small degree of apprehension for the safety of his northern frontier.

Throughout this space, thus distinguished by the name of Aman, and which is somewhat more extensive now than it was under the predecessors of the present governor, are towns, villages, and hamlets, in great abundance. The face of the country is mountainous within land, and the mountains are in general rugged and bare; but as they are very lofty, the dews which they cause to fall, and the clouds that they arrest, give a mild and agreeable temperature to the air, and occasion frequent showers which wash down the decomposed surface of the rocks, giving soil to the vallies, and rills and torrents to fertilize them. In these vallies are corn lands, fruit gardens, and excellent pasturage for cattle; and some of the country residences of the rich people here, whose situations have been judiciously chosen in the most agreeable of these fertile spots, possess much picturesque beauty, with the desirable combinations of shady woods, springs of pure water, and a cool and healthy air. The land near the sea coast extends itself from the feet of the mountains in plains, which are but scantily watered by a few small streams descending through them to the sea; but which, nevertheless, produce an abundance of dates, nourish innumerable flocks of sheep, goats, and camels, and are lined all along their outer edge by small fishing towns, which give occupation to one part of the population, and furnish seasonable supplies of food to the other.

THE DREAM OF THE EXILE.

BY S. C. HALL.

THE breeze came gently o'er me from the west, Where the last sun-beams linger ere they part; Along the beach I lay, to sleep, and rest

My wearied limbs, and still more wearied heart; When, forth from out the blue and boundless sea That long had circled and imprisoned me,

I saw a fair and fruitful land arise,

And knew, at once, my native shore and skies.

Quicker than thought I passed, and stood before The well-known dwelling of my child and wife: Yet could not pass the threshold of the door

That kept me forth from all I loved of life; My heart was chilled—tho' from within there came A voice that seemed to murmur my own name While tongue, nor hand, nor foot obeyed my will But powerless, motionless, I stood there still.

M M

A mist was o'er mine eyes-yet I could see,

Through the closed lattice, the dim forms of two Whose hearts were mine-none other could they be— They were not strangers-that full well I knew— But dark and dull as was the outward gloom, It was less deep than that within the room; And vainly were mine eyeballs strained to trace More than the outline of a form and face.

How death-like all that was within I deemed,
All, save the music of a human voice;
But that so faint and so unearthly seemed,

It chilled the hope that would have said "Rejoice;" Was it the breathing of my wife or boy?

Was it a tone of sadness or of joy,

That, like a fearful though a welcome spell,
On the one sense that owned me master fell?

The mist was slowly passing from my sight-
Its darkness every moment grew less deep-
Till I beheld my wife-all draped in white

She lay upon a couch in gentle sleep

And our boy watched and sighed to hear her sigh,-
To mark how pale her cheek, how sunk her eye!
Sorrow that fair form must have sadly bowed
Oh! God of Judgment!—she was in her shroud!

At once my tongue was loosed, my limbs were free-
I burst the casement, and I madly spoke;
And my boy started, wildly looked on me,

And shrieked so fearfully—that I awoke—
To hear the ocean's never varied sound,

And the wild sea-mew, wheeling round and roundWhere hope, the sun-light of the soul, ne'er beams— A broken-hearted Exile even in dreams!

JUNIUS BRUTUS.

BY T. ROSCOE, ESQ.

APOSTATES to their sires' most glorious fame,
And traitors to their sacred native land,
Leagued with the tyrant and his hated band
That sought to stain the pure and holy name
Of Rome's young freedom, and with sword and flame
To spoil her citizens, and fix the brand

Of slavery on them,—with an angry hand
The father doomed his sons to death and shame.
Yet gentler feelings were within his heart
Throbbing and strong-and to his burning eye
He felt the hot tear of affliction start;
For Justice fought with nature's agony -
And conquered :-turning not his head aside,
He sat in sternness while his children died!

LIFE.

BY CHARLES KNIGHT, ESQ.

AH! why should we live on,
Till the heart is dull and cold,
Till our trusting time is gone,
And we barter faith for gold;
Till the friendship of our youth
For rich men's dross is sold;
Till we learn to mock at truth ?-
Yes, this is to grow old.

The flower, whose honied breath With fragrance glads the light, Gives forth the taint of death

To the dark and silent night ;— And thus, our early joys

Are fresh, and pure, and bright, "Till our age with pleasure cloys, And the last joy takes its flight.