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I will not have the churchyard ground With bones all black and ugly grown, To press my shivering body round,

Or on my wasted limbs be thrown.

With ribs and skulls I will not sleep,

In clammy beds of cold blue clay, Through which the ringed earth-worms creep, And on the shrouded bosom prey.

I will not have the bell proclaim

When those sad marriage rites begin, And boys, without regard or shame, Press the vile mouldering masses in.

Say not, it is beneath my care

I cannot these cold truths allow;
These thoughts may not afflict me there,
But oh! they vex and tease me now!
Raise not a turf, nor set a stone,

That man a maiden's grave may trace,
But thou, my Lucy, come alone,

And let affection find the place.

Oh! take me from a world I hate,
Men cruel, selfish, sensual, cold;
And, in some pure and blessed state,
Let me my sister minds behold:
From gross and sordid views refined,

Our heaven of spotless love to share,
For only generous souls designed,
And not a man to meet us there.

LIFE'S MYSTERY.

PHILIP JAMES BAILEY-" FESTUS."

This life's a mystery.

The value of a thought cannot be told;

But it is clearly worth a thousand lives

Like many men's. And yet men love to live,

As if mere life were worth their living for.
What but perdition will it be to most?

Life's more than breath and the quick round of blood.
It is a great spirit and a busy heart.

The coward and the small in soul scarce do live.
One generous feeling—one great thought—one deed
Of good, ere night, would make life longer seem
Than if each year might number a thousand days,—
Spent as is this by nations of mankind.

We live in deeds, not years; in thoughts, not breaths;
In feelings, not in figures on a dial.

We should count time by heart throbs. He most lives

Who thinks most-feels the noblest-acts the best.
Life's but a means unto an end-that end
Beginning, mean and end to all things-God.
The dead have all the glory of the world.

Why will we live and not be glorious?
We never can be deathless till we die.

It is the dead win battles. And the breath

Of those who through the world drive like a wedge, Tearing earth's empires up, nears death so close

It dims his well worn scythe. But no! the brave
Die never. Being deathless, they but change
Their country's arms for more--their country's heart.
Give then the dead their due; it is they who saved us
The rapid and the deep—the fall-the gulf,
Have likenesses in feeling and in life.

And life, so varied, hath more loveliness

In one day than a creeping century

Of sameness. But youth loves and lives on change
Till the soul sighs for sameness; which at last
Becomes variety, and takes its place.

Yet some will last to die out, thought by thought,
And power by power, and limb of mind by limb,
Like lamps upon a gay device of glass,
Till all of soul that's left be dry and dark;
Till even the burden of some ninety years
Hath crashed into them like a rock; shattered
Their system as if ninety suns had rushed
To ruin earth-or heaven had rained its stars;
Till they become, like scrolls, unreadable,
Through dust and mould. Can they be cleaned and
read?

Do human spirits wax and wane like moons?

TO ATTAIN A HAPPY LIFE.

HENRY HOWARD.

Martiall, the things that do attain
The happy life, be these, I find:
The riches left, not got with pain,
The fruitful ground, the quiet mind,
The equal friend; no grudge, no strife,
No charge of rule, nor governance;
Without disease, the healthful life,
The household of continuance;
The mean diet, no delicate fair,
True wisdom joined with simpleness;

The night discharged of all care,
Where wine the wit may not oppress;
The faithful wife without debate;
Such sleep as may beguile the night;
Contented with thine own estate,
Nor wish for death, nor fear his might.

GLENCOE.

JOHN KEATS.

Keep silence, lest the rocks in thunder fall;
Keep silence, lest ye wake the hapless dead,
Whose blood is crying from the ground to call
The doom of justice on the nurderer's head!
Dark and more dark, ye shades of evening, lower;
Wide and more wide, ye gathering tempests, spread
Thick clouds and waters round the Avenging Power
Whose malison is here! The river moans;
The wind, with deepening sigh from hour to hour,
Saddens the gloom, a curse is on the land;
From every cavern'd cliff sepulchral groans
Appal the desolation; and around,
The melancholy mountains loathe the sun,
And shall, till the career of Time be done.

GOLDEN THOUGHTS.

