room. The golden ripple on the wall came back again, and nothing else stirred in the The old, old fashion! The fashion that came in with our first garments, and will last unchanged until our race has run its course, and the wide firmament is rolled up like a scroll. The old, old fashion—Death ! Oh thank God, all who see it, for that older fashion yet, of Immortality! And look upon us, angels of young children, with regards not quite estranged, when the swift river bears us to the ocean! Dickens. ON VIEWING THE DEAD BODY OF A BOY. HERE is a smile upon that cheek— THE Those lips would seem almost to speak, Calm is that look, that brow is fair, The flaxen ringlet wantons there! Carrington. |