Yet think not that in grove or dell

The voice of song alone may dwell ;

:

Bind not her high and glorious power

By music-bearing gales, bright streams, or midnight hour!

No! deem not that to things of earth
That heavenly minstrelsy owes birth;
Deem not its soul and spirit fled

Because the things of earth are dead.
It has a charmed and hallowed life,
Untouched by care, or grief, or strife;
A glory bright that never fades
In Sorrow's darkest gloomiest shades.
Ev'n as we tread the haunts of men
Its holy voice is with us then-

That magic spell which e'en in death

Blends with a strain of Heaven the good man's parting breath.

This power have they to whom 'tis given
To walk on earth as meet for heaven;
Whose common path is daily strown
With odorous flowers in Eden grown;
To whom each breath from earthly skies
Is sweet as gales from Paradise.
In every stone they find a gem
Meet for an angel's diadem;

In every breeze they hear a strain,

An angel's harp might not disdain ;

In all they see around on earth,

They trace some mystic signs of their diviner birth.

E. H. P.

PETRARCH.-SONNET 228.

OH, fairest lineaments! sweet glance divine!
High bearing, graceful in thine own disdain !
Words that the coarse and brutal could restrain,

And to high courage the base heart incline!

Sweet smile, whence flew the dart through which I pine
Only for death, and nought besides would gain !
High spirit, worthiest with kings to reign!

If better times, bright visitant, were thine,
Thee must I burn for, and in thee must breathe;
For, thine alone I liv'd, and, losing thee,

Calamity can bring no sharper wound;

With hope and love my heart thou didst inwreathe,
When paus'd the dearest joy life granted me
Whose words the winds dispers'd, an empty sound.

C. C.

AN APOTHECARY'S NOTE BOOK.

"Trifles make the sum of human things."

THERE are few persons acting their parts in the great theatre of life who have more frequent opportunities of witnessing the various scenes of interest which occasionally agitate the monotonous routine of private life, constituting indeed the several eras of a family, than the general practitioner of medicine. The incidents are often trivial in themselves, and, by many, might be passed over unheeded; they are often distressing, and, by many, might be shunned. Pictures of misery and wretchedness he is fated to behold; tales of woe, the tears of the orphan, and the lamentations of the widow, are frequent greetings. His person, nay, his very name, is often associated with sorrow. He may be seen only when sickness, wounds, or death destroys some valued member of a little circle; a lengthened period may elapse ere his visits are renewed, and then, what painful associations, what sickening recollections, are occasioned by his presence; tears that had long been dried are wept again, and griefs almost forgotten bleed afresh. It may be asked, how can scenes of affliction interest one, the very nature of whose vocation tends to steel his heart against them? Such scenes are beheld too often; the shriek of agony, and the moan of the dying, are too familiar to be felt or noticed. Oh no! though the surface of the character may be somewhat hardened by their frequent recurrence, though chilled, it is not frozen; his stern 'countenance may remain unchanged, but it is not heartlessness. He can participate in the sorrow he witnesses; he can condole sincerely; he can pity the anguish of the dying. The cry of wretchedness is heard; and to staunch the tears of affliction, and bind up the wounded spirit, he breathes the words of solace earnestly. And so can he partake in the happiness he has been instrumental in effecting. How gladly does he behold the returning bloom of health in a case he had deemed hopeless! With what joy he sees the ailing form of beauty restored to the native vigour and freshness of youth! A husband raised from the couch of sickness, in whose life the hopes and fears of a family are centred ! As it is his business, so it is his delight, to combat

disease; and, through Providence, chase the fell destroyer, Death, from the habitations of man, and prolong for a little while the brief period of human existence.

I was always fond of observing, and have recorded the various little events which have come before me in the practice of my profession; they may not entertain so much as the love stories, the tales of romantic passion, and mere fictions of novelists and poets; but, gentle reader, if you regard with pleasure the simple incidents of private life, an Apothecary's Notes may not be entirely destitute of interest.

EDWARD MAURICE.

'TWAS a fine evening in the beginning of June, the beautiful face of nature was lit up by the parting beams of the setting sun, and already had a grateful breeze dispelled the heat of noon and brought a refreshing coolness to the earth. My friend L-- had dined with me that day, and we were carelessly conversing, in the full enjoyment of a leisure which those only who are occupied by active pursuits requiring long-continued mental and corporeal exertion know fully how to appreciate. The extensive landscape spread richly before us,

"Graceful with hills and dales, and lofty woods,"

adorned with all the variety of the time of year, and enlivened by the bright colours of the vegetable kingdom, exulting in its prime, doubtless conduced, in an especial manner, to heighten the pleasurable feeling.

