sometimes infested with ferocious animals, or venomous reptiles; or perplexed with thorns which lacerate the flesh; these things annoy or afflict us for a moment, and the next we are beyond their reach. Such is life; neither its pleasures nor its pains are durable, nor does the road we traverse belong to us, any more than any of the objects with which it is diversified: other travellers have preceded us on it, coming along it at the same time with ourselves, and countless multitudes will follow us.-Basil.

For the Youth's Magazine.
LINES

ON HEARING OF THE DEATH OF TWO BEAUTIFUL YOUNG LADIES.

""Twas pitiful to see the early flower

Nipp'd by the unfeeling frost, just when it rose
Lovely in youth, and put its beauties on."

THE bright and beautiful, where are they,
Who late were seen, in festive mirth,
To join in the song and dance so gay,
Which heighten the transient joys of earth?
The wreath of death is on each brow:
In the dark grave they slumber now.

The eye which sparkled, and look'd so sheen,
And the lips which would seem to say,
That life should pass like a pleasing dream,
As soft and as sweet away,

Have felt the touch of death's cold chill,
And now are motionless and still.

I miss'd those light ethereal forms,
Which among the young joyous crowd
Glided with beauty and grace along
As man in his homage bow'd.
I look'd, and lo! they had pass'd away,
Like the fresh dews at opening day.

But there is a fair and sunny clime,

Where sorrow and grief cannot come,
Above those orbs which around us shine,

From without their own bright blue home:
Affections there shall not be riven-

There's naught but strains of joy in heaven.
Cottage Hall, La., 1840.

For the Youth's Magazine.
LINES

S. B. T.

ADDRESSED TO MISS ANTOINETTE BLISS, ON HER DEPART-
URE TO THE NORTH.

WHEN evening's shades are closing round,
And you watch the sun's last parting ray,
Listening to the wind's low sound,

You'll think of me, though far away.
When friends you love on you do smile,
And passing moments seem to stay,
And e'en life's saddest hours beguile,
Still think of me, though far away.
If sorrow e'er your heart should rend,

And clothed in grief's most sad array,
Remember, then, you have a friend,

E'en though she may be far away.
At morn, at eve, and noon-tide day,
And ever, will I think of thee;

And now, when parting, still I say,

My dear young friend, remember me." Cottage Hall, La., 1840.

Sing at your work-'twill lighten

The labours of the day

Sing at your work-'twill brighten

The darkness of the way.

C. E. P. T.

THE

YOUTH'S MAGAZINE.

OCTOBER, 1840.

From "Conversations on Palestine."

GARDEN OF GETHSEMANE.

Charles. The brook Kedron is crossed by a bridge with a single arch; after passing which the traveller soon reaches a plot of ground, pointed out as the GARDEN OF GETHSEMANE, and occupying the very spot one's eyes would turn to, looking up from the page of Scripture. John xviii, 1.

Mr. Seymour. And here let us pause awhile; for I am sure the name recalls to every mind scenes so hallowed and touching that memory cannot revert to them without awakening deep emotion. From the relative position of the spot, and the uninterrupted transmission of its name, there can be no doubt that it is the place where our Lord underwent that portion of his sufferings called, by way of eminence, his "agony," and where he was betrayed by the treacherous Judas into the hands of his enemies.

"You can let imagination vividly portray the scene, Gertrude," said her mother seriously. "The garden, the midnight hour, the slumbering disciples, the suffering Saviour, the angel visitant, and soon, alas, the treacherous Judas, the armed band, the noise, the confusion, and, strange fact, He, who could have commanded twelve legions of angels to his succour, led passively away, an unresisting victim, to suffering and to death."