The fragrance and the beauty of the rose Delight me so slight thought I give the thorn, And the sweet music of the lark's dear song Stays longer with me than the night-hawk's cry. And even in this great throe of pain called Life I find a rapture linked with each despair Well worth the price of anguish. I detect More good than evil in humanity. Love lights more fires than hate extinguishes, And men grow better as the world grows old. THE DRINKING. ELLA WHEELER. FROM THE GREEK OF ANACREON. up cup; HE thirsty earth soaks the rain, Fill all the glasses there; for why Translation of ABRAHAM COWLEY. Arouse, arouse, my gawky friend, And shake your spider legs! What though you're awkward at the trade? And take another turn. They've built us up a noble wall But just to walk about. So faster, now, you middle men, And try to beat the ends; It's pleasant work to ramble round Among one's honest friends. Here! tread upon the long man's toes: And punch the little fellow's ribs That isn't in the patch. Hark, fellows! there's the supper-bell, A round or two for fun? PICTURES OF MEMORY. MONG the beautiful pictures That hang on Memory's wall Is one of a dim old forest That seemeth best of all. Not for its gnarled oaks olden, Dark with the mistletoe; Not for the violets golden That sprinkle the vale below; Not for the milk-white lilies That lean from the fragrant hedge, Coquetting all day with the sunbeams And stealing their golden edge; Not for the vines on the upland Where the bright-red berries rest, Nor the pinks, nor the pale, sweet cowslip, It seemeth to me the best. I once had a little brother With eyes that were dark and deep: In the lap of that old dim forest He lieth in peace asleep. Light as the down of the thistle, Free as the winds that blow, We roved there the beautiful summers The summers of long ago; But his feet on the hills grew weary, And, one of the autumn eves, I made for my little brother A bed of the yellow leaves. Sweetly his pale arms folded My neck in a meek embrace As the light of immortal beauty Silently covered his face; That spirit hath fled, and we yield him to How closely he twineth, how close he clings, thee; To his friend the huge oak tree! His ashes be spread, like his soul, far and And slyly he traileth along the ground, free. O fire! we commit his dear reliques to thee, Thou emblem of purity, spotless and free; May his soul, like thy flames, bright and burning arise To its mansion of bliss in the star-spangled Whole ages have fled and their works de skies. O water! receive him. Without thy kind aid He had parched 'neath the sunbeams or mourned in the shade: Then take of his body the share which is thine, For the spirit hath fled from its mouldering shrine. LUCRETIA MARIA DAVIDSON. cayed. And nations have scattered been, But the stout old ivy shall never fade From its hale and hearty green. Creeping on where Time has been, CHARLES DICKENS. THE IVY GREEN. H, a dainty plant is the ivy green, On right choice food are his meals, I ween, The wall must be crumpled, the stone decayed, To pleasure his dainty whim, Y LOVE AND GLORY. OUNG Henry was as brave a youth As ever graced a gallant story, And Jane was fair as lovely truth; She sighed for love, and he for glory. With her his faith he meant to plight, And told her many a gallant story, And the mouldering dust that years have made Till war, their coming joys to blight, Is a merry meal for him. Creeping where no life is seen, A rare old plant is the ivy green. Fast he stealeth on, though he wears no wings, And a staunch old heart has he; Called him away from love to glory. Young Henry met the foe with pride; In man's attire, by Henry's side, She died for love, and he for glory. CHARLES DIBDIN. THE TROUBLES OF A YOUNG THIEF. HAVE often thought-and with some mirth, too-how I had really more wealth than I knew what to do with [five pounds, his share of the plunder]; for lodging I had none, nor any box or drawer to hide my money in, nor had I any pocket but such as I say was full of holes. I knew nobody in the world that I could go and desire them to lay it up for me, for, being a poor, naked, ragged boy, they would presently say I had robbed somebody, and perhaps lay hold of me, and my money would be my crime, as they say it often is in foreign countries. And now, as I was full of wealth, behold I was full of care, for what to do to secure my money I could not tell; and this held me so long, and was so vexatious to me the next day, that I truly sat down and cried. Nothing could be more perplexing than this money was to me all that night. I carried it in my hand a good while, for it was in gold all but fourteen shillings; and that is to say, it was four guineas, and that fourteen shillings was more difficult to carry than the four guineas. At last I sat down and pulled off one of my shoes and put the four guineas into that; but after I had gone a while my shoe hurt me so I could not go, so I was fain to sit down again and take it out of my shoe and carry it in my hand. Then I found a dirty linen rag in the street, and I took that up and wrapt it altogether, and carried it in that a good way. I have often since heard people say, when they have been talking of money that they could not get in, "I wish I had it in a foul clout.' In truth, I had mine in a foul clout; for it was foul, according to the letter of that saying, but it served me till I came to a convenient place, and then I sat down and washed the cloth in the kennel, and so then put my money in again. Well, I carried it home with me to my lodging in the glass-house; and when I went to go to sleep, I knew not what to do with it. If I had let any of the black crew I was with know of it. I should have been smothered in the ashes for it or robbed of it, or some trick or other put upon me for it; so I knew not what to do, but lay with it in my hand, and my hand in my bosom; but then sleep went from my eyes. Oh, the weight of human care! I, a poor beggar-boy, could not sleep so soon as I had but a little money to keep, who before that could have slept upon a heap of brickbats, stones or cinders, or anywhere, as sound as a rich man does on his down bed, and sounder too. Every now and then dropping asleep, I should dream that my money was lost and start like one frightened, then, finding it fast in my hand, try to go to sleep again, but could not for a long while, then drop and start again. At last a fancy came into my head that if I fell asleep I should dream of the money, and talk of it in my |