But it is the greatest annoyance incident to our profession, that we are at all times subject to the beck and call of the public; the moments we would dedicate to quietness and retirement, the leisure we would call our own, may be unexpectedly wrested from ns by the necessity, often by the caprice of a patient. When can we say we may rest securely-that the day is finished?

We were suddenly interrupted by the hasty entrance of the servant with a note. It was from the wife of a patient, requesting an immediate visit. The unfortunate individual was known to my friend, and but a short time before I had spoken of his illness.

*

"Poor Maurice!" I exclaimed, after reading it.

*

"Is he worse?" inquired L, hearing my melancholy tone.

"Yes," I replied; "he cannot survive much longer; a few days, or a few hours, perhaps, will terminate his existence here; and his wife and children—”

"You intend seeing him," interrupted my friend; "I will accompany you. Poor fellow !" he exclaimed, musing; "I never thought he was so ill-and badly off too. We must go at once, you see, doctor.

medicine, doctor-we

We may be of some service to him yet— mustn't let him die."

I shook my head. Medicine had long ceased to relieve him. During my friend's brief and hurried speech, he had risen, and already prepared to go. I was willing to humour his benevolent haste, and we started. Although convinced that, in my professional capacity, I could be of no further service, I was not without hope that the visit of my friend would be attended with some advantage. I had, in previous instances, beheld the superior efficacy of his treatment.

L― had traded largely and successfully; his honest efforts had been well rewarded-he was rich. But if he valued riches, it was only as they afforded him the means of benefiting his fellowcreatures; for his benign and excellent disposition was ever urging him to do good. Indeed, he seemed to live but for that purpose. ""Twas his delight," as he once told me; "'twas his hobby, to help his neighbours out of scrapes." Often have I regarded him as a ministering angel on the earth; a visible instrument in the hands of Heaven to distribute the Divine favours amongst mankind. Benedictions and happy faces everywhere attended his footsteps; for he was (like Job of old) the father of the poor; and his bounty was dealt freely and unostentatiously.

There is a class of suffering poor who, as the saying goes, "have seen brighter days;" persons who, by improvidence or misfortune, have been reduced from circumstances of affluence to destitution: these are not only too proud to ask, but they would even spurn relief, did they see the hand which proffered it; and these have often had to bless the generous unknown who supplied so liberally, so constantly, yet so mysteriously, their every want. And if the kind being was sometimes discovered, the manner in which assistance had been conveyed, was usually sufficient to reconcile the most scrupulous. And though my friend always aimed at secresy, nevertheless he made himself known on exigencies, or when any good purpose could be answered by so doing; for L- was well versed in Scripture; and if we read, "Let not

thy left hand know what thy right hand doeth," he was aware it is also written," Let your light so shine before men that they may see your good works."

We walked on silently, and a few more paces brought us within sight of my patient's cottage; humble enough in its appearance, yet there was a pleasing rural look, a neatness and superior order in its arrangements, one would hardly have expected to find in its secluded situation.

Edward Maurice was the only son of a wealthy merchant. He had married an elegant and accomplished girl: she had no fortune, it is true; but he was in expectation of an ample one. Their passion was mutual, enthusiastic, and romantic; and their sum of happiness seemed complete. They had set out with the fairest prospect, on the flowery path of early and well-suited marriage. It was, however, too bright to last; yet little did they anticipate that the pleasures then surrounding them should quickly vanish, or that their glittering path was to be darkly shadowed by a wayward fate. And when the joys of life are drunk so pure, the bitter cup of misery likewise comes unmixed; and the draught, more bitter by the contrast, will be loathed the more.

His father had embarked his property in large speculations, when a quick succession of disasters swept it from him. He died soon after, leaving his son penny less. And thus, in a moment, were dissipated all the schemes he had formed of future happiness, anticipating almost boundless wealth. Edward retired, half brokenhearted, with his wife, to a distance from his native place; for his proud spirit could not brook the many galling mortifications which accompanied his altered state; the haughty bearing, the merciless neglect, of those whom he had called his equals, and who professed to be his friends: and these were many; for he had moved conspicuously in the highest sphere of fashionable life.

'Twas this misfortune brought him to the town of A——, where he had obtained a situation in a mercantile house, the proceeds of which, with a trifle he contrived to save from the wreck of his father's property, served him to live respectably in the retirement he sought. His wife had sustained this overwhelming reverse in their circumstances with the greatest fortitude: she had been throughout his comfort and support; she had shared with him the cares of adversity; and, by a moderated and well-timed flow of spirits, lightened the humiliation of poverty, and cheered him to retrieve his fallen fortune.