That the domestic hearth, with children merry-voiced, over which meek-eyed Peace hovered like a dove, and around which Heaven’s own smile seemed to linger, is treacherously invaded by the demon of jealousy, green-eyed and furious, until Crime, with swarthy countenance and bloody locks, broods with Death’s Angel over the silent spot.
The Perils of the Imagination, how they invest the unsatisfied! Are these the penalties which God imposes for unthankfulness? or is it that the devil, ever working at the heart, urges man to ingratitude, and excites him to folly? What think you, Jeremy?
“The earth hath bubbles, as the water hath,
And we are of them.”
G. R. G.
——
JOTTINGS ABROAD.
BY J. R. CHANDLER.
It is undoubtedly pleasant in the midst of the weakening influences of an August day, to sit, sub tegmani fagi, and read of the sports of the watering places—the wonders of Niagara, or the discoveries of those summer travelers who, turning aside from the beaten paths, or common haunts of fashion, explore the hidden, and develop the unknown. Most agreeable is it to mingle the mental sherbet of our summer’s retirement with such timely ingredients. Herein our brethren of the daily press seem to have an advantage over us of the monthly issues, as, day by day, they prepare their ever welcome table, and are never compelled to speak of an elevated thermometer, while
Milk comes frozen in the pails,