The third extract is from a new work by James Simpson, lately republished in New York and Boston, on "_The Necessity of Popular Education as a National Object_." The short introduction is all that I will ask you to insert in your paper, as I have persuaded myself to believe that no friend to popular education can read it without feeling a strong desire to peruse the whole volume. It contains a mass of facts, illustrations, and arguments, exhibited in a style at once so perspicuous, forcible, and persuasive, as must carry conviction to every understanding capable of comprehending and feeling the vital importance of the subject in all its bearings, both upon individual and national happiness. In numbers one and two of the appendix, the topics of criminal and medical jurisprudence are treated of in a manner which, although concise, is well worthy the deepest attention of every legislator and statesman, for they contain hints for improving our criminal code that seem to me of the utmost importance to the general good. Deem me not importunate if I petition you to publish _another_ extract of quite a different character from the foregoing. It is from the pen of the admirable _Mrs. Norton_, and expresses conjugal affection with so much touching pathos, that surely no married man, especially one from the Emerald Isle, can read it without deep emotion. It is called SONG OF THE IRISH PEASANT WIFE. Come, Patrick, clear up the storm on your brow, You were kind to me once,--will you frown on me now? Shall the storm settle _here_, when it from Heaven departs, And the cold from without find the way to our hearts? No, Patrick, no; surely the wintriest weather Is easily borne, while we bear it together. Though the rain's dropping through from the roof to the floor, And the wind whistles free where there once was a door; Can the rain, or the snow, or the storm wash away All the warm vows we made in love's early day? No, Patrick, no; surely the dark stormy weather Is easily borne,--so we bear it together. When you stole out to woo me, when labor was done, And the day that was closing, to us seem'd begun, Did we care if the sunset was bright on the flowers, Or if we crept out amid darkness and showers? No, Patrick; we talk'd while we brav'd the wild weather, Of all we could bear, if we bore it together. Soon, soon, will these dark dreary days be gone by, And our hearts be lit up by a beam from the sky; Oh! let not our spirits, imbittered with pain, Be dead to the sunshine that comes on us then: Heart in heart--hand in hand--let us welcome the weather, And sunshine or storm, we will bear it together. From the New England Magazine. A GLIMPSE AT BASIL HALL.