The fretted roof, or, on mosaic floors,

Grasped at the tesselated squares in wrought
With metals curiously. Her childhood passed
Like 'faery-amid fountains and green häunts—
Trying her little feet upon a lawn

Of velvet evenness, and hiding flowers
In her sweet breast, as if it were a fair
And pearly altar to crush incense on.

Her youth-oh! that was queenly! She was like
A dream of poetry that may not be
Written or told-exceeding beautiful!

And so came worshipers; and rank bowed down
And breathed upon her heart-strings with the breath
Of pride, and bound her forehead gorgeously
With dazzling scorn, and gave unto her step
A majesty as if she trod the sea,
And the proud waves, unbidden, lifted her!
And so she grew to woman-her mere look
Strong as a monarch's signet, and her hand
The ambition of a kingdom. From all this
Turned her high heart away! She had a mind,
Deep, and immortal, and it would not feed
On pageantry. She thirsted for a spring
Of a serener element, and drank
Philosophy, and for a little while

She was allayed,-till, presently, it turned
Bitter within her, and her spirit grew
Faint for undying water. Then she came
To the pure fount of God, and is athirst
No more-save when the fever of the world
Falleth upon her, she will go, sometimes,
Out in the starlight quietness, and breathe
A holy aspiration after heaven.

NATHANIEL P. WILLIS.

XCIX. THE DEFENCE OF SOCRATES.

I AM accused of corrupting the minds of youth, by instilling dangerous principles; as well in regard to divine worship, as to the rules of government. You know, Athenians, that I never made it my profession to teach: nor can envy, however violent, reproach me with having ever sold my instructions. I have an undeniable evi

dence for me in this respect, which is my poverty. I am always equally ready to communicate my thoughts both to the rich and the poor, and to give them opportunity to question or to answer me. I lend myself to every one who is desirous of becoming virtuous; and if, amongst those who hear me, there are any that prove either good or bad, neither the virtues of the one, nor the vices of the other, are to be ascribed to me. I counsel both the young and the old against too much attachment to the body, to riches, and all other precarious things, of what nature soever they may be; and against too little regard for the soul, which ought to be the great object of their attention.

If to speak in this manner be to corrupt youth, I must confess, Athenians, that I am guilty, and deserve to be condemned. If my assertions are not true, it will be most easy to convict me of falsehood. I see here a great number of my disciples: they have only to come forward. It will perhaps be said, that the regard and veneration due to a master who has instructed them, will prevent them from declaring against me: but their fathers, brothers, and uncles, cannot, as good relations and good citizens, excuse themselves for not standing forth to demand vengeance against the corrupter of their sons, brothers, and nephews. These are, however, the persons who take upon them my defence, and interest themselves in the success of my

cause.

Pass on me what sentence you please, Athenians; I can neither repent of my conduct nor alter it. I must not abandon or suspend a function which God himself has imposed on me. Were the fear of death to make me abandon that post in which Divine Providence has placed me, by commanding me to pass my life in the study of philosophy, for the instruction of myself and others--this would be a most criminal desertion indeed; this would make me highly worthy of being cited before this tribunal as an impious character. Should you resolve to acquit me, on condition of my keeping silence for the future, I should not hesitate to give you this answer; Athenians, I honor and love you; but I shall choose to obey God rather than you; and to my latest breath shall never renounce my philosophy, nor cease to exhort and reprove you according to my custom.

I am reproached with abject fear, for imparting my advice in private, and avoiding to be present in your assemblies. In reply to this assertion, I can only observe, that I think I have sufficiently proved my courage and fortitude; both in the field, where I have Lōrne arms with you, and in the senate, where, upon more than one occasion, I opposed the violent and cruel orders of the thirty tyrants. What is it then that has prevented me from appearing in your assemblies? Do not take it ill, I beseech you, if I speak my thoughts without disguise, and with truth and freedom. Every man who would

generously oppose a whole people (either amongst us, or elsewhere), and who inflexibly applies himself to prevent the violation of the laws, and the practice of iniquity in a government, will never do so long with impunity. It is absolutely necessary for a man of this disposition, if he would preserve his life, to remain in a private station, and never to take any share in public affairs.

I assure you, notwithstanding this, that I do not regard death as an evil. At my age, and with the reputation, true or false, which I possess, would it be consistent for me, after all the lessons I have given upon the contempt of death, to be afraid of it myself, and, in my last action, to renounce all the principles and sentiments of my past life?

Do not, therefore, Athenians, expect from me, that I should have recourse amongst you to entreaties, or to any means of securing my life, which I believe to be neither honorable nor lawful. This would be furnishing my adversaries with arms against me, and proving that I believe in no divinity. But I am very far from such unworthy thoughts: I am more convinced of the existence of a Deity than my accusers are; and so convinced, that I abandon myself to God and to you, that you may judge of me as you shall deem best, for your own interest, as well as mine.

