treatises on the MIND, under the names of Moral and Intellectual Philosophy — provided they have a standard reputation are directly adapted to assist us in our pursuit of self-acquaintance. Works treating on those branches of Natural History which relate to man; books of civil and political history, not overlooking that of science, art and literature; biographical works; books of travels; poetical works, so far as they illustrate human nature; and religious treatises on our spiritual nature and condition; all come under the head of books which it is either indispensable or highly important to read and study. Nearly all useful works of standard reputation, intended for general reading, will afford us more or less aid in self-inquiry.

However common the observation may be, it is still allimportant to be remembered, that the Bible is, beyond all other books, the best teacher of self-knowledge. It gives us clear and definite information upon those subjects connected with our nature, relations and destiny, most important to be well known, but which, in consequence of our spiritual degradation, would otherwise be veiled in the grossest obscurity. The Bible shows us, as in a glass, our relationship, not only with the angels, but with the Father of all things; and thus exhibits, in their true light, the uses of all our faculties. The information it communicates of the wonderful care and providence which our Heavenly Father is exercising for our restoration to moral purity, should be more to us than a volume of demonstration on the worth and greatness of the human soul, or of arguments to urge us to bestow on its cultivation the attention which it demands.

Let us not, then, complain of any want of instructors in self-knowledge. We may have the first men of all past times as our teachers. They are within our reach, embalmed, as it were, in the fruits of their labors. There is no exclusiveness here. The highest intellect of any

age stands ready to take the hand of the humblest inquirer after truth, with the same cordiality as that of the proudest monarch or the profoundest scholar. In the hardest intellectual struggle, he will be found standing by our side, not only to refresh us with the crystal waters of encouragement, but to exhaust the rich store-house of his mind, if need be, to aid us in the conflict. Let us thank God for the invaluable aids thus afforded us in his providence; and above all, that he has given us the words of him who "knew all that was in man," and who "spake as never man spake," to guide us in safety through the conflicting currents and whirlpools of human opinion.

THE OLD ORCHARD.

Br D. H. HOWARD.

TREES, whose green and blossom
Cheered my childhood's eye,

In whose cooling shadows,

When the sun was high,
Playful toil beguiled me
Through the summer hours
Once again I greet ye,

Old and friendly bowers.

Here, the sweetest music

Of the matin bird,

At the early coming

Of the spring was heard;
Here, the loveliest blossoms
Field or forest knew,
Bathed their tender leaflets

In the summer dew.

And the yellow Autumn
Here before us spread
Her delicious treasures,

As, with rustling tread,
Came she by with garlands
Of the vine and sheaf,
And entwined her tresses
With the last green leaf:

But a tone of sadness
All our joy came o'er,
As red leaves were mingled
With the golden store;
And the frosty Winter
Followed in her train,

And his snow flakes scattered

Where her fruits had lain.

Venerable orchard!

Verse delights to tell,

In thy green recesses

What sweet memories dwell;

Like the birds, that fondly

To thy cool retreat

Cling for kindly shelter

From the summer heat.

O how many, like us,

Thy green shades beneath, Have of Hope's gay blossoms Twined the smiling wreath, And, delighted, hung it

On some friendly bough,

But to see it shattered

By the storm ere now!

Be it so all scattered

Childhood's gathered flowers;

Leafless, torn, uprooted,
All its greenest bowers;

Nay, its friends departed,
Dearest, kindest, best,
In whose happy presence

Our young hearts were blest.

Grieve not at their passing;
Look not wistful back
From thy manhood's prospects
To the narrow track
Worn by childish footsteps:
Idly shalt thou there
Shrines of joys departed
Labor to repair.

Pleasures glow and vanish

As the seasons wane;
Joys, earth-born, like flowers,
Earthward turn again:

Think not to retain them

With a miser's handAll their gold shall moulder In thy grasp to sand.

But know well, one sunbeam
Ne'er is taken away
From the crystal heavens

Of thy summer day,

But to gild the morrow

With a happier light:

Rest, then, calm and trustful,

Through the stormy night.

A BALL-ROOM SKETCH.

By a Lady under Fifty.

I AM an old maid. It was a hard thing to assume voluntarily the indispensable appendages of age-caps and spectacles; but years have gone by since I have ceased to look grave at the title I have so well earned - and it is not one now that I am ashamed to acknowledge, even in print. I am not about to give a recital of some doleful love adventure of my early days, nor a lecture against the pleasures of youth. Those who have shared these pleasures will own they have felt their bewitching excitement while they lasted, and their vanity when they were past. I have had my part in them. I have fatigued mind and body in a ball-room, and called it happiness: I have sat mewed up for hours in a splendidly furnished room, listening to the affected, commonplace observations of vanity and folly, and called it the refined conversation of good society. And through all this I was happy, as I then understood the term. I should have been the same, had custom bid me saw wood instead of dance or sit in a cotton-factory instead of a well furnished parlor.

I had youth. Ah, fond deluder! I have been flattered, giddy and imprudent as who has not, who has been young? I have done my best to win love, esteem and admiration as what woman has not? I have loved, hoped, trusted—as what inexperienced heart has not? I have been disappointed as who has not, who has nourished fond hopes and airy visions? There has been no time in my life when I would not have married, had I found one worthy and willing. I have met those whose appearance corresponded very well with the being my imagination