132

THE YOUTH’S CABINET.

 

EUSPORLAL TABLE DAL.

TO CORRESPONDENTS.

HE subscriber in Vermont,
who waxes poetical for our
» especial benefit, is informed
YR that we do not consider his
lines worth the five cents we
paid for them in postage.
¢ We ought, long ago, to
have acknowledged a letter
from a little subscriber in
Troy, only eight years old. Thank you,
Caroline. That was a very good letter
indeed, The editor is very glad you are
learning to write, and hopes he will hear
from you again, one of these days.

.“ Paris,” “The Sere Autumn Leaf,”
* Youth,” “The Bird’s Nest,” and sun-
dry other good things, will soon emerge
from the pigeon-holes, where they are at
present entertained, and come before the
world in a tasteful dress, for which we
have already given orders to the printer.

How often the painful intelligence
reaches us, in the midst of our toils, that
some little boy or girl, who was once a
reader of the Cazrner, and who used to
hail its visits with delight, is cut down
by death. It was only the other day,
that a lady, to whom we are greatly in-
debted, came into our office, and told us
of the death of little Isabelle, one of our
readers, who lived in Brooklyn. This
lady presented us, at the same time,
with some lines, written .as if from the
lips of the dying one. We will read
them at our table :—

 

THE 8PI RIT’S ADIEU.

My mother dems weep not nor grieve for me,
But think, ah think, when thou art all alone,

How my tired spirit struggled to be free,
And hail’d the hour when death bade me be-

gone.

Ah, couldst thou view the joy that waits me
here,
My happy change from sorrow, sin, and pain,
Thou wouldst then rather wish with me to
share
The bliss of heaven; for, ah! to die is gain.

Hark, hark! the angelic host their voices raise ;
“Welcome,” they sing, “to these bright
realms above—
To God be glory, to the Lamb be praise,
Who suffered, bled, and died, to prove his
love.”

Mother beloved, grief finds no entrance here;
Our home is one of joy, a place of rest,
Where those of Christ's redeem’d shall ever
share
The love that waits the coming of the blest.
A. E. F. B.

 

ANSWER TO ENIGMA NO. III.

Tue Doon is a little river, dear to the
lovers of poesy and song. Allegri was
a celebrated painter, who died in obscu-
rity. Menai is a strait in the eastern
hemisphere. The Nautilus is a skillful
little mariner, whose ancestors instructed
ours. The Secant is a mathematical
line. The Lotus is the bark in which
Cupid sails down the Nile. The martyr
Huss perished at the stake. The battle-
field of Crecy has been renowned for ages,
Froissart was an eminent historian. At-
alanta rivaled the stag. Carya is the
botanical name of the hickory tree. The—
whole is “ Macaulay’s History of Eng-
land.”

I can find a little fault with this enig- -
ma, and that.is, the name of the histo-