This being over, the Imperial Family retired the first from the chapel, followed by all the rest of the company. The marriage ceremony according to the Protestant manner, (for this was necessary, inasmuch as the Prince is a Protestant) took place immediately afterwards, in one of the large rooms of the palace. It was simple, serious, and appropriate, but contained nothing worthy of particular notice. It was performed, I believe, by a chaplain whom the Prince had brought with him from Wurtemburg.

As to the dinner which followed; or the ball at night; or the review and the visits of congratulation made by the great men of the empire the next day; or the masquerade ball of that night; or the illumination of the palace and the gardens; or the splendid display of water works and fire works during three nights, etc., etc., I will not undertake to speak of them, for many of these things I did not see.

I will only add that I have seen many splendid and interesting sights during my sojourn in the Old World; but I have never seen any thing more splendid or interesting than the MARRIAGE OF THE GRAND DUCHESS OLGA OF RUSSIA.

SONG. OUR HOME BY THE SEA.

BY ESTELLE LIVINGSTON.

OUR home shall be by the rolling sea,

Where tower the cliffs of the bold and free,
Where the wild sea bird's shrill note is heard,
And the blue waves break incessantly.

Where stars at night o'er the waters bright
Illumine the wave with silvery light-
And the ceaseless roar on the wild sea shore,
Is borne afar in the hush of night.

The rose shall twine with the gay woodbine
Around our cot in the calm sunshine-
And the sweetest smile of love the while
Shall light our home by the foaming brine.

Oh! happy shall be that home by the sea-
That home in the land of the brave and free;
Where the wild sea bird's shrill note is heard,
And the blue waves break incessantly.

THE DEPARTED.

SHE pass'd away, as gently as the leaf
That's left the bough to which it long hath clung,
Floats on the passing breeze, and sinks to earth,
To rise no more. Thus peaceful was her death;
For, during life, her's was the Christian's hope-
An anchor sure, amid the storms that toss
The bark of him who sails on life's rough sea.

Tho' robed with power the "fell destroyer" came,
For her he had no terrors: she could gaze
With transport on his near approach, and bid
The waiting seraph nearer, "Come," to bear
Her on his heavenly wings unto her home-
Her everlasting home above.

She loved,

Ere yet the tide of life had ceased to flow,
To meet with those who offered fervent prayer
TO HIM who loves to hear the voice of faith:
But now she bows no more in earthly courts;
For faith with her is changed to sight and prayer—
The overflowing of her heart's desire,
To praise. She may behold the "emerald bow"
That doth surround the burning throne of God;
Take of the golden fruit that freely grows
Upon the tree of life; and walk the streets
Of that pure realm where sin comes not, nor light
Of sun is known-for God himself doth give
It light by his blest presence.

Rapt spirit!

Though we mourn the loss of thy example
And thy prayers, subdu'd shall be our sorrow;
While we entreat of Him who reigns on high,
To e'er preserve us from the many ills
Which gather 'round our pathway, and at last
Conduct us to that peaceful home where thou
Dost dwell—at God's right hand above.

Gaines, Jan. 18th, 1851.

F. I.

MAGGY'S BABY.

BY T. S. ARTHUR.

"OH, dear, dear me! I wish I knew what to do with myself," sighed Mary Page, as she closed the book she had been trying to read, and threw herself in a lounging position on the sofa.

"Put on your things and take a walk. You need fresh air and exercise," said the young lady's mother.

"I don't care about walking," replied Anna, listlessly. "Your health requires it, my dear," urged Mrs. Page. Seated in the room with the mother and daughter, was a quiet looking girl, busily employed with her needle. She did not appear to observe what passed between Mrs. Page and Anna; nor in fact did she, for her mind was as busy as her fingers-and both were usefully occupied.

Without responding to her mother's last remark, Anna, whose eyes had rested for a moment or two on the form of the young girl, as she bent over the work that lay in her lap, said, with some impatience in her voice and manner

"For mercy's sake, Alice! do stop. It makes me nervous to look at you. Nothing but stitch, stitch, stitch, hour in and hour What can you be doing?"

out.

