ments of individuals, but grounded on principles that are fixed and unalterable, and not vacillating with every different opinion of those placed in temporary authority. THE ADVENTURES OF JOHN HOPKINS' DAUGHTER LUCY. THE glad voices of the joyous birds again aroused to returning consciousness the chilled form of the forsaken child. She, around whom the tenderest care had ever drawn the curtains of repose, now awoke to find herself alone. Parental Love and World's-Opinion were far far away, and she was summoned by the voice of neither to the duties or the pleasures of the coming day. Yet, nature's choristers sang on, and the secret influences of the gentle sights and sounds of early morn-ing sank into her soul, and gave her peace and hope. After she had raised herself upon her mossy couch, and sometime looked around, her thoughts were less confused; and though a silent tear trickled down her cheek, when they reverted to the home that she had lost for ever, her father's words were not forgotten which had told her of another. "Is he not gone thither?" she mentally exclaimed ; "and may I not follow? I will in truth seek the way through this world, by the light that shall beam upon my path. His loved accents are no more here to guide me. I deemed that I had found a true friend in that mysterious man, who again has left me; yet still I have the Book whereof my father took so often counsel,-he said it would guide me also, and shall I not pay attention to his words?" Then she turned round to look for the little packet she had brought with her, and found with joy that no one had deprived her of it, though she had well nigh forgotten it; and the leaves of her book, where she sought to open them, were closely joined together, from the neglect in which they had been left. She read a few lines in different places, but she understood them not. "Ah," said she, "this 46 is no guide for me; how can I read when there is no one to interpret to me? Why does not World's-Opinion aid me now?" And as she spoke a dark shadow fell upon the page, and he upon whom she called again stood before her. "Child!" he exclaimed, " long have I sought thee; wherefore hast thou left me? Is this a place for thee, when I would have taken thee home, and safely lodged thee? I have fared sumptuously meanwhile, as all who trust me may. Because thou couldest not keep pace with me, and I was not sufficient for thee in thy weariness, therefore hast thou suffered; but again thou hast turned to me for help, and, see the kindness of my nature, at thy call I come." Lucy dared not interrupt the torrent of his words; though she feared him, she clung to him alone, and springing from her seat, heedless of her Book, which fell upon the ground, she threw herself into his arms. "Then thou wilt come with me," he said, while a smile returned upon his features; nay, do not leave thy Book behind-'tis a good Book, I love it well." A blush mounted into the child's face, to find that he had discovered her careless thoughtlessness; yet she was pleased to be allowed to keep her treasure. She could not long forget how deeply it had been prized by him who had gone before. She carried it in her arms, and tripped gaily by the side of World's Opinion, who already was in haste to proceed along. "Put it in your kerchief, child; I would not all my friends should see thy burden. Besides, thou shouldest take better heed of it than to use it every day." "But will it not teach us the way?" said Lucy; 66 my father told me so." "I know the way already," replied her friend; 66 can we be lost in this fine broad road, wherein I have so often travelled?" Lucy did not feel quite sure whether he meant the way to his own home, or the road which should take them where her father was, which thought was in her mind, but she was too timid to question him farther. As they proceeded along, she soon began to feel tired of walking, and again she leaned upon her companion for support. He seemed pleased to conduct and uphold her, and even shortly after took her in his arms, and carried her rapidly along. Now she felt very happy, for she saw all around, without any painful exertion on her part; and as the day advanced, brilliant equipages met them, and dashing horse and foot passengers. All paused, or turned round to look upon the old man and the lovely child; all did respectful homage as they passed, and Lucy's heart beat with hitherto unknown feelings of pride and self-complacency, when she felt conscious of the openly expressed admiration of every beholder. She no longer clung in fear to World's-Opinion for protection and support. She sat upright upon his arm, and courageously returned the bows and smiles that were showered upon her. But as this change came over her, it seemed gradually to give great annoyance to the old man. He checked every movement, and when, in her recovered gaiety, she was fain to chide his forbidding looks, he quickly assumed an angry frown, and calling her an ungrateful child, he withdrew his arms so suddenly that Lucy fell upon the ground. She was not hurt, however, though frightened and surprised. She did not weep, because she could not understand the cause of this apparently capricious conduct, but, subdued and silent, she pursued her way, without remark on either side. Shortly after this, they met a grand and stately equipage, and all within and without the carriage paid lowly homage to World's-Opinion, but took no note of Lucy, who stood behind him as they passed. He received their bows and courtesy with marked complacency, seeing which, the one who seemed their lord, desired his menial train to turn round, and travel sometime onward the same way the old man was going, "that I may better enjoy the society of my dear friend," said he. World's-Opinion talked much with them as they went, but Lucy felt sorely grieved to hear them laugh and mock at many things she knew her father had revered, and she began to look with fear and dread on the huge form who no longer smiled upon her. And as they travelled on, those in the carriage at last saw her, and noticing her youth and beauty, and her solitary weariness, they had compassion on her, and bade her ride beside them. She looked at World's-Opinion for his approbation, but he seemed undecided and indifferent, so she accepted the welcome kindness and prof fered aid of the rich and powerful. But what was Lucy's astonishment when she saw the change that this effected in the manners of her former friend. Suddenly, he spoke to her with strong affection, almost respect, consulted her wishes, instead of directing her upon the road that they should go, and assured her, that of all the lovely children he had known, he had never loved one more warmly than he now did her. THE SPIRIT'S ADIEU. YES! I am free, and yet I linger here Upon the threshold of Eternity, To gaze upon thee in thy quiet sleep : How cold and still thou liest! How silently Within thy form, till death should set me free, I taught the expanding mind to rise and trace 'Twas I who led thy childish feet to stray And when in youth thou rais'dst the wistful eye I winged thy fancy, till it soaring flew, For utterance, thy mind expanding grew, Till thou could'st understand the power immense With which my secret spirit filled thy every sense. How often have we both together roved Midst groves, o'er plains, by silvery streamlet's side, Thy feet have borne me to the scenes I loved, Ï, silent there, delighting to abide Where the vast ocean rolls his mighty tide, And dashes foaming on the sandy shore, While on its breast the vessels proudly ride;Thy lingering footsteps ne'er shall wander more, For thee these scenes are dead;-our union is o'er. And when at last, around thy heavy brow The withering frosts of wintery time were spread; When sickness thy once healthful form brought low, And feebly bent thy once uplifted head; When faithful memory around thee shed Sweet thoughts of happiness for ever past,'Twas then from thy enfeebled form I fled: Now, as I gaze upon thee-'tis the last, The last sad lingering look which o'er thee I may cast i |