Mrs. Pringle had taken with her a book, or album, which she promised to fill with drawings and poems for her sister, Miss Dirom; on the first page of this book, Mr. Pringle, as a preface, writes:

NORA, dear sister, say, is it not sweet,

When distant so far, that our spirits may meet,
While in fancy we ramble, each hour of the day,
To the haunts that we love, with our friends far away?
Oh, it's sad, but it's sweet, to picture the scene,

Where last in our land we together have been :

Till faces we love, in our fancy, arise,

And their smiles and their looks seem to gladden our eyes.

Too sweet is the dream,-we awake, and it flies,

In the roar of the waters around us it dies;

Yet still, while we wander and rock on the sea,

The moments fly fast when devoted to thee.

And with pens and with scrap books we chase away time,
Transcribing a poem, or writing a rhyme,

While our pencils would waft you, in fancy at least,

To the loveliest scenes that we see in the East.

Our rhyme may be doggrel, and wretched to read,

We would give you our best--take the will for the deed.

If faults in perspective you chance to detect,
We did not intend them, in mercy correct-
Yes, kind is the critic, her heart's on our side,

And the failings she finds, her affection will hide.

1830.

The following was written in consequence of Mrs. Pringle detailing to him the incidents of a dream she had soon after the news of her brother's death had reached Jessore; and when, as is said by his sister, "she knew her first sorrow," at least such is believed to have been the origin of it.

A DREAM.

"BROTHER! thou art come from the land of the blest,
Thou art come from the place of thy spirit's rest,
Thou art come, thou art come, dear brother, for me
O give me thy wings and I too shall be free!"

"I have wandered, indeed, an angel guest,
To earth-from the land of the spirit's rest,
I am come, dear sister, but not for thee,
For thine still is the chain of mortality."

"Ah! why did thy lingering spirit not wait?
At the portal of heaven, at its golden gate,

I have wept, I have watched, I have waited for thee;
Then give me thy wings, let me soar and be free.”

"I may not, I may not; for stronger the wing,
On which thy freed spirit hereafter shall spring;
On the pinion of faith, it shall purified soar,
The ransomed of earth—and her pilgrim no more."

Jessore, 1830.

I have met with nothing more beautiful than the following lines addressed to Mrs. Pringle on the second anniversary of

their marriage-day. It was folded as a note, and evidently was sent to her early, as the P.S. would indicate.

HAND in hand together kneeling, dearest say, is it not sweet,
One in heart, and one in feeling, to approach the mercy seat?
Humbly there our sins confessing, shrinking from the lowest place,
Yet, prizing higher every blessing, since we owe them all to grace.
And, under Heaven, where's the blessing, sweetest still where all are

sweet?

'Tis the comfort of possessing one fond heart my heart to meet.

Love! I know that heart is beating in thy breast for me alone;

With joy the day's return now greeting, that sunny day which made us one. Since first I saw, since first I sought thee, thrice I've seen these happy

days,

And each returning season brought me causes deep for humble praise.
First, by joyful friends attended, before our Maker, side by side,
Our solemn vows to God ascended, and I clasped my lovely bride!
Next returning season found us far from all we thought our home,
Nought but wild waves rolling round us, call'd to distant lands to roam.
Though other friends no more enfold thee, thy heart still found a home in

mine;

And that dark sparkling eye still told me, Love, I had my home in thine!
Now we dwell with heathen round us, sunk in darkness, sin, and shame;
That the Gospel light hath found us, let us praise his holy Name!
And, taught of God the way to heaven, still pray for grace to understand,
Of those, to whom He much has given, much He also will demand.—

F