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of life. The glance of her eye was variable and sweet, and on her cheek trembled something like the first blush of the morning; her lips moved, and there was harmony; and when she floated in the dance, her light form, like the aspen, seemed to move with every breeze. I returned, but she was not in the dance; I sought her in the gay circle of her companions, but I found her not. Her eyes sparkled not there;-the music of her voice was silent; she rejoiced on earth no more. I saw a train, sable and slow-paced, who bore sadly to the opened grave what once was animated and beautiful. They paused as they approached, and a voice broke the awful silence: "Mingle ashes with ashes, dust with its original dust. To the earth, whence it was taken, consign we the body of our sister." They covered her with the damp soil and the cold clods of the valley; and the worms crowded into her silent abode. Yet one sad mourner lingered, to cast himself upon the grave; and as he wept, he said : "There is no beauty, or grace, or loveliness, that continueth in man; for this is the end of all his glory and perfection."

I have seen an infant with a fair brow, and a frame like polished ivory. Its limbs were pliant in its sports; it rejoiced, and again, it wept; but whether its glowing cheek dimpled with smiles, or its blue eyes were brilliant with tears, still I said in my heart, " It is beautiful." It was like the first pure blossom, which some cherished plant has shot forth, whose cup is filled with a dew-drop, and whose head reclines upon its parent

stem.

I again saw this child when the lamp of reason first dawned in its mind. Its soul was gentle and

peaceful; its eye sparkled with joy, as it looked around on this good and pleasant world. It ran swiftly in the ways of knowledge; it bowed its ear to instruction; it stood like a lamb before its teachers. It was not proud, or envious, or stubborn; and it had never heard of the vices and vanities of the world. And when I looked upon it, I remembered that our Saviour had said, "Except ye become as little children, ye cannot enter into the kingdom of heaven."

But the scene was changed, and I saw a man whom the world called honorable, and many waited for his smile. They pointed out the fields that were his, and talked of the silver and gold that he had gathered; they admired the stateliness of his domes, and extolled the honor of his family. And his heart answered secretly, "By my wisdom have I gotten all this;" so he returned no thanks to God, neither did he fear or serve him. And as I passed along, I heard the complaints of the laborers who had reaped down his fields, and the cries of the poor, whose covering he had taken away; but the sound of feasting and revelry was in his apartments, and the unfed beggar came tottering hungry from his door. But he considered not that the cries of the oppressed were continually entering into the ears of the Most High. And when I knew that this man was once the teachable child that I had loved, the beautiful infant that I had gazed upon with delight, I said in my bitterness, "I have seen an end of all perfection;" and I laid my mouth in the dust.

CATO ON IMMORTALITY.

ADDISON.

It must be so;-Plato, thou reasonest well,
Else whence this pleasing hope, this fond desire,
This longing after immortality ?

Or whence this secret dread and inward horror
Of falling into nought? Why shrinks the soul
Back on herself, and startles at destruction?
-'Tis the Divinity that stirs within us,
'Tis heaven itself that points out an hereafter,
And intimates Eternity to man.

Eternity!-thou pleasing-dreadful thought!
Through what variety of untried being—
Through what new scenes and changes must we pass!
The wide, th' unbounded prospect lies before me;
But shadows, clouds and darkness rest upon it.
Here will I hold :—If there's a Power above us,
(And that there is, all Nature cries aloud

Through all her works), he must delight in Virtue;
And that which he delights in must be happy:
But--when ?—or where?—This world was made for
Cæsar.

I'm weary of conjectures: This must end them.
[Laying his hand upon his sword.]

Thus I am doubly armed; my death and life,
My bane and antidote are both before me.
This in a moment brings me to an end,
But this informs me I shall never die.
The soul, secure in her existence, smiles
At the drawn dagger, and defies its point.
The stars shall fade away, the sun himself
Grow dim with age, and nature sink in years;
But thou shalt flourish in immortal youth,
Unhurt amid the war of elements,

The wreck of matter, and the crash of worlds.

POTENCY OF ENGLISH WORDS.

JOHN S. MCINTOSH.

Seek out "acceptable words "; and as ye seek them, turn to our English stores. Seeking to be rich in speech, you will find that in the broad ocean of our English literature there are pearls of great price, our potent English words; words that are wizards, more mighty than the old Scotch magician; words that are pictures, bright and moving with all the coloring and circumstances of life; words that go down the century like battle-cries; words that sob like litanies, sing like larks, sigh like zephyrs, shout like seas. Seek amid our exhaustless stores, and you will find words that flash like the stars of the frosty sky, or are melting and tender like Love's tear-filled eyes; words that are fresh and crisp like the mountain breeze in Autumn, or mellow and rich as an old painting; words that are sharp, unbending and precise, like Alpine needlepoints, or are heavy and rugged like great nuggets of gold; words that are glittering and gay, like imperial gems, or are chaste and refined like the face of a Muse. Search, and ye shall find words that crush like the battle-axe of Richard, or cut like the scimetar of Saladin; words that sting like a serpent's fangs, or soothe like a mother's kiss; words that can unveil the nether depths of Hell, or paint out the heavenly heights of purity and peace; words that can recall a Judas; words that can reveal the Christ. Before us stands a grand instrument of countless strings, of myriad notes and keys, and we are content with some few hundreds, and these not the purest, richest, deepest, sweetest. If you would be strong of speech, master more of these notes; let your vocabulary be rich,

varied, pure, and proportionate will be your power and attractiveness as speakers. I would have you deeply impressed by the force, fullness and flexibility of our noble tongue, where, if anywhere, the gigantic strength of thought and truth is wedded to the seraphic beauty of perfect utterance. I would have you fling yourselves unhesitatingly out into this great, fresh sea, like bold swimmers into the rolling waves of

ocean.

It will make you healthy, vigorous, supple and equal to a hundred calls of duty. I would have you cherish sacredly this goodly heritage, won by centuries of English thought and countless lives of English toil. I would have you jealous, like the Apostle over the Church, over these pure wells of English undefiled. Degrade not our sacred tongue by slang; defile not its crystal streams with the foul waters of careless speech; honor its stern old parentage, obey its simple yet severe grammar, watch its perfect rythm, and never mix its blue blood, the gift of noblest sires, with the base puddle of any mongrel race; but be ye of pure English lip.

WHY GIRLS CAN'T WHISTLE.

Grandma Goff said a curious thing-
"Boys may whistle, but girls must sing.”
That's the very thing I heard her say
To Kate, no longer than yesterday.

"Boys may whistle." Of course they may
If they pucker their lips the proper way
But for the life of me I can't see

Why Kate can't whistle as well as me.

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