And his own children tall and beautiful,
And him, that other, reigning in his place,
Loid of his rights and of his children's love,-
Then he, tho' Miriam Lane had told him all,
Because things seen are mightier than things heard,
Stagger'd and shook, holding the branch, and fear'd
To send abroad a shrill and terrible cry,

Which in one moment, like the blast of doom,
Would shatter all the happiness of the hearth.

He therefore turning softly like a thief,
Lest the harsh shingle should grate under foot,
And feeling all along the garden-wall,
Lest he should swoon and tumble and be found,
Crept to the gate, and opened it, and closed,
As lightly as a sick man's chamber-door,
Behind him, and came out upon the waste.

And there he would have knelt, but that his knees Were feeble, so that falling prone he dug

His fingers into the wet earth, and pray'd.

And the third night after this,

While Enoch slumber'd motionless and pale,
And Miriam watch'd and dozed at intervals,
There came so loud a calling of the sea,
That all the houses in the haven rang.

He woke, he rose, he spread his arms abroad,
Crying with a loud voice "a sail! a sail!

I am saved;" and so fell back and spoke no more.

So past the strong heroic soul away.

And when they buried him the little port
Had seldom seen a costlier funeral.

TENNYSON.

A

THE LESSON.

VILLAGE school room-this the sceneAglow with a slant sun cheery: The dominie there, of youthful mien, With the sun of his spirit sharp and keen; And a class of girls in serried row, Some taller, and some of stature low; And some, like the morning sun, afire To reach the summit of brave desire: And, as aye, some unco dreary!

"I canna an' winna teach, an' ye
Sae stupid the while I query-
Nae vision for ocht but vanity!"
With thundering rap the dominie
Out-blurted, chafed by a listless girl,
Whose only care seemed to smooth and twirl
Her apron-streamers. "Will onie lass

Mak' answer in a' this glaikit class?"

The dominie sighed aweary.

Oh, ay," said a little one, "I can tell."
"Weel, out wi't then, my dearie"-

And the frown from the master's forehead fell.
For the sweetest girl in the school was Nell-
"I want ye to show me the meaning plain
O' patience; sin' ow'r an' cw'r again
I've put it this day!" Then the little maid,
With a roguish twinkle, soberly said:

"Wait a wee, an' dinna weary."

MARY B. DODGE.

THE CHARACTER OF WASHINGTON.

The composition of man is threefold; physical, intel· lectual, and moral. It is the justly proportioned compo sition of these three that constitutes the real excellence of perfect manhood-that creature made a little lower than the angels, the noblest image of God.

Perhaps no character in history can be pronounced truly great without this combination; certainly not if the moral attributes be deficient.

All of the qualities which belong to the "noble family of truth," which engender love of country, and promote the good of mankind and the glory of God, are born and bred in the moral nature of man, from which likewise spring the evil qualities which afflict and debase the world. That system of ethics, therefore, which best succeeds in developing the excellences of our moral nature, is the one which most commends itself to our race. The noble characters which it produces are justly held up as living, practical examples of the excellence of its principles.

Viewed with reference to these facts, George Washington may be justly considered one of the greatest men whom the world has produced. Greater soldiers, more intellectual statesmen, and profounder sages have doubtless existed in the history of the English race-perhaps in our own country-but not one who to great excellence in each of these fields has added such exalted integrity, such unaffected piety, such unsullied purity of soul, and such wondrous control of his own spirit. He illustrated and adorned the civilization of Christianity, and furnished an example of the wisdom and perfection of its teachings which the subtlest arguments of its enemies cannot impeach. That one grand, rounded life, full

orbed with intellectual and moral glory, is worth, as the product of Christianity, more than all the dogmas of all the teachers. The youth of America who aspire to promote their own and their country's welfare should never cease to gaze upon his great example, or to remember that the brightest gems in the crown of his immortality, the qualities which uphold his fame upon earth and plead for him in heaven, were those which characterized him as the patient, courteous, brave, Christian gentleman. In this respect he was a blessing to the whole human race no less than to his own countrymen; to the many millions who celebrate the day of his birth.

ZEBULON B. Vance.

A PRACTICAL YOUNG WOMAN.

YOUNG Julius Jones loved Susan Slade;

And oft, in dulcet tones,

He vainly had besought the maid

To take the name of Jones.

"Wert thou but solid, then, be sure
"Twould be all right," said she;
"But, Mr. J., whilst thou art poor
Pray think no more of me."

Poor Jones was sad; his coat was bad;
His salary was worse;

But hope suggested: "Jones, my lad,

Just try the power of verse.”

He set him down and wrote in rhyme,
How she was in her spring,

And he in summer's golden prime—
And all that sort of thing.

The poem praised her hair and eyes-
Her lips, with honey laden.
He wound it up-up in the skies-
And mailed it to the maiden.

She read it over, kept it clean,
Put on her finest raiment,

And took it to a magazine,

And got ten dollars payment.

IRWIN RUSSELL.

OVER THE HILL FROM THE POOR-HOUSE

I,

WHO was always counted, they say,

Rather a bad stick any way,

Splintered all over with dodges and tricks,
Known as "the worst of the Deacon's six;"
I, the truant, saucy and bold,

The one black sheep in my father's fold,
"Once on a time," as the stories say,

Went over the hill on a winter's day—
Over the hill to the poor-house.

Tom could save what twenty could earn ;
But givin' was somethin' he ne'er would learn;
Isaac could half o' the Scriptur's speak―
Committed a hundred verses a week;

Never forgot, an' never slipped;

But "Honor thy father and mother" he skipped:
So over the hill to the poor-house!