WHICH FURNISH A THEME FOR REFLECTION, AND A TEXT FOR MENTAL DISCOURSE.

Education:

In the most extensive sense of the word, education may comprehend every preparation that is made in our youth for the sequel of our lives.-Paley.

Eloquence:

Eloquence is the language of nature, and cannot be learnt in the schools.-Colton.

Eloquence comes, if it comes at all, like the outbreaking of a fountain from the earth.-Daniel Webster.

Employment:

Employment, which Galen calls “nature's physician," is so essential to human happiness that indolence is justly considered the mother of misery.— Burton.

Energy:

He who would do some great thing in this short life must apply himself to the work with such a concentration of his forces as, to idle spectators who live only to amuse themselves, looks like insanity.-Foster.

Is there one whom difficulties dishearten, who bends to the storm? He will do little. Is there one who will conquer? That kind of man never fails.Hunter.

Envy:

Envy, like a cold poison, numbs and stupefies; and, conscious of its own impotence, folds its arms in despair.-Collier.

Error:

To be indifferent whether we embrace falsehood or truth, is the great road to error.-Lock.

Every absurdity hath a champion to defend it, for error is always talkative.-Goldsmith.

Experience:

All is lip wisdom which wants experience.-Sidney. The knowledge drawn from experience is quite of another kind from that which flows from speculation or discourse.-South.

Fame:

Fame can never make us lie down contentedly on a death-bed.-Pope.

Fate:

What must be shall be; and that which is a necessity to him that struggles is little more than choice to him that is willing-Seneca.

Foreknowledge:

God will not suffer man to have the knowledge of things to come; for if he had prescience of his prosperity, he would be careless; and understanding of his adversity, he would be senseless.-St. Augustine.

Fear:

What can that man fear who takes care to please a Being that is able to crush all his adversaries.Addison.

Flattery:

People generally despise where they flatter, and cringe to those they would gladly overtop; so that truth and ceremony are two things.—Antonius.

Flowers:

How the universal heart of man blesses flowers! They are wreathed round the cradle, the marriagealtar, and the tomb. The Persian in the far east delights in their perfume, and writes his love in nosegays; while the Indian child of the far west claps his hands with glee as he gathers the abundant blossoms-the illuminated scriptures of the prairies. The Cupid of the ancient Hindoos tipped his arrow with flowers, and orange-flowers are a bridal crown with us a nation of yesterday. Flowers garlanded the Grecian altar, and hang in votive wreath before the Christian shrine. All these are appropriate uses, Flowers should deck the brow of the youthful bride, for they are in themselves a lovely type of marriage. They should twine round the tomb, for their perpet ually renewed beauty is a symbol of the resurrection, They should festoon the altar, for their fragrance and their beauty ascend in perpetual worship before the Most High.-Mrs. L. M. Chila.

Forgiveness:

Let not the sun go down upon thy wrath, but wris thy wrongs in ashes. Draw the curtain of night upon injuries, shut them up in the tower of oblivion, and let them be as though they had not been. To for give our enemies yet hope that God will punish them. is not to forgive enough. To forgive them ourselves, and not to pray God to forgive them, is a partial ac1 of charity. Forgive thine enemies totally and with out any reserve.-Sir Thomas Browne.

Fortune:

Every man is the maker of his own fortune, and must be, in some measure, the trumpet of his fame. Dryden.

Friendship:

False friendship is like the ivy, decays and ruins the wall it embraces; but true friendship gives new life and animation to the object it supports.—Robert Burton.

Genius:

Every man should examine his own genius, and advise with himself what is proper to apply himself to: for nothing can be more distant from tranquility and happiness than to be engaged in a course of life for which nature has rendered thee unfit; an active life is not to be undertaken by an unactive person, ncr an unactive life by an active person. To one, rest is quiet and action labor; to another, rest is labor and action quiet.-Epicurus.

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THE GARDENER OF THE MANOR.

HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSON.

