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We notice with sorrow the intelligence brought by late arrivals from Europe, of the death of the Swedish poet TEGNER. ESIAS TEGNER, bishop of Wexiö, and Knight of the Order of the North Star, was born in 1782. In 1799, he entered the University of Lund as a student, and in 1812 was appointed Professor of Greek in that institution. In 1824, he became Bishop of Wexiö, which office he held till the time of his death. Professor Longfellow, our own gifted countryman, speaks of him as the first of the poets of Sweden of this age; a man of grand and gorgeous imagination, and poetic genius of a high order. His countrymen were proud of him, and rejoiced in his fame. Longfellow has introduced him to our acquaintance by admirable translations of some of his poems, as portions of the "Frithiof Saga" and his "Children of the Lord's Supper," which may be found, together with a synopsis of the Bishop's writings, in the "Poetry and Poets of Europe." We are tempted to quote a passage from the "Children of the Lord's Supper," in which the venerable,white-haired pastor imparts his advice to the young catechumens of the church, on the occasion of their admission to the holy ordinance :

Therefore, take from henceforth as guides in the path of existence,

Prayer, with her eyes raised to heaven, and Innocence, bride of man's childhood.

Innocence, child beloved, is a guest from the world of the blessed,

Beautiful, and in her hand a lily; on life's roaring billows Swings she in safety, she heedeth them not, in the ship she is sleeping;

Calmly she gazes around on the turmoil of men; in the desert

Angels descend and minister unto her; she herself knoweth Naught of her glorious attendance; but follows faithful and humble

Follows so long as she may, her friend; O, do not reject her,

For she cometh from God, and she holdeth the keys of Heaven.

Prayer is Innocence's friend, and willingly flieth incessant "Twixt the earth and the sky, the carrier-pigeon of Heaven. Hope-so is called upon earth man's recompense-Hope, the befriending,

Plunges her auchor's peak in the depths of the grave, and beneath it

Paints a more beautiful world, a dim, but a sweet play of shadows.

Races better than we have leaned on her wavering promise, Having naught else beside Hope. Then praise we our Father in Heaven,

Him who has given us more; for to us has Hope been illumined,

Groping no longer in night; she is Faith, she is living

assurance.

But we must stop short with our extract, sensible that we can give no adequate idea of the beauty of the poem otherwise than by presenting it entire and perfect.

THE COLISEUM BY MOONLIGHT.-One of the finest descriptions of this scene is that by Mr. Headley, in his "Letters from Italy." "One by one the groups retired, and I was left alone with the Coliseum and the night. Behind me stood the arch of Constantine-on my left was the Palatine hill, the Roman Forum with its few remaining columns and the Capitol, and beneath me was the arena, where thousands had been 'butchered to make a Roman holiday.' Up those very stone steps below me had passed hasty feet more than a thousand years ago. Right around me had been the bustle and hum of the eager assembly. Before me, through that grand archway in which now the bayonet of a solitary sentinel glistened, had passed the triumphant Cæsars, while the mighty edifice rocked to the shout of the people. Beneath me, far down in the arena, on which the moonlight lay so gracefully, had stood the gladiator, while his quick ear caught the roar of the lion, aroused for the conflict. 'Hic habet' had been shouted from where I lay, as the steel entered some poor fellow's bosom. There the dying gladiator had lain, as the life-stream ebbed slowly away; while his thoughts, far from the scene of strife, reckless who was the victor,

were

Where his rude hut by the Danube lay;
There were his young barbarians all at play;
There was their Dacian mother.'

Oh! what wild heart-breakings had been in that arena! Every inch of it had been soaked in blood, and yet not a stain was left-not a scar remained to tell of the death struggles these walls had witnessed! The Cæsars and the people, the slave and the martyred Christian had all passed away. Thought crowded upon thought as I looked down, till the solitude and silence became too painful for me. I seemed to have lived years in those few minutes. * I returned through the Basilica of Constantine, and while standing and musing over one of its fallen columns, I suddenly heard the scream of a night bird, which came from the Palatine hill, and was echoed back by another from near the Capitol. I had never heard it then, though I often have since. It was a shrill, single cry, that, heard amidst those ruins, at midnight, was indescribably thrilling. Right above me, on a ruined front, leaned several marble statues, in attitudes so natural, that it was almost impossible to believe they were not human beings keeping watch among the ruins. Just then the wind began to sweep by in gusts, shaking the ivy over my head, while the wild, mournful cry of that night bird seemed like the wail of a ghost amid the surrounding desolation. The hour, the place, and the silence made it too lonely. It was dreadful."

