LINES ON THE BUST OF A LADY.

BY L. E. L.

[The Sculptor, H. B. Burlowe.}

A FACE of perfect beauty, such as haunts
The poet's dream, what time the shadowy limes
Have their light leaves stirred by some gentle wind
And their soft bloom, their small, pale yellow flowers,
Grow golden in the sunshine of the noon.

Then shapes are flitting round, which only wear
The likeness of our earth, but scarce its look ;

So spiritual the light which gives a soul
To each fair face, and to each starry eye.
This face is such a one: the open brow
(The parted hair obscures it not) is proud,
As if unconscious of life's meaner things;

;

And on the lip is scorn-but generous scorn—
Which blends with sweetness; and the loveliest smile,

So soft, so gracious, and so feminine,

Is on the dimpled cheek. Methinks the sculptor's skill
Has caught, most happily, the fine ideal
Both of the heart and mind.

THE EVENING STAR.

BY L. E. L.

How beautiful the twilight sky,

Whose starry worlds now spread, Amid the purple depths of eve, Their glory o'er my head!

And there is one-a radiant one-
Amid the rest shines he,

As if just risen from his sleep,
Within the mighty sea.

The clouds fall off in glittering flakes

Before his shining brow;

So moves a ship that flings the waves
In bright foam from its prow.

I marvel not in former days,

Ere purer light was given,

That men fell down and worshipped thee, A spirit-king in heaven.

But now that knowledge great and high
Is kindled in man's soul,

We know thee but the glorious part
Of a more glorious whole.

Oh, mysteries of night! that fill
The mind with awe and love!
How visibly the power of God
Is manifest above!

Oh! might and majesty that reign
Upon the midnight sky !-

Creed of my hope! I feel thy truth
Whene'er I gaze on high.

THE PERSECUTOR.

A TALE.

BY MISS JEWSBURY.

It was night, in the most dreary part of that district of Scotland which religious persecution had rendered the scene of many a foul and many a heroic deed; and night, in all the horrors of a winter storm.

The road wound at the foot of a range of high, rude rocks; and, always rough from being covered with stones and shingle, was now rendered slippery by the rain that fell in torrents. The lightning alone broke the heavy darkness that otherwise prevailed; and, darting along the rocky crags and battlements, or diving, as it were, into their chasms and abysses, or again spreading such a vivid glance over the heavens as for a moment to resemble a fiery sunset-gave, when combined with the rolling, often-echoed thunder, a character of infernal grandeur to the whole scene. The wind, even more than either the lightning or thunder, seemed to triumph as the spirit of the storm,

T

and superstition might have imagined every cry of horror in its blast, from the howl of the prisoned fiend to the shriek of the drowning mariner. It was one of those nights that seem an anticipation of the time when the elements shall dissolve, and when, the sea and its waves roaring, and men's hearts failing them for fear, heaven and earth shall pass away with a great noise, to be looked for and found no more. It is well known that when the Covenanters were under the displeasure of the English government, or rather, when all who had no religion had license to persecute all who had any, the proscribed sufferers were accustomed to choose the most tempestuous nights for assembling, in remote and almost inaccessible places, "for spiritual exercises." The storm was to them a friend; for it often shrouded their meetings from discovery, and enabled them (which man would not do) to worship God in peace. To an assembly of this nature, three individuals were, on the night in question, making their way with extreme difficulty, although each was provided with a strong staff, and an iron lantern. Two of the party evidently depended on the guidance of the third-a stalwart, stately man, who, wrapped in a shepherd's plaid, preceded them like one perfectly secure in his knowledge of the way, and occupied with far other thoughts than concerned the storm.

"An awful night this!" said one of the two, whom