About one Danish mile from the capital stood an old manor-house, with thick walls, towers, and pointed gable-ends. Here lived, but only in the summer season, a rich and courtly family. This manorhouse was the best and the most beautiful of all the houses they owned. It looked outside as if it had just been cast in a foundry, and within it was comfort itself. The family arms were carved in stone over the door; beautiful roses twined about the arms and the balcony; a grass-plot extended before the house with red-thorn and white-thorn, and many rare flowers grew even outside the conservatory. The manor kept also a very skillful gardener. It was a real pleasure to see the flower-garden, the orchard, and the kitchen-garden. There was still to be seen a portion of the manor's original garden, a few boxtree hedges cut in shape of crowns and pyramids, and behind these two mighty old trees almost always without leaves. One might always think that a storm or water-spout had scattered great lumps of manure on their branches, but each lump was a bird's nest. A swarm of rooks and crows from time imme. morial had built their nests here. It was a townful of birds, and the birds were the manorial lords here. They did not care for the proprietors, the manor's oldest family branch, nor for the present owner of the manor-these were nothing to them; but they bore with the wandering creatures below them, notwithstanding that once in a while they shot with guns in a way that made the birds' back-bones shiver, and made every bird fly up, crying, "Rak, Rak!”

The gardener very often explained to the master the necessity of felling the old trees, as they did not look well, and by taking them away they would probably also get rid of the screaming bird, which would seek another place. But he never could be induced either to give up the trees or the swarm of Dirds: the manor could not spare them, as they were relics of the good old times, that ought always to be kept in remembrance.

"The trees are the birds' heritage by this time," said the master. "So let them keep them, my good Larsen." Larsen was the gardener's name, but that is of very little consequence in this story. "Haven't you room enough to work in, little Larsen? Have you not the flower garden, the green-houses, the orchard, and the kitchen-garden?" He cared for them, he kept them in order and cultivated them with zeal and ability, and the family knew it; but they did not conceal from him that they often tasted fruits and saw flowers in other houses that surpassed what he had in his garden, and that was a sore trial to the gardener, who always wished to do the best, and really did the best he could. He was good

hearted and a faithful servant.

The owner sent one day for him and told him kindly that the day before at a party given by some

friends of rank, they had eaten apples and pears which were so juicy and well-flavoured, that all the guests had loudly expressed their admiration. To be sure, they were not native fruits, but they ought by all means to be introduced here, and to be acclimat. ized if possible. They learned that the fruit was bought of one of the first fruit-dealers in the city, and the gardener was to ride to town, and find out about where they came from, and then order some slips for grafting. The gardener was very well acquainted with the dealer, because ne was the very person to whom he sold the fruit that grew in the manor-garden, beyond what was needed by the family. So the gardener went to town and asked the fruit-dealer where he had found those apples and pears that were praised so highly.

"They are from your own garden," said the fruitdealer, and he showed him both the apples and the pears, which he recognized. Now, how happy th gardener felt! He hastened back to his master, an told him that the apples and pears were all from hi own garden. But he would not believe it.

"It cannot be possible, Larsen. Can you get written certificate of that from the fruit-dealer?' And that he could; and brought him a written cer tificate.

"This is certainly wonderful!" said the family.

And now every day were set on the table grea! dishes filled with beautiful apples and pears from their own garden; bushels and barrels of these fruit? were sent to friends in the city and country-nay were even sent abroad. It was exceedingly pleasant; but when they talked with the gardener, they said that the last two seasons had been remarkably favour able for fruits, and that fruits had done well all over the country.

Some time passed. The family were at dinner a^ court. The next day the gardener was sent for. They had eaten melons at the royal table which they found very juicy and well-flavoured; they came from his majesty's green-house. "You must go and see the court gardener, and let him give you some seeds of those melons."

"But the gardener at the court got his melon-seeds from us," said the gardener, highly delighted.

"But then that man understands how to bring the fruit to a higher perfection," was the answer. "Each particular melon was delicious."

“Well, then, I really may feel proud," said the gardener. "I must tell your lordship that the gardener at the court did not succeed very well with his melons this year, and so, seeing how beautiful ours looked, he tasted them, and ordered from me three of them for the castle.”

"Larsen, you do not pretend to say that those were melons from our garden ?"

"Really, I dare say as much," said the gardener, who went to the court-gardener and got from him a written certificate to the effect that the me'ons on the royal table were from the manor. That was

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