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DAYS OF MY YOUTH.
There is no part of life so happy as youth; the following lines, written by a celebrated man now living in England, show with what regret he looks back to the pleasant days of his boyhood.
Oh! when I was a tiny boy,
My mates were blithe and kind !
To cast a look behind.
A hoop was an eternal round
A top a joyous thing;
And careful thoughts the string !
My marbles once my bag was stored –
With Theseus for a taw!
And harness'd to the law !
My kite - how fast and far it flew ;
My pleasure from the sky!
'T was paper'd o'er with studious themes, The tasks I wrote - my present dreams
Will never soar so high.
My joys are wingless all, and dead;
My flights soon find a fall :
And seldom with a call !
My foot-ball's laid upon the shelf ;-
The world knocks to and fro.
My arrows and my bow.
No more in noontide sun I bask;
My head's ne'er out of school.
And friends grow straugely cool !
The very chum that shared my cake
It makes me shrink and sigh-
Though these should meet his eye.
No skies so blue, or so serene
As clothed the play-ground tree !
All things I loved are alter'd so,
That change resides in me!
Oh, for the garb that mark'd the boy -
Well ink'd with black and red;
Repose upon my head!
Oh, for the riband round the neck !
My book and collar both !
A boy of larger growth ?
Oh, for that small, small beer anew;
That wash'd my sweet meals down;
A fag for all the town!
Oh, for the lessons learn’d by heart !
Should mark those hours again ;
Some sugar in the cane!
The Arabian Nights, rehearsed in bed ;
By stealth, 'twixt verb and noun !
The angel form that always walk'd
Exactly like Miss Brown !
The "omne bene" — Christmas come!
Merit had prizes then!
Without the silver pen!
Then home, sweet home; the crowded coach -
The winding horns, like rams';
No“ satis” to the “jams.”
When that I was a tiny boy
My mates were blithe and kind —
To cast a look behind.
THE RATS AND THE BARLEY. Some Rats, having found a sack of barley deposited in the corner of a garret, enjoyed themselves every day, in feasting abundantly upon it, till it was all gone. The winter now set in, but they had no provision, and none could they get at in the neighborhood. “How foolish were we,” said one of them, " that we did not eat less at a time, and then we might have had plenty to last us all the winter."
Near the banks of the Ganges, a mighty river held sacred by the Hindoos, natives of the great peninsula of Hindostan, is a stupendous cataract, that rushes with impetuous force over the scattered fragments of the rocks, dashing its silver foam from fall to fall, till it reaches a basin below, whence it flows in a rapid stream, through shady woods of tall forest trees, till its waters are lost in the Ganges.
At the bottom of the lower fall, is a great hollow cavern, venerated by the Hindoos with religious superstition, from the inside of which, the descent of the cataract is seen in full view, forming part of the arc of a great circle. This cavern was the favorite retreat, for solemn meditation, of an aged bramin, who officiated as chief priest in a temple raised at a few miles' distance on the shore of a sacred stream.
The temple, or pagoda, as it is often called, is a stone building, rising to a great height in the form of a pyramid, with a flat top. The outside is richly adorned with bass relievos, and close by it is a tank or reservoir of water, with steps descending to the bottom, for the convenience of the devotees who attend the temple.
Sydney, an English gentleman, of an enlightened mind, and engaging manners, who was travelling in pursuit of knowledge through the interior parts of the