black eyes and motions of grace, coming forth to meet him before his door! "The gathered grapes and the lyre in tune," the timbrel, and the dance, and the song are there, but woe to the last days of the hero, to whom death were better than life, and whose joy is turned into mourning !Every tone of the lyre rends the fibres of his soul, and every voice is a sound of horror to thrill through his heart until his last hour.

"Alas! my daughter! thou hast brought me very low, and thou art one of them that trouble me; for I have opened my mouth unto the Lord, and I cannot go back." Such are the brief but powerful words that express the breaking of that manly heart. But it is impossible to say which we should most admire, whether the heroic distress of the father, or the grateful submission of the daughter to the will of Heaven. "My father! if thou hast opened thy mouth unto the Lord, do unto me according to that which hath proceeded out of thy mouth."

Glorious but hapless pair! Indeed it is not for a prince in Israel to violate the laws of their Theocracy, and offer the body of his daughter whole in the flames; but he must devote her entirely to the service of God, and in that service she must remain unwedded through life.

For thus i, the law of consecration before God: "No devoted thing that a man shall devote unto Jehovah of all that he hath, whether of man or of beast and of the field of his possession, shall be sold or redeemed; every devoted thing is most holy unto Jehovah." Her only alternative is to burn upon an altar as a holocaust, or, (since that is forbidden,) to live separate from all the world in utter seclusion and devotion to such works of piety and charity as become a daughter of Israel thus interdicted from marriage and home, and all secular employments.

Let not our hatred of popish abuses, startle us at the mention of nuns and vestals among the Hebrews, more than among other ancient nations. It is recorded of her most clearly but this, that she remained unmarried. Thus he who thought to build up a house in Israel, beholds his house

a castle built in the clouds. Powerful kings shall yet arise in Israel; but none of them shall reckon him among their illustrious ancestors. Prophets and saints shall have power to shut heaven, and to raise up the dead; but they shall not be reckoned from him. The Son of God shall be born of a Hebrew mother; but she shall not count her descent from the daughter of Jephthah. Six years of sorrow remain yet to the judge of Israel, before his weary spirit shall find rest among the blest inhabitants of a better world; and the daughters of Israel assemble to comfort the daughter of Jephthah four times in the year until she too shall depart and be at rest in the bosom of her father forever.

Who comes so bright to Shiloh's shrine,

Like some strange beauteous bird of morn?

Or as when stars of evening shine,

Fair Hesper fills his silver horn?

Thy path was light upon the summer hills,

As vernal rays above the springing corn;

Alas, my sister! say what sorrow fills

Thine eyes with tears at noon and ev'n and morn?

Oh! it is glorious here to spend

Both day and night in orgies pure,

In vestal sanctity to tend

The sacred fire and dwell secure;

But give me yet one loving, trusting heart,
To share this solitude and say 'tis sweet.

No father, mother, sister, bears a part

With me, nor brothers may their sister greet.

O, blest are they that leave the world,

The world that else might prove their bane,
Where riches tempt, and crowns are hurl'd,

Where murder and wrath, and mischiefs reign,
Here, robed in humble, coarse, but clean array,
By morn or eve to rites divine you haste;

Here days in holy studies pass away,

Till last your lips of heavenly bliss shall taste.

Yes, it is blest to wear these weeds,

And leave unshorn my purple hair,

In vigils and in pious deeds

To walk with Heaven dissolved from care.

But no fond spouse must share the vestal's love,
Nor cherub voices prattle in her home:
Alone she dwells, till heaven shall ope above,
And angels sing, Come, sister spirit. come!

Be comforted, oh, saintly one!

Nor at the vestal's lot repine

The will of Heaven on earth be done;

To serve his quests is joy divine.

For if no king or seer shall name thee blest,
His mother among women, nor the Son

Of Heav'n be named thine offspring, thou shalt rest
With no less joy before the great Three One.

Prophets and kings and saints shall rise,

The progeny of Jacob old;

And last the world with wondering eyes

Shall see Messiah's age of gold.

