And from each ample fold

Of the clouds about him rolled

Scattering everywhere
The showery rain,

As the farmer scatters his gain.

9. He can behold

Things manifold

That have not yet been wholly told,
Have not been wholly sung nor said.
For his thought, that never stops,
Follows the water-drops

Down to the graves of the dead,

Down through chasms and gulfs profound,

To the dreary fountain-head

Of lakes and rivers under ground;
And sees them, when the rain is done,
On the bridge of colors seven
Climbing up once more to heaven,
Opposite the setting sun.

10. Thus the Seer,

With vision clear,

Sees forms appear and disappear,

In the perpetual round of strange,

Mysterious change

From birth to death, from death to birth,

From earth to heaven, from heaven to earth;

Till glimpses more sublime

Of things unseen before,

Unto his wondering eyes reveal

The Universe, is an immeasurable wheel

Turning for evermore

In the rapid and rushing river of Time.

A STREET SCENE.-LYDIA M. CHILD.

1. THE other day, as I came down Broome street, I saw a street musician, playing near the door of a genteel dwelling. The organ was uncommonly sweet and mellow in its tones, the tunes were slow and plaintive, and I fancied that I saw in the woman's Italian face an expression that indicated sufficient refinement to prefer the tender and the melancholy, to the lively "trainer tunes" in vogue with the populace. She looked like one who had suffered much, and the sorrowful music seemed her own appropriate voice. 2. A little girl clung to her scanty garments, as if afraid of all things but her mother. As I looked at them, a young lady of pleasing countenance opened the window, and began to sing like a bird, in keeping with the street organ. Two other young girls came and leaned on her shoulder; and still she sang on. Blessings on her gentle heart! It was evidently the spontaneous gush of human love and sympathy. The beauty of the incident attracted attention.

3. A group of gentlemen gradually collected round the organist; and ever as the tune ended, they bowed respectfully toward the window, waved their hats, and called out: "More, if you please!" One, whom I knew well for the kindest and truest soul, passed round his hat; hearts were kindled, and the silver fell in freely. In a minute, four or five dollars were collected for the poor woman.

4. She spoke no word of gratitude, but she gave such a look! "Will you go to the next street, and play to a friend of mine?" said my kind-hearted friend. She answered, in tones expressing the deepest emotion: "No, sir, God bless you all God bless you all," (making a courtesy to the young lady, who had stepped back, and stood sheltered by the curtain of the window,)" I will play no more to-day: I will go home, now." The tears trickled down her cheeks, and as she walked away, she had ever and anon wiped her eyes with the corner of her shawl.

came.

5. The group of gentlemen lingered a moment to look af ter her, then turning toward the now closed window, they gave three enthusiastic cheers, and departed, better than they The pavement on which they stood had been a church to them; and for the next hour, at least, their hearts were more than usually prepared for deeds of gentleness and mercy. Why are such scenes so uncommon? Why do we thus repress our sympathies, and chill the genial current of nature, by formal observances and restraints?

THE PERSIAN PEASANT.-NICOLAL

1. IN Erivan

Once on a time there lived a poor plain man;
A little garden was his sole possession,

To tend it was his only occupation.

A tree that stood upon his ground,

Bore fruit well known and every where renowned,

So red and rich and round,

Such sunny radiance beaming,

With such balsamic juices teeming,

The very smell

Were quite enough to make a sick man well.
"By all means," said a neighbor, "take, good man,
A basket of this fruit to Ispahan!

The Sheik, they say, has a sweet tooth, ay, marry,
And spends his money freely, I am told.

Mark me! for every piece of fruit you carry,
You shall bring home with you a piece of gold."

2. "Faith, I myself should think so," says the man;
"The thing looks promising-I'll even do it."

He buys the finest basket he can find,

And packs into it

The choicest fruits assorted to his mind,

Takes leave of all his friends,

And gaily wends

His way along the road to Ispahan,

Already big and bright with many a plan,

What he will do with all the golden pieces;

E'en now, in thought, his house, his ground increases: And so the lightened moments ran,

And ere he thinks, he is at Ispahan.

To the chief marshal they announce his name;
The way at courts is everywhere the same:
To him who brings, the doors are always open;
Who comes to get, may long stand hoping.
The fruit is taken by the marshal,

Who soon returns, our worthy man informing,
His Majesty the Sheik is very partial

To fruit so charming;

In his own person had devoured the store,
And praised it much and asked for more.

3. Hey! my good Persian, what a trade! Thou hast thy fortune made!

He watches till the moment suits

Softly to whisper in the Emperor's ear,

He is the peasant with the fruits;

He stands where soon the Emperor must appear,
He gazes down along the gorgeous hall,

Stares at the great who here do seem so small;
At last he spies a dwarf among the swarm,
With such a queer and crooked form,

That the poor man

Must laugh, do all he can.

Unluckily this dwarf was the prime minister:
With a sharp look, so cross and sinister,

He squints at our poor friend. One word: the guard
Drags him away down stairs and through the yard.

Now he may sit and whistle for his purses
Of gold, in prison there; he curses

The tree, the garden; curses thrice,

Body and soul,

The neighbor whose advice

Brought him to this dark hole.

But all his curses cannot mend the matter,

Cannot undo what's done nor make it better.

And so a whole year fled,—

Too long a time by half

For one poor little laugh!—

Men thought no more of him than if he had been dead.

4. At length the time of fruit came round,

5.

They brought the Sheik the best that could be found:
He turned his nose up, laid them down again;
""Twas not such fruit you brought me last year—then
'Twas worth an Emperor's eating! where's the fellow
Who brought me then the fruit so mellow?
Will he, perhaps, again come round this way?
Has none had tidings of him since that day?
Whence came he? Whither did he go?

Who is he? Quick, make search, and let me know?"

They search, and solve the mystery.

The Emperor laughs to hear the tragic history: "Good! Bring him hither! I myself will see

That the poor creature's lot shall be

Better than this!"

He comes: "I know your story, Good friend!" so says the Sheik, "I'm very sorry. But for lost time, jail fare, and money due you, Ask what you will, we'll freely give it to you."

"Sir, give me only," answered the poor man, "An axe, a bag of salt, and Alcoran."