From the Nc,c- York Statesman. A NEW-ENGLAND VILLAGE.
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, There stand the holy spires of prayer,

 Devoutly looking into heaven, Like mortal telegraphs, to bear

 The upward thoughts of the forgiven. And as the sun-git windows glean

 In their unstained transparency, Chaste thoughts come OCT me, as dream < Ofthat soft hour, when, tepderly, The grey haired pastor crossed my brow With water from the font of snow. How swcctly every mansion lifts

 Its clean white front among the trees, While the blue smoke in curly drifts & Sails off before tlfe healthy breeze. Behind each roof long meadows slope

 In swards that bIush with clover blossoms. And new-washed clothes, swing on the rope, Just hung hy maids of swelling bosoms. And there the yellow street is seen, Ribbon'd both sides with virgin green. With what spruce and dressy air,

 The tavern shows its painted sign; Causing the traveller to stare, @

 And cypher out the gold leaf line. z And wonder is the merchants stand,

 Where, on the benches round the door, Gather the story telling band, s9a

 And all burst out in hearty roar, @ As some wild wag, at his tongues rotc Deals the cOnvuisive anecdote. why IS the dust m such a rage

 It is the yearly caravan

 Ofpedlars on their pilgrimage

 To southern marts, full of japan, And tin, and wooden furniture,

 That try to charm the passing eye; And spices, which Pm very sure h,

 Ne'er saw the coast of Araby. %N Lord how the women start and run ,.;sf y To catch look ere they are gone. 7 Al R- | SIS

 The district school house wins the view; Where the young urchins 'gainst their will,

 In jabbering rows their tasks pursue. And there's the turf on which they play,

 And tan their open-collared necks; And there's the brook, where every day,

 Their paper barks meet sad shipwrccks4 Of little hopes, that now endure The future world in miniature. These scenes are pleasant; but there's one

 More precious to the heart, than all. It is--when on the ear, the tune

 Of mellow bells, with gentle fall, Proclaims the Sabbath morn is come. f Then every road and paths alive , With young and old,-none stay at home;

 But clad in best attire, all strive To fill their places, lest they hear In private, from the minister. Anu Wnen irOLH soHc Woou-WaNInS nclSNt,

 Upon the moss at leisure thrown, I view the sylvan shade and light,

 And know the landscape is my own Dear native land; when behold ..

 The grassy lawn, the auburn wheat, The mill. the mountains edged with gold,

 And hear the pastoral song and bleat; Oh! how bless with streaming eyes, That Heaven which gave the paradise! t THE MOTHERS KISS.