Then shall the daughter of Jephthah mid the prime
Stand glorious with him in his holy place,
Nor envy her that was his mother in time,
Equalled in beatific vision of his face.

Farewell, then, holy vestal by thy shrine!

Our song shall comfort thee from year to year, Till life shall pass and heaven around thee shine, To yield thee bliss complete in her eternal sphere.

THE HEART THAT'S TRUE.

BY ELIZA COOK.

TELL me not of sparkling gems,
Set in regal diadems;

You may boast your diamonds rare,
Rubies bright, and pearls so fair:
But there's a peerless gem on earth,
Of richer ray and purer worth;
'Tis priceless, but 'tis worn by few-
It is, it is the heart that's true.

SKETCHES FROM NATURE.

He was proceeding with his soliloquy,-"Yet a little while and then,"" And then, what?" continued a plaintive, female voice, from behind the curtain, that concealed her slender, but lovely form. "Is that you, Julia, my love?" cried the unfortunate invalid, as he stretched forth his thin, white hand, to welcome her. His eyes gleamed with unearthly brightness, his cheek was suddenly flushed with the hectic of joy, and then gradually resumed its wonted paleness. "I had quite given you up; I was endeavoring to persuade myself it was all for the best-that I should never see you more that I must pass into eternity without receiving and imparting the farewell blessing. I know you will forgive me, but I could not help thinking there was something like unkindness in this last neglect; but now," and his eyes sparkled as he spake-" but now my fears are vanished; I feel as though a load were removed from my heartas if happiness was yet in store for us." The tone of tender melancholy in which he addressed her, had thrown her into tears as he pronounced the last sentence, her face was, for a moment, enlivened by a gleam of hope, and she involuntarily exclaimed, "Indeed!" He saw, he heard her not; he was wrapt in his subject; and Julia's soft blue eyes were again suffused with tears, as he mournfully concluded,— "but not here-not in this world."

He was a young man, apparently about twenty-two; he could not be more than twenty-five. He had been in the army, abroad-had undergone the perils and fatigues of a two-years' campaign. He was advancing in his professionhad attained the rank of lieutenant-when his health declined, his strength gave way, and he returned home with the prospect of recovery. He hoped, in the caresses of his

parents and the smiles of his Julia, that his health would be quickly restored; but, from the hurry of travelling, ere he reached his home, decay had made rapid inroads on his constitution. He arrived, and his parents knew not of it; they thought him on the plains of Mexico-and he was on their threshold. Overpowered by a multitude of feelings, scarce was he able to throw himself into their arms: they bore him to his bed, and he had been there ever since: it was only three days to him it appeared an age. His sole inquiries were for his Julia. They told him she was from home. It evidently preyed upon his spirits; it was, therefore, deemed prudent to deceive him no longer. She had been nigh him, and he saw her not; she had heard him, and he knew it not. This was their first interview since his return from Mexico. Julia endeavored to cheer him; she spoke of the war of the hardships he had endured, of the laurels he had reaped, of the prospects before him: she faltered as she spoke. Every effort to avert his mind from gloomy forebodings was unavailing; he saw through the affectionate little artificesmiled his thanks-and she was silent; the tide of feeling was at its height-one word would have told all; she arose to retire; the big tear trembled in her eye-and, ere she had closed the door, a convulsive sob burst on the ears of the wretched William, and thrilled through his frame with indescribable anguish. Oh, but there is something in woman's sorrow that insensibly wins the heart, and engages the best feelings of our nature in its behalf. The lamb-like resignation-the vain attempts to arrest the ebullition of feelingthe retiring meekness, that seeks to withdraw itself from the public gaze-the calm despair, and the wild throb of agony alternate-all tend to show nature loveliest in her weaknesses. It was impossible to witness a scene like this, and not inwardly curse the fiendish monster, War. My soul took an expansive glance over the unknown thousands this single war has swept to an untimely grave, on the tens of thousands it has beggared, and on the multitude of hearts it has widowed. I ask myself and will it not be asked in another world?"Why should man raise his hand against his fellow ?" His