C.-THE HEROES OF THE BERKENHEAD.

The British steamer Berkenhead was lost on the coast of Africa. The steamer struck on a hidden rock, stove a plank at the bows, and went down in half an hour's time. There was a regiment of troops on board. As soon as the alarm was given, and it was apparent the ship's doom was sealed, the roll of the drum called the soldiers to arms on the upper deck. The call was promptly obeyed, though every gallant heart knew that it was bis death summons. The women and children were placed in the boats, and nearly all saved. There were no boats for the troops, but no panic, no blanched, quivering lips appeared among them. Down went the ship, and down went the heroic band, shoulder to shoulder, firing a feu de joie, as they sank beneath the waves.

"UNDAUNTED on the vessel's deck
The gallant soldiers stand,
The stricken ship, a sinking wreck,
And death on every hand!
Death! for the life-boats bear away
Their freight of feebler frame,
And woman pale and childhood frail,
Brave manhood's succor claim.

But who, brave hearts, shall care for you?
So firm in will and deed,

You, still in storm and danger trûe,
Ah! none for you may plead.
Shoulder to shoulder, firm ye stand,
And still on death ye gaze,
Nor pallid cheek, nor trembling hand,
A faltering soul betrays.

Deep peals the larum of the drum,

Not to the battle field,

Yet gallantly the soldiers come,

Who feel their doom is sealed.
Their doom is sealed, for one by one,
As moments pass, they know
How heave the billows for their grave
The sinking deck below.

Shoulder to shoulder, hand to hand,
They stand to meet their fate;
O dauntless souls! O gallant band!
Who thus for death can wait!
No craven there; no bloodless cheek;
The cälm, unwavering eye
Tells us no human words can speak
How the brave heart can die!

Hushed seem the murmurs of the wave,
And hushed the very âir,

As in the stillness of the grave
They stand in silence there.

Slow sinks the ship-a lurid glare!
A volley, loud and deep!

The smoke wreaths part, they melt away,
And on, the billows sweep.

Sweep on, and o'er the vanished wreck

The white wave lifts its crest,
Like plumes above each gallant brow,
Or wreaths upon each breast.

They perish as the warrior dies,
'Mid battle's stormy breath,

When through the calm, undaunted eyes,
The brave soul looks on death!
O dauntless hearts! O gallant band!
Wear this, your glorious crown!
Shoulder to shoulder, hand to hand!
'Twas thus your ship went down!

MISS E. G. BARBER.

CI.-HAPPINESS.

WHAT is earthly happiness? that phantom of which we hear so much, and see so little; whose promises are constantly given and constantly broken, but as constantly believed; that cheats us with the sound instead of the substance, and with the blossom instead of the fruit. Like Juno, she is a goddess in pursuit, but a cloud in possession, deified by those who cannot enjoy her, and despised by those who can. Anticipation is her herald, but Disappointment is her companion; the first addresses itself to our imagination, that would believe, but the latter to our experience, that must.

Happiness, that grand mistress of the ceremonies in the dance of life, impels us through all its mazes and mean ́derings, but leads none of us by the same route. Aristippus pursued her in pleasure, Socrates in wisdom, and Epicurus in both: She received the attention of each, but bestowed her endearments on neither; although, like some other gallants', they all boasted of more favors than they received. Warned by their failure, the Stoic adopted a most °paradoxical mode of preferring his suit: he thought, by slandering, to woo her; by shunning, to win her; and proudly presumed that, by fleeing her, she would turn and follow him.

She is deceitful as the cälm that precedes the hurricane, smooth as the water on the verge of the cataract, and beautiful as the rainbow, that smiling daughter of the storm; but, like the image in the desert, she tantalizes us with a delusion that distance creates, and that contiguity destroys. Yet, when unsought, she is often found, and when unexpected, often obtained: while those who seek for her the most diligently, fail the most, because they seek her where she is not. Antony sought her in love; Brutus in glory; Cæsar in dominion; the first found disgrace, the second disgust, the last ingratitude, and each destruction.

To some she is more kind, but not less cruel: she hands them her cup, and they drink even to stupefaction, until they doubt whether they are men with °Philip, or dream that they are gods with Alexander. On some she smiles, as on Napoleon, with an aspect more bewitching than an Italian sun; but it is only to make her frown the more terrible, and by one short caress', to imbitter the pangs of separation. Yet is she, by universal homage and consent, a queen; and the passions are the vassal lords that crowd her court, await her mandate, and move at her control. But, like other mighty sovereigns, she is so surrounded by her 'en'voys, her officers, and her ministers of state, that it is extremely difficult to be admitted to her presencechamber, or to have any immediate communication with herself.

Ambition, Avarice, Love, Revenge, all these seek her, and her alone; alas! they are neither presented to her, nor will she come to