gloom naturally accompanying decay, they are tinged with a ray before them, the shadows are cast behind us on our path, feelings spring up, unfelt even in the magic periods first traversed by us-we rejoice. Anonymous. IDLENESS. THE idle man is the devil's cushion, on which he taketh his free ease; who, as he is incapable of any good, so he is fitly disposed for all evil motions. The standing water soon stinketh; whereas the current ever keeps clear and cleanly, conveying down all noisome matter that might infect it by the force of his stream. If I do but little good to others by my endeavours, yet this is great good to me, that by my labour, I keep myself from hurt. Bishop Hall. HUMAN LIFE. THE Lark has sung his carol in the sky; Now, glad at heart, the gossips breathe their prayer, A few short years and then these sounds shall hail The day again, and gladness fill the vale; Then the huge ox shall yield the broad sir-loin; ""Twas on these knees he sat so oft and smiled." And soon again shall music swell the breeze; And once, alas! not in a distant hour, He rests in holy earth with them that went before. And such is Human Life; so gliding on, It glimmers like a meteor, and is gone! Samuel Rogers. THEY who think a crown sits easily, little know of what metal it is made. LOVE OF CHILDREN. TELL me not of the trim, precisely arranged homes, where there are no children; "where," as the good German has it, "the fly-traps always hang straight on the wall"; tell me not of the never-disturbed nights and days; of the tranquil, unanxious hearts, where children are not! I care not for these things. God sends children for another purpose than merely to keep up the race— -to enlarge our hearts, to make us unselfish, and full of kindly sympathies and affections; to give our souls higher aims, and to call out all our faculties to extended enterprise and exertion; to bring round our fire-side bright faces and happy smiles, and loving tender hearts. My soul blesses the Great Father every day that He has gladdened the earth with little children. Mary Howitt. How MAN. poor, how rich, how abject, how august, How complicate, how wonderful is man! How passing wonder He who made him such! A worm! a god! I tremble at myself, And in myself am lost! At home a stranger, |