ters was restricted to an occasional letter, or a verbal message. But when Martha and Angelia had attained their sixteenth year, Mrs. Boyd received an invitation to pass a winter with her sister. She found her in a state of great debility, evidently drawing near the grave; but the oppression of physical weakness was not to be compared to the weight of gloom which had settled upon her heart. That heart, breaking with anguish, sought to relieve itself by pouring a flood of bitter complaints into Mrs. Boyd's ear. Celestia Angelia, that child of ceaseless care, had become the bane of her peace, the torment of her life. She stated that Celestia, with a feeling of satisfaction too evident to be mistaken, had watched the tokens of freedom to herself, in her own declining health; and gradually, as those tokens had become more certain, she had thrown off the hateful mask which propriety had compelled her to wear, and had assailed her sick mother with bitter reproaches, and declared her determination to be free. Mrs. Boyd went earnestly to work in seeking to win the wayward child back to obedience, but in vain. There was a magnet wanting in the mother's heart. Do you know its name? It was love. Strange that it should be wanting there, in a mother's heart, its proper home. Repulsed, driven back in its early and innocent yearnings, it had formed for itself a secret channel, winding darkly and poisonously around that worst of all human things, self; and now she would not listen to the voice of the charmer, though the life of a better love was not so dead within her as not to be revived by its counterpart in another. She even wept, and informed her aunt that only a few such words from her mother, years ago, would have saved her; but now it was too late. She had been compelled to play the hypocrite because she was a child, until what was at first shocking to her ingenuous heart, had become the study of her life. She had succeeded in showing herself to the world as a "Pattern of Propriety;” beautiful outwardly, but within full of passion unsubdued, and of pride, struggling with its servile yoke.

During this sad winter, Mrs. Boyd saw the full develop

THE PATTERN OF PROPRIETY.

129

ment of what she had long felt and feared.

The mournful

and rapid approach of the mother to her grave, brought nothing of tenderness or heart-relenting to the daughter. Martha Boyd sat beside the couch of the sufferer, bathed her forehead, smoothed her pillow, read to her the Word of Life, and sung the beautiful songs she had loved in

"Old and happier years."

Where was Celestia Angelia? Spending her time in company forbidden by her mother, or reading books which for years she had read in secret; but which now with the most unfeeling rudeness she perused in the presence of her dying mother.

Her native pride of character did not wholly forsake Mrs. Pike. She seldom alluded to her manner of training her daughter; but once, when Martha Boyd was affectionately performing the office of nurse, she tenderly pressed her hand, saying, "what a woman my darling little romp has become; but when Martha unwittingly replied, "My dear mother allowed me to be a romp when I was a child, so that it is but fair that I should be a woman in good time,” a tear started to the sick woman's eye, and her heart was evidently torn by a secret pang.

In the early spring-time following this sad winter, Mrs. Boyd laid her only sister in the tomb. Clad in deepest mourning, and with well-dissembled woe, Celestia Angelia followed as chief mourner to the narrow house; but in a few days showed her wonderful adroitness in assuming and throwing off a character, by eloping with one whom her mother's dying breath had commanded her never to see again.

Here permit us to draw a curtain over the remaining history of the PATTERN OF PROPRIETY.

THE truly generous is the truly wise;

And he, who loves not others, lives unblest. — Home.

Written for the Mother's Assistant.

ON RECEIVING FROM A FRIEND

THE PRESENT OF A FLYING-FISH, WHICH HAD FALLEN UPON THE DREX

OF HIS VESSEL.

BY MISS SARAH SPARROW.

THOU little favorite of the deep,
Made not alone to swim and leap

Where waters ripple o'er thee;
But, furnished with a tiny pair
Of silken wings, to cleave the air
And range the expanse before thee.

A favor this enjoyed above
Most of thy sister tribes which rove
The wide, unbounded ocean.
When enemies thy course pursue,
How safe to cleave the ether blue,
High o'er the wave's commotion !
But boast not thy superior power :
Perchance in an unguarded hour,

That prove thy overthrow;
So gifted minds in pride arise,
Aspiring to be wondrous wise,

Then fall, alas! how low!

Yet man may rise from earthly things,
To soar on faith's expanded wings,
Above life's stormy ocean;
Unless, like thee, with pinions soiled,
And of their brilliant tints despoiled,
He lack pure love's devotion.

A seraph bright mayest thou yet be,
Who sent the flying-fish to me;

A hint so kindly given,

That I must not thus grovel here,
'Mid fleeting toys, oppressed with fear,
But seek my all in Heaven.

Orleans, Mass.

SOMETHING must be left as a test of the loyalty of the heart in Paradise, the tree; in Israel, a Canaanite; in us, temptation.

THE STILL, SMALL VOICE.

THE broad earth trembled to its base beneath a frowning sky,
The winds of heaven were loosened for their Maker passing by,
The thunder-voice of the shrouded air broke o'er the darkened spot,
But in the earthquake and the wind the Lord of Hosts was not.

Then the dark home of heaven was lit with gleams of ruddy light,
And fires that on its altar burn, blazed through the clouds of night;
The wide arch of the ether seemed with fiery embers hot, -
But in the lightning and the storm the Lord of Hosts was not.

Hushed was the moaning of the winds when the cradled earth was riven; The lightnings in their far homes slept beyond the calm blue heaven ; Then came a soft and gentle tone across the quiet air,

The music of a still, small voice, the Lord of Hosts was there!

Mrs. James Hall.

LITERARY NOTICES.

AMERICAN COTTAGE LIFE. By Rev. Thomas C. Upham. Brunswick, Me. Published by Joseph Griffin.- The theme selected by the author of this volume of poems is new, full of interest, rich in incident, and of a character well adapted to draw forth, not only the poetical talent of the writer, but also all the kindly affections of the heart.

We like Prof. Upham's writings. They are full of Christian goodness and love; and no person desirous of improvement can read them without being made better by their perusal. We cheerfully award to this work these qualities, and hope every American farmer and cottager will purchase and peruse it. B.

THE LENT BLESSING RECALLED, or Memoir of Caroline W. Horton. By Marian E. Horton. - From the perusal of this little volume we doubt not much practical good will result. As a Sabbath School Book, it is well calculated to awaken inquiries. It gives one of the best, and at the same time, clearest evidences of the great benefit resulting from early religious training.

We sincerely hope that many of the young friends and co-mates of Caroline will not only read this little book, but strive so to live that they may meet her in that bright and beautiful world which she has just entered.

A REVIEW OF THE REV. MOSES STUART'S PAMPHLET ON SLAVERY, ENTITLED CONSCIENCE AND THE CONSTITUTION. By Rufus W. Clarke, A. M., Pastor of the North Church, Portsmouth, N. H. This is an able and candid argument on the right side of a most important subject. We render our cordial thanks in behalf of the public, not only to the author of the work, but also to the benevolent gentleman who generously proposes to defray the expenses of the present large edition. We hope it will have a wide circulation, and promote the cause of human freedom.

If you want a periodical containing "the current literature of the English language," literary, critical, historical, descriptive and political, gathered with a discriminating hand from the vast domain of periodical publications, take LATTELL'S LIVING AGE.

B.