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CHURCH BELLS. Thp hlended voice of morning bells Steals u1' the southern lea Of wedded hearts the tale it tells, And bridal g¡LÎety. Again I hear a pensive peal, The chime of a dying hour; Fit strain methinks it is to steal From a grey sea-side tower, And hark there was a note of woe From the grey tower, that sigh'd; Who hath not hem it, Caint and low, And felt that one hath died But who hath taught his constant heart, From this strange melody, Since joy, aod time. and Criends depart, That life is vanity ? Sharpe's London Magaxtnt. THERE WAS A TIME IN INFANCY. TheTe WM a time in infancy, I well remMllber now, When seated on my mother's knee, with grave and thoughtful brow, I listenro to some tate of heav'n, and spirits far away, Then clasp'd my little hands in hers, and both knelt down to pray! How tenderly she taught my lips to move in accents mild! How Cervently she the hope thllt He would bless her child, When lonely, in a chilling world, his way be should pursue, Without one heart to beat for him, affectionate and true And speaking thlHI, more tremulous, she would my arms entwine, And press her cheek, bedew'd with tears, still closer unto mine! With feelings hallow'd by commune, would fold me to bel breast. And sing some touching melody to lull me to Jay re!!t! Remember ?-aye, that look of love can neyer be effaced. Though seasons long have fleeted since tbe livinr lines I traced; In the viqions of my early àays, that riper years pourtriy, The mother's smile that 1.less'd me then will never pass away I see it when I wander 'midst the crowded walks of life,- It is my star of guidance through tbe shoals of mortal strife; Or, when secluded from the world, my thoughtsue homeward bent, Amidst the fonns that greet me there, an angel ODe is blent When shadows veil the brow of night, mine eyes can tranquil close, While conscious that a wing of love doth sbelter their repose And when in dreamland borne a.way-endearingly and sweet, Amidst the glories cluster'd there that gentle mien I greet. Companion of my solitude! for such I deem thou art, Still, mother, to my pilgrimage thine influence impart; And cheer my spirit with the hope, although its ere be nigh, The smile that brighten'd in decline will herald it on high! Bende!)" Mitcellanp•

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BANKRUPTS.—(From the London…

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