein: I thank thee, Lord! that I have lived To see the bright young Spring again! ETA. [From Household Words.] WORK! AN ANECDOTE. A calvary officer of large fortune, who had distinguished himself in several actions, having been quartered for a long time in a foreign city, gradually fell into a life of extreme and incessant dissipation. He soon found himself so indisposed to any active military service, that even the ordinary routine became irksome and unbearable. He accordingly solicited and obtained leave of absence from his regiment for six months. But, instead of immediately engaging in some occupation of mind and body, as a curative process for his morbid condition, he hastened to London, and gave himself up entirely to greater luxuries than ever, and plunged into every kind of sensuality. The consequence was a disgust of life and all its healthy offices. He became unable to read half a page of a book, or to write the shortest note; mounting his horse was too much trouble; to lounge down the street was a hateful effort. His appetite failed, or every thing disagreed with him; and he could seldom sleep. Existence became an intolerable burden; he therefore determined on suicide. With this intention he loaded his pistols, and, influenced by early associations, dressed himself in his regimental frock-coat and crimson sash, and entered St. James's Park a little before sunrise. He felt as if he was mounting guard for the last time; listened to each sound, and looked with miserable affection across the misty green toward the Horse Guards, faintly seen in the distance.