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THE AFRICAN'S NOTION OF THE GOSPEL AND WAR.We see it stated that an American Missionary lately made application to the principal chief of the Mendi tribe of Africans, requesting him to call his people together, in order that the Missionary might preach the Gospel to them! After a few moments' reflection, the chief replied that he could not assent to the wish of the Missionary. "You want to come," said the African, " and hold God-palaver and Gospel-palaver with my people. Now I have gunpowder; I have sword, and I am going to fight my enemies; but if you hold God-palaver and Gospel-palaver with my people, they wont help me fight. I will whip my enemies first, and then my people may hear your Gospel-palaver." How entirely behind the age was this poor Negro! He might have learned that we in this Christian country have no sort of difficulty in attending to both war and gospel at the same time. We can even send bowieknives and Bibles in the same cargo, and by the same hands, to those who are doing our fighting in Mexico. Will not some one enlighten the Mendi man in regard to the usages of Christian countries?

THE DEATH OF THE RIGHTEOUS.—It is profitable to mark the path of the upright, and note their last end. The effect of such scenes, even upon wicked men, is seen in the case of the miserable Balaam, who could not help exclaiming, "Let me die the death of the righteous, and let my last end be like his." Of interesting examples of Christian dying, we may refer to that of the sainted George Herbert. "I now look back," said he, just before dying, "upon the pleasures of my life past, and see the pleasure I have taken in beauty, in wit, in music, and pleasant conversation, and they are now all past from me like a dream, or as a shadow that returns not, and are now all become dead to me, or I to them; and I see that as my father and generation hath done before me, so I also shall now make my bed with Job, in the dark; and I praise God I am prepared for it; and I praise him that I am not now to learn patience when I stand in such need of it, and that I have endeavored to die daily, that I may not die eternally; and my hope is that I shall shortly leave this valley of tears, and be free from all fevers and pain, and which will be a more happy condition, I shall be free from all sin and from all the temptations and anxieties that attend it; and this being past, I shall dwell in the new Jerusalem dwell with men made perfect-dwell where these eyes shall see my dear Master and Saviour, Jesus Christ, and with him see my dear

mother and my pious relations and friends. But I must die, or not come to that happy place." The dying hours of the pious and "judicious Hooker" were similarly filled with holy peace and calmness, so that even after so long a time one seems drawn back to the spot, and made to breathe the air of the chamber where he yielded up his spirit. We have need often to place our hearts under the influence of such scenes as those which signalize the departure to their rest of the servants of God.

THINK OF THE POOR!-Every reader of this paragraph is requested to consider the poor, and to inquire if there is not some one or more of them in his vicinity who need his assistance. No labors are so richly rewarded as labors of love. No investment commands such a premium. "Have you any old shoes, hats, caps, coats, pants, vests? Distribute them to the poor children in your neighborhood. God's poor are all about you, soliciting charity through their ragged clothing and protruding limbs. Be not backward in doing good. Open your ears to the cries of hunger and distress. Distribute what you have anything will be acceptable but advice. Do you know it ?-Angels hover over the path that leads to honest poverty—and they who pass it often receive a blessing from the skies."

A PICTURE.-There is something exceedingly natural, simple, and touching in this little pic

ture:

The farmer sat in his easy chair,
Smoking his pipe of clay,

While his hale old wife, with busy care,
Was clearing the dinner away.

A sweet little girl, with fine blue eyes,
On her grand-pa's knee was catching flies.
The old man placed his hand on her head,
With a tear on his wrinkled face,
He thought how often her mother dead
Had sat in the same, same place.

As the tear stole down from his half shut eye,
"Don't smoke," said the child, "how it makes you cry!"

The house-dog stretched out on the floor,

Where the sun, after noon, used to steal,
The busy old wife, by the open door,

Was turning the spinning wheel-
And the old brass clock on the mantletree,
Had plodded along to almost three
;
Still the father sat in his easy chair,

While close to his heaving breast,
The moistened brow, and the head so fair,
Of his sweet grand-child was prest;
His head, bent down, on her soft head lay-
Fast asleep were they both on that summer day!