napkins, table-cloths, and towels for washing; washing, wiping, and arranging with her own hands, and with a speed and alacrity which perfectly amazed Dinah.

"Law, now! if dat ar de way dem Northern ladies do, dey an't ladies nohow," she said to some of her satellites, when at a safe hearing distance. "I has things as straight as anybody, when my clarin' up time comes; but I don't want ladies round, a henderin' and getting my things all where I can't find 'em."

To do Dinah justice, she had, at irregular periods, paroxysms of reformation and arrangement, which she called clarin' up times," when she would begin with great zeal, and turn every drawer and closet wrong side outward, on to the floor or tables, and make the ordinary confusion sevenfold more confounded. Then she would light her pipe, and leisurely go over her arrangements, looking things over, and discoursing upon them, making all the young fry scour most vigorously on the tin things, and keeping up for several hours a most energetic state of confusion, which she would explain to the satisfaction of all inquirers by the remark that she was "a clarin' up." "She couldn't hev things a gwine on so as they had been, and she was gwine to make these yer young ones keep better order; " for Dinah herself somehow indulged the illusion that she herself was the soul of order, and it was only the young ones, and the everybody else in the house, that was the cause of anything that fell short of perfection in this respect.

When all the tins were scoured, and the tables scrubbed snowy white, and everything that could offend tucked out of sight in holes and corners, Dinah would dress herself up in a smart dress, clean apron, and highı brilliant Madras turban, and tell all surrounding "young to keep out of the kitchen, for she was gwine

'uns

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to have things kept nice." Indeed these periodic scours were often an inconvenience to the whole household; for Dinah would contract such an immoderate attachment to her scoured tins, as to insist upon it that they should never again be used except on special occasions.

Miss Ophelia in a few days thoroughly reformed every department of the house to a systematic pattern; but her labours in all departments that depended on the co-operation of bond-servants were like those of Sisyphus.

1 Satellites, attendants; a "satellite" is the name given to a moon revolving round a planet.

2 Paroxysm, a fit, very violent for a time.

3 Illusion, properly a deceptive ap: pearance: "indulged the illusion,"

nursed the false idea.

4 Periodic, occurring at intervals.

5 Sisyphus, according to mythology, or the fables of the ancients, he was condemned in the infernal regions to keep on rolling to the top of a hill an immense stone, which had no sooner reached the summit than it rolled back to the foot; so that his labours were both useless and endless.

THE TEAR OF REPENTANCE.

ONE morn a Peri1 at the gate
Of Eden stood, disconsolate;
And as she listen'd to the springs

Of life within, like music flowing,
And caught the light upon her wings
Through the half-open portal glowing,
She wept to think her recreant 2 race
Should e'er have lost that glorious place!

"How happy," exclaim'd this child of air,
"Are the holy spirits who wander there,

'Mid flowers that never shall fade or fall!
Though mine are the gardens of earth and sea,
One blossom of heaven outblooms them all!"

The glorious angel who was keeping
The gates of light, beheld her weeping;

3

And, as he nearer drew and listen'd,
A tear within his eyelids glisten'd.-
"Nymph of a fair but erring line!”
Gently he said, "one hope is thine.
"Tis written in the book of fate,

The Peri yet may be forgiven,
Who brings to this eternal gate

The gift that is most dear to Heaven! Go, seek it, and redeem thy sin; 'Tis sweet to let the pardon'd in !"

Rapidly as comets run

To the embraces of the sun,*

Down the blue vault the Peri flies,
And lighted earthward by a glance
That just then broke from morning's eyes,
Hung hovering o'er our world's expanse.

5

Over the vale of Baalbec winging,

The Peri sees a child at play,
Among the rosy wild flowers singing,
As rosy and as wild as they;
Chasing, with eager hands and eyes,
The beautiful blue damsel-flies

That flutter'd round the jasmine stems,
Like wingéd flowers or flying gems:
And near the boy, who, tired with play,
Now nestling 'mid the roses lay,
She saw a wearied man dismount

From his hot steed, and on the brink
Of a small temple's rustic fount
Impatient fling him down to drink.

Then swift his haggard brow he turn'l
To the fair child, who fearless sat-
Though never yet hath day-beam burn'd
Upon a brow more fierce than that-
Sullenly fierce-a mixture dire,
Like thunder-clouds of gloom and fire,

Yet tranquil now that man of crime
(As if the balmy evening-time
Soften'd his spirit) look'd and lay,
Watching the rosy infant's play;
Though still, whene'er his eye by chance
Fell on the boy's, its lurid glance
Met that unclouded, joyous gaze,
As torches that have burnt all night
Encounter morning's glorious rays.

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But hark! the vesper call to prayer,
As slow the orb of daylight sets,
Is rising sweetly on the air

From Syria's thousand minarets!
The boy has started from the bed
Of flowers, where he had laid his head,
And down upon the fragrant sod

Kneels, with his forehead to the south,
Lisping th' eternal name of God

From purity's own cherub mouth;
And looking, while his hands and eyes
Are lifted to the glowing skies,
Like a stray babe of paradise,
Just lighted on that flowery plain,
And seeking for its home again!

And how felt he, the wretched man
Reclining there-while memory ran
O'er many a year of guilt and strife
That mark'd the dark flood of his life,
Nor found one sunny resting-place,
Nor brought him back one branch of grace ?-
"There was a time," he said, in mild,
Heart-humbled tones, "thou blessed child!
When young, and haply pure as thou,

I look'd and pray'd like thee; but now—”

He hung his head; each nobler aim

And hope and feeling which had slept
From boyhood's hour, that instant came
Fresh o'er him, and he wept-he wept!

And now, behold him kneeling there,
By the child's side, in humble prayer,
While the same sunbeam shines upon
The guilty and the guiltless one,
And hymns of joy proclaim through heaven
The triumph of a soul forgiven !

"Joy! joy!" she cried; "my task is done".
The gates are pass'd, and heaven is won!"