that he too has his engrossing pursuit. We recommend his little work to our readers, as one in which they will find much to interest and amuse. We have left ourselves little room for quotation; but the following stanzas, striking, both from their beauty and from the curious fact which they embody, may be regarded as no unfair specimen of the whole:-- THE VOICE OF WOE. 'The language of passion, and more peculiarly that of grief, is ever nearly the same.' An Indian chief went forth to fight, And bravely met the foe: His eye was keen--his step was light-- His arm was unsurpassed in might; But on him fell the gloom of night-- An arrow laid him low. His widow sang with simple tongue, When none could hear or see, _Ay, cheray me!_ A Moorish maiden knelt beside Her dying lover's bed: She bade him stay to bless his bride; She called him oft her lord, her pride; But mortals must their doom abide-- The warrior's spirit fled. With simple tongue the sad one sung, When none could hear or see, _Ay, di me!_ An English matron mourned her son, The only son she bore: Afar from her his course was run-- He perished as the fight was done-- He perished when the fight was won-- Upon a foreign shore. With simple tongue the mother sung, When none could hear or see, _Ah, dear me!_ A Highland maiden saw A brother's body borne From where, from country, king, and law, He went his gallant sword to draw; But swept within destruction's maw, From her had he been torn. She sat and sung with simple tongue, When none could hear or see, _Oh, hon-a-ree!_ An infant in untimely hour Died in a Lowland cot: The parents own'd the hand of power That bids the storm be still or lour; They grieved because the cup was sour, And yet they murmured not. They only sung with simple tongue, When none could hear or see, _Ah, wae's me!_ _July 26, 1851._ 'ANNUS MIRABILIS.' We have now reached the close of the most wonderful year the world ever saw. None of our readers can be unacquainted with the poem in which Dryden celebrated the marvels of the year 1666,--certainly an extraordinary twelvemonth, though the English poet, only partially acquainted with the events which rendered it so remarkable, restricts himself, in his long series of vigorous quatrains, to the description of the two naval battles with the Dutch which its summer witnessed, and of the great fire of London which rendered its autumn so remarkable.