The person thus addressed, raised her head, and fixed her mild blue eyes on her interrogator, while a wreath of the heart's warm sunshine played softly about her lips. Then, without replying, she resumed her employment.

"Oh, dear!" sighed Anna, again.

"Now do exert yourself, my dear," said Mrs. Page, in a persuasive tone of voice. "Dress yourself and take a walk.”

"Where shall I go?"

"Make a call some where."

"I made a dozen or more calls yesterday. Used up all my acquaintances, in fact, worth calling upon."

"Walk out and take the fresh air then."

"Walk for nothing? O dear, no! That's worse than staying in the house; particularly as an hour must be spent, beforehand, in dressing. Now do, Alice, stop that everlasting, stitch stitch,

stitching!" said the young lady, more petulently than when she first addressed her. "You make me so nervous that I can scarcely contain myself. What are you doing?"

Again the young girl raised her head, and fixed her gentle eyes on Mary Page. For a few moments she looked at her, calmly, yet with a mild reproof in glances. Then gathering her work in her hands, she arose, and was about leaving the room, when the former interrupted her by saying

"Just tell me what you are so wonderfully busy about, Alice? Here, for some two days, you have been doing nothing but stitch, stitch. For a young lady who has a handsome income of two or three thousand a year, this is robbing the poor seamstress. What wonderful fit of economy has come over you?"

Alice, whose hand was on the door, paused to hear what Mary had to say. Then approaching her, she bent over and whispered something in her ear, to which the young lady replied—

"No-it's too much trouble. I don't feel like moving."

"But, I want you. Come! I've something particular to say." Say it here. Ma won't listen if it's any secret."

"Not a word of it until you are in my room," said Alice, firmly. There was a decision about her tone and manner that had its effect upon Mary, who slowly raised herself up from her reclining position, saying as she did so

"You are a provoking chit, Alice."

The two girls presently left the apartment together, and ascended -to the room of Alice. As soon as they were alone, the latter said : "Did you ever see a sweeter babe than Mrs. Martin's ?"

"Is'nt it a darling ?" instantly replied Mary, a light glancing over her face, and sparkling in her eyes. The woman's heart in her felt instantly the ingenious appeal of the cousin--for that was the relationship borne by the young ladies to each other.

"Indeed it is," quietly returned Alice.

"Do you know," said Mary, with animation, "that I begged Mrs. Martin to lend me the dear little thing for an hour or two? I declare! if she'd only said yes, if I would'nt have brought it home in my arms."

Alice smiled at her cousin's suddenly awakened enthusiasm.

"I know where there is just as sweet a baby as Mrs. Martin's; and what is more, its mother will let you bring it home, if you feel at all inclined to do so."

"Do you!" And Mary struck her hands together in expression And pray, where is it ?"

of her delight.

"Not half a square from here.”

"Whose baby is it?"

"Do you remember Maggy Green who used to sew for your mother two or three years ago?"

"Yes."

"And how she got married and went to live in New Jersey ?" "Yes."

"Well, Maggy's husband died three or four months ago, and she has come back to the city."

"And is living near us?"

"Yes. She is at the house of a friend, who has kindly given her a home until she is able to get one for herself."

"And Maggy has the dear little baby of which you are speaking?" "Yes."

፡፡

"Is it sweet and clean ?" asked Mary, a slight shade passing over her animated face. So many of these poor babies are neglected by their mothers, and kept in such a condition that one can't bear to look at, much less touch them. A dirty baby! Oh, dear! Save me from such an infliction."

"It will be our fault if Maggy's baby is'nt always as nice as a new pin," said Alice. "Now let me show you what I have been doing."

And Alice opened a drawer, and lifted therefrom two neatlymade baby frocks, one with a pink and the other with a blue sprig. There was also a white flannel petticoat, a snowy linen shirt, and a pair of white worsted socks, with blue edges and ties. "What beauties !" exclaimed Mary. "And are these for Maggy's baby?"

"Yes."

"And did you make them ?"

"Yes; I have just finished a white apron, the 'stitch, stitching' of which annoyed you so much just now."

"Well, you are a queer one, Alice! And you've been working these two or three days for Maggy's baby? Why did'nt you ask me to help you?"

"You ?"

Yes, me."