THE OTHER SIDE.

ANONYMOUS.

"The words are good,” I said, "I cannot doubt;

I took my scissors then to cut them out;

But Mary seized my hand. "Take care," she cried,

I fell to musing. We are too intent

On gaining that to which our minds are bent;
We choose, then fling the fragments far and wide,
But spoil the picture on the other side!

A prize is offered; others seek it, too,
But on we press with only self in view.
We gain our point, and pause well satisfied,
But ah! the picture on the other side.

On this, a sound of revelry we hear;

On that, a wail of mourning strikes the ear;

On this, a carriage stands with groom and bride,

A hearse is waiting on the other side.

We call it trash-we tread it roughly down,

The thing which others might have deemed a crown An infant's eyes, anointed, see the gold,

Where we, world-blinded, only brass behold.

We pluck a weed, and fling it to the breeze ;

A flower of fairest hue another sees.

We strike a chord with careless smile and jest,
And break a heart-string in another's breast.

Tread soft and softer still as on you go,

With eyes washed clear in Love's anointing glow ;
Life's page well finished, turn it, satisfied,
And lo! Heaven's picture on the other side.

THE DEATH OF HALE.

ANONYMOUS.

To drum-beat and heart-beat

A soldier marches by,
There is color in his cheek,
There is courage in his eye;
Yet to drum-beat and heart-beat
In a moment he must die.

By star-light and moon-light
He seeks the Briton's camp,
He hears the rustling flag,

And the armed sentry's tramp;
And the star-light and moon-light
His silent wandering's lamp.

With slow tread, and still tread,
He scans the tented line,
And he counts the battery guns

By the gaunt and shadowy pine;
And his slow tread, and still tread,
Gives out no warning sign.

A sharp clang, a steel clang,
And terror in the sound,
For the sentry, falcon-eyed,

In the camp a spy hath found;
With a sharp clang, a steel clang,
The patriot is bound.

With calm brow, steady brow,
He listens to his doom,

In his look there is no fear,

Nor a shadow trace of gloom; But with calm brow, steady brow, He robes him for the tomb.

In the long night, the still night,
He kneels upon the sod,
And the brutal guards withhold
E'en the solemn word of God;
In the long night, the still night,
He walks where Christ hath trod.

'Neath the blue morn, the sunny morn,
He dies upon the tree,

And he mourns that he can lose
But one life for liberty;

In the blue morn, the sunny mcrn,
His spirit wings are free.

From fame-leaf, and angel-leaf,

From monument and urn,

The sad of Earth, the glad of Heaven
His tragic fate shall learn ;
And on fame-leaf, and angel-leaf,
The name of HALE shall burn.

THE PHILOSOPHY OF SPORTS.

ANONYMOUS.

Bear lightly on their foreheads, Time!

Strew roses on their way;

The young in heart, however old,

That prize the present day,

And, wiser than the pompous proud,
Are wise enough to play.

I love to see a man forget

His blood is growing cold,

And leap, or swim, or gather flowers,
Oblivious of his gold,

And mix with children in their sport,
Nor think that he is old.

I love to see the man of care

Take pleasure in a toy;
I love to see him row or ride,
And tread the grass with joy,
Or hunt the flying cricket-ball
As lusty as a boy.

All sports that spare the humblest pain,
That neither maim nor kill-

That lead us to the quiet field,

Or to the wholesome hill,

Are duties which the pure of heart
Religiously fulfill.

Though some may laugh that full-grown men

May frolic in the wood,

Like children let adrift from school,

Not mine that scornful mood ;

I honor human happiness,

And deem it gratitude.

And, though perchance the Cricketer,
Or Chinaman that flies

His Dragon-kite with boys and girls,
May seem to some unwise,

I see no folly in their play,

But sense that underlies.

The road of life is hard enough-
Bestrewn with snag and thorne ;
I would not mock the simplest joy
That made it less forlorn ;

But fill its evening path with flowers
As fresh as those of morn.

"Tis something, when the moon has passed,

To brave the touch of Time

And say,

Good friend, thou harm'st me not,

My soul is in its prime;

Thou canst not chill my warmth of heart ;

I carol while I climb."

Give us but health, and peace of mind,
Whate'er our clime or clan,

We'll take delight in simple things,
Nor deem that sports unman ;
And let the proud, who fly no kites,
Despise us if they can!

DISCOVERIES OF GALILEO.

ANONYMOUS.

There are occasions in life, in which a great mind lives years of rapt enjoyment in a moment. I can fancy the emotions of Galileo, when, first raising the newly-constructed telescope to the heavens, he saw fulfilled the grand prophecy of Copernicus, and beheld the planet Venus crescent like the moon.

It was such another moment as that, when the immortal printers of Mentz and Strasburgh received the first copy of the Bible into their hands, the work of their divine art; like that, when Columbus, through the gray dawn of the 12th of October, 1492, beheld the shores of San Salvador; like that, when the law of gravitation first revealed itself to the intellect of Newton; like that, when Franklin saw, by the stiffening fibers of the hempen cord of his kite, that he held the lightning in his grasp; like that, when Leverrier received back from Berlin the tidings that the predicted planet was found.

Yes, noble Galileo, thou art right. "It does move. Bigots may make thee recant it, but it moves, nevertheless. Yes, the earth moves, and the planets move, and the mighty waters move, and the great sweeping tides of air move, and the empires of men move, and the world of thought moves, ever onward and upward, to higher facts and bolder theories. The Inquisition may seal thy lips, but they can no more stop the progress of the great truth propounded by Copernicus, and demonstrated by thee, than they can stop the revolving earth.

Close, now, venerable sage, that sightless, tearful eye; it has