SENDING FORTH THE APOSTLES.

"These Twelve Jesus sent forth, and commanded them, saying:"

Go forth and preach the dawning of that light
By prophets long foreseen, and hailed by John
In holy vision, near the Jordan's banks.
Seek not the halls of wealth, nor lordly domes,
Where pride and power reign, nor yet the lands
Of Gentile darkness, or Samarian sway.
But where the scattered sons of Israel pine
Despised, enslaved, though of their ancient joy
All fondly dreaming, and of one to come
In David's martial pomp-there cry aloud,
The kingdom is at hand! Bid them no more
Trust in an arm of flesh, for Judah's might
Is for ever broke; from her palace walks
The sceptre hath departed, and the shout
Of prince or mighty man will never sound
In Gihon's vale again, calling her chiefs
To battle with the nations. Tell of Him
Who comes not to destroy, whose reign shall be
In righteousness and peace-the reign of love
Foretold by Daniel, that will never end.

And, to confirm the Word, receive all power
O'er men or devils. By the voice of faith

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Restore the palsied frame, the leper's skin
Renew in freshness; from the maniac wretch,
Led by Satanic power mid wilds and tombs,
Drive evil influence forth; or but command,
In heaven's name, the ghastly corpse to rise,
And it shall leap and live. Fear not the wrath
Of king or council. Lo! I send you forth

As sheep mid ravening beasts; be harmless, wise,
And patient 'neath oppression. Happy they
Who hear your tidings glad, and willingly
Obey the voice of truth; but heavier far-
Far more intolerable than Sodom's fate,
Will be that city's doom, which cold receives
The call of mercy, and insults heaven's King
In person of his servants. Mid all toils

Of thirst or weariness, mid sorrow, pain,
Or danger from the wrath of wicked men,
When beaten, vilified, or bound in chains,
Be this the source of comfort and of hope,
That I am with you, even to the end.

THE LADY ANNE CARR.

BY THE AUTHOR OF MAY YOU LIKE IT.

HAVE you not sometimes seen, upon the bosom of dark, stagnant waters, a pure white water lily lift up its head, breathing there a fresh and delicate fragrance, and deriving its existence thence-yet partaking in nothing of the loathsome nature of the pool, nor ever sullied by its close contact with the foul element beneath?

It is an honest simile to say that the gentle Anne Carr resembled that sweet water lily. Sprung from the guilty loves of the favorite Somerset and his beautiful but infamous wife, she was herself pure and untainted by the dark and criminal disposition of her parents. Not even a suspicion of their real character had ever crossed her mind; she knew that they had met with some reverse of fortunefor she had heard her father regret, for her sake, his altered estate. She knew this, but nothing more: her father's enemies, who would gladly have added to his wretchedness, by making his child look upon him with horror, could not find in their hearts, when they gazed on her innocent face, to make one so unoffending, wretched. It is a lovely blindness in a child to have no discernment of a parent's faultiness; and so it happened that the Lady Anne saw nothing in her father's mien or manner, betokening a sinful, worthless character.

Of her mother she had but few and faint recollections. Memory pictured her pale and drooping, nay gradually sinking under the cureless malady which brought her to her grave at last. She remem

bered, however, the soft and beautiful smiles, which had beamed over that haggard countenance, when it was turned upon her only child — smiles which she delighted to recognize in the lovely portrait, from which her idea of her mother was chiefly formed. This portrait adorned her own favorite apartment. It had been painted when the original was as young and happy as herself; and her filial love and fond imagination believed no grace had been wanting, to make all as beautiful and glorious within.

As the Lady Anne grew up to womanhood, the sweetness of her disposition and manners began to be acknowledged by those, who had seen without astonishment her extraordinary beauty; and many persons of distinction, who would hold no kind of fellowship with the Lord Somerset, sought the acquaintance of his innocent daughter for her own sake. Deeply as the once popular and courted favorite felt the neglect and abhorrence in which he was now held, yet he gladly endured it for his beloved daughter's sake, pretending to her that he was tired of the world, and preferred the seclusion in which he was forced to live.

The most beloved friend of the Lady Anne was the Lady Ellinor G, the eldest daughter of the Earl of G: and with her Lady Anne often passed several months in the year. A large party of young ladies were assembled at G-Castle; and it happened that a continued rain had confined the fair companions within doors the whole summer afternoon. They sat together over their embroidery and various kinds of needle work, telling old tales of fearful interest the strange mishaps of benighted travellers-stories of witchcraft, and of mysterious murder. Though night was yet distant many hours, the tempestuous weather without had spread an unusual gloom over the spacious apartment where they were assembled; and as the loud blasts of the wind brought, every now and then, the pattering rain in

full sweep upon the high and narrow casements, or agitated the heavy hangings of the tapestry, many a cheek grew pale, and many a young heart beat with the excitement of terror and dismay.

The conversation turned at last to the legends belonging to a certain family; and one circumstance was mentioned so nearly resembling, in many particulars, the murder of Sir Thomas Overbury, that the Lady Ellinor, scarcely doubting that some slight suspicion of her parents' crimes had reached the ears of the Lady Anne, determined to change the subject at once. She proposed to her fair friends that they should ramble together through the apartments of the castle; and she called for the old housekeeper, who had lived in the family from her childhood, to go along with them, and asked her to describe to them the person and manners of Queen Elizabeth, when she had visited at the castle, and slept in the state apartment; always since called the Queen's Bedchamber.

Led by their talkative guide, the careless, laughing party wandered from one chamber to another, listening to her anecdotes, and the descriptions she gave of persons and things in former days. She had known many of the originals of the stately portraits in the picture gallery; and she could tell the names and the exploits of those warriors in the family, whose coats of mail and glittering weapons adorned the armory. “And now,” said the Lady Ellinor, "what else is there to be seen? Not that I mean to trouble you any longer with our questions, good Margaret, but give me this key, this key so seldom used," pointing to a large, strangely shaped key, that hung among a bunch at the old housekeeper's side. "There!" she added, disengaging it herself from the ring, "I have taken it, and will return it very safely, I assure you."

"This key," she said, turning to her young companions, "unlocks a gallery at the end of the eastern wing, which is always locked up,