ABOU BEN ADHEM.-LEIGH HUNT.

Abou Ben Adhem-may his tribe increase!—
Awoke one night from a deep dream of peace,
And saw, within the moonlight in his room,
Making it rich, and like a lily in bloom,
An angel, writing in a book of gold.

Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhem bold,
And to the Presence in the room he said,

"What writest thou?" The vision raised its head,
And, with a look made all of sweet accord,

Answered, "The names of those who love the Lord."
"And is mine one?" said Abou. "Nay, not so,"
Replied the angel. Abou spoke more low,
But cheerily still; and said, "I pray thee, then,
Write me as one that loves his fellow-men."

The angel wrote and vanished. The next night
It came again, with a great wakening light,
And showed the names whom love of God had blessed;
And lo! Ben Adhem's name led all the rest.

A HUSBAND'S EXPERIENCE IN COOKING.

I found fault, some time ago, with Maria Ann's custard pie, and tried to tell her how my mother made custard pie. Maria made the pie after my receipt. It lasted longer than any other pie we ever had. Maria set it on the table every day for dinner, and you see I could not eat it, because I forgot to tell her to put in any eggs or shortening. It was economical, but in a fit of generosity I stole it from the pantry, and gave it to a poor little boy in the neighborhood. The boy's funeral was largely attended by his former playmates. I did not go myself.

Then there were the buck wheat cakes. I told Maria Ann any fool could beat her making those cakes, and she said I had better try it. So I did. I emptied the batter all out of the pitcher one evening, and set the cakes myself. I got the flour, and the salt, and water, and, warned by the past, put in a liberal quantity of eggs and shortening. I shortened with tallow from roast beef, because I could not find any

lard. The batter did not look right, and I lit my pipe and pondered: “Yeast! yeast, to be sure!" I had forgotten the yeast. I went and woke up the baker, and got six cent's worth of yeast. I set the pitcher behind the sitting-room stove, and went to bed. In the morning I got up early, and prepared to enjoy my triumph; but I didn't. That yeast was strong enough to raise the dead, and the batter was running all over the carpet. I scraped it up and put it into another dish. Then got a fire in the kitchen, and put on the griddle. The first lot of cakes stuck to the griddle. The second dittoed, only more. Maria came down and asked what was burning. She advised me to grease the griddle. I did it. One end of the griddle got too hot, and I dropped the thing on my tenderest corn, while trying to turn it around. Finally the cakes were ready for breakfast, and Maria got the other things ready. We sat down. My cakes did not have exactly the right flavor I took one mouthful and it satisfied me; I lost my appetite at once. Maria would not let me put one on her plate. I think those cakes may be reckoned a dead loss. The cat would not eat them. The dog ran off and staid away three days after one was offered him. The hens won't go within ten feet of them. I threw them into the back yard and there has not been a pig on the premises since. I eat what is put before me now, and do not allude to my mother's system of cooking.

RING OUT, WILD BELLS!-ALFRED TENNYSON.

Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky,
The flying cloud, the frosty light;
The year is dying in the night;
Ring out, wild bells, and let him die.
Ring out the old, ring in the new,~

Ring, happy bells, across the snow;
The year is going, let him go;
Ring out the false, ring in the true.
Ring out the grief that saps the mind,

For those that here we see no more;
Ring out the feud of rich and poor,
Ring in redress to all mankind.

Ring out a slowly dying cause,

And ancient forms of paltry strife;
Ring in the nobler modes of life,
With sweeter manners, purer laws.
Ring out the want, the care, the sin,
The faithless coldness of the times;
Ring out, ring out my mournful rhymes,

But ring the fuller minstrel in.

Ring out false pride in place and blood,
The civic slander and the spite;
Ring in the love of truth and right,
Ring in the common love of good.
Ring out old shapes of foul disease,

Ring out the narrowing lust of gold,
Ring out the thousand wars of old;
Ring in the thousand years of peace.
Ring in the valiant man, and free,

The larger heart, the kindlier hand;
Ring out the darkness of the land;
Ring in the Christ that is to be.

MAGDALENA.

"The night is dreary and cold,

But the winds are mad with glee;

And the Storm-king, wild, and cruel, and bold,
To-night holds jubilee.

Patter, pitiless rain,

From the clouds with passion gray;

Toll! mad winds, toll! for my lost soul

Is passing from earth away.

"Oh, blackest of nights! to you

All other nights are day;

For the sable wings of a hellish crew

Have shut all light away.

Leave me alone with death;
Dark spirits of sea and sky,

Ye goblin things, with sable wings,
I do not fear to die!

"Wasted, and haggard, and old;

Old, and haggard, and thin;

Wasted and haggard with suffering untold;

Old and haggard with sin.

Steeped in crime to the lips;

With sorrow and anguish gray.

Toll, mad winds, toll,a human soul

Is passing from earth away.

"Hark to the old church-bell

That swings in the church-tower gray; O'er meadow and hill, o'er dell and stream, Its music calls away;

Away from carking care,

Away from strife and sin;

Come, come away, 'tis his own day,-
To his courts enter in.

"Brightly the sunlight gleams;

Softly the sweet airs blow;

Mid verdant hills the happy streams

With tuneful babblings flow.

We pass the church-yard wall,

Mother, Effie, and I,

And the green grass waves o'er lowly graves,
And the trailing willows sigh.

"Hark! that is his step, I know;
Ah, no! it has passed me by;

Ah! white, cold moon, you are like the snow,
I shrink from your searching eye.
But you cannot know his love;

His kisses are not for you;

I pity you so, with your heart of snow,
On your throne in the starry blue.

"Where am I? O God! it is past,

The dream of guileless years;

Howl, fiends of night, on the whirling blast,

And mock these idiot tears.

I will not fear to die,

Though all beyond is gloom!

Toll! mad winds, toll! for my lost soul

Is passing unto doom."

Wasted, and haggard, and old;

Old, and haggard, and thin;

She's sleeping to-night 'neath the church-yard mould, Crushed 'neath a weight of sin.

Not hers the deadly guilt;

Hers only the love and shame,Only the pang of a deathless love, Only a blighted name.

Alone in the black midnight,

Haunted by goblin and ghoul;

The mad winds tolled, death's billows rolled
Across her shuddering soul.

LAST HOURS OF WEBSTER.-EDWARD EVERETT.
Extract from a speech delivered October 27th, 1852.

Among the many memorable words which fell from the lips of our friend just before they were closed forever, the most remarkable are those which have been quoted by a previous speaker: "I still live." They attest the serene composure of his mind,-the Christian heroism with which he was able to turn his consciousness in upon himself, and explore, step by step, the dark passage (dark to us, but to him, we trust, already lighted from above) which connects this world with the world to come. But I know not what words could have been better chosen to express his relation to the world he was leaving," I still live." This poor dust is just returning to the dust from which it was taken, but I feel that I live in the affections of the people to whose services I have consecrated my days. "I still live." The icy hand of death is already laid on my heart, but I shall still live in those words of counsel which I have uttered to my fellow-citizens, and which I now leave them as the last bequest of a dying friend. In the long and honored career of our lamented friend, there are efforts and triumphs which will hereafter fill one of the brightest pages of our history. But I greatly err if the closing scene-the height of the religious sublime-does not, in the judgment of other days, far transcend in interest the brightest exploits of public life. Within that darkened chamber at Marshfield was witnessed a scene of which we shall not readily find the parallel. The serenity with which he stood in the presence of the King of terrors, without trepidation or flutter, for hours and days of expectation; the thoughtfulness for the public business when the sands of