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;
The Bees have humm'd their noon-tide lullaby,
Still in the vale the village bells ring round
Still in Lewellen-hall the jests resound:
For now the caudle-cup is circling there,

Now, glad at heart, the gossips breathe their prayer,
And, crowding, stop the cradle to admire
The Babe, the sleeping image of his sire.

A few short years

and then these sounds shall hail

The day again, and gladness fill the vale;
So soon the child a youth, the youth a man,
Eager to run the race his fathers ran.

Then the huge ox shall yield the broad sir-loin;
The ale, now brewed, in floods of amber shine:
And lurking in the chimney's ample blaze,
Mid many a tale told of his boyish days,
The nurse shall cry, of all her ills beguiled,

""Twas on these knees he sat so oft and smiled."

And soon again shall music swell the breeze;
Soon, issuing forth, shall glitter through the trees
Vestures of nuptial white; and hymns be sung,
And violets scatter'd round, and old and young,
In every cottage-porch, with garland green,
Stand still to gaze, and, gazing, bless the scene;
While, her dark eyes declining, by his side
Moves in her virgin-veil the gentle bride.

And once, alas! not in a distant hour,
Another voice shall come from yonder tower;
When in dim chambers long black weeds are seen,
And weepings heard where only joy had been,
When by his children borne, and from his door
Slowly departing to return no more,

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!
Who centred in our make such strange extremes!
From different natures marvellously mix'd,
Connexion exquisite of distant worlds!
Distinguish'd link in being's endless chain!
Midway from nothing to the Deity!
A beam etherial, sullied and absorb'd!
Though sullied and dishonour'd, still divine!
Dim miniature of greatness absolute!
An heir of glory! a frail child of dust!
Helpless immortal! insect infinite!

A worm! a god! I tremble at myself,

And in myself am lost! At home a stranger,
Thought wanders up and down, surprised, aghast,
And wondering at her own: how reason reels!
Oh, what a miracle to man is man,