seen what man never before saw; it has seen enough. Hang up that poor little spy-glass; it has done its work. Not Herschel nor Rosse have, comparatively, done more. Franciscans and Dominicans deride thy discoveries now, but the time will come when, from two hundred observatories in Europe and America, the glorious artillery of science shall nightly assault the skies; but they shall gain no conquests in those glittering fields before which thine shall be forgotten.

Rest in peace, great Columbus of the heavens ;-like him, scorned, persecuted, broken-hearted !-in other ages, in distant hemispheres, when the votaries of science, with solemn acts of consecration, shall dedicate their stately edifices to the cause of knowledge and truth, thy name shall be mentioned with honor.

THE RAINY DAY.

LONGFELLOW.

The day is cold, and dark, and dreary;

It rains, and the wind is never weary;
The vine still clings to the mouldering wall,
But at every gust the dead leaves fall,
And the day is dark and dreary.

My life is cold, and dark, and dreary;
It rains, and the wind is never weary;

My thoughts still cling to the mouldering past,
But the hopes of youth fall thick in the blast,
And the days are dark and dreary.

Be still, sad heart! and cease repining;
Behind the clouds is the sun still shining;

Thy fate is the common fate of all,

Into each life some rain must fall,

Some days must be dark and dreary,

A

THE BOTTOM DRAWER.

ANONYMOUS.

There are whips and tops and pieces of strings,

There are shoes which no little feet wear,
There are bits of ribbon and broken rings,
And tresses of golden hair;

There are little dresses folded away
Out of the light of the sunny day.

There are dainty jackets that never are worn ;
There are toys and models of ships;

There are books and pictures all faded and torn,
And marked by the finger-tips

Of dimpled hands that have fallen to dust,
Yet I strive to think that the Lord is just.

But a feeling of bitterness fills my soul
Sometimes, when I try to pray,

That the reaper has spared so many flowers,
And taketh mine away.

And I almost doubt that the Lord can know

That a mother's heart can love them so.

Then I think of the many weary ones
Who are waiting and watching to-night,

For the slow return of faltering feet

That have strayed from the paths of right;

Who have darkened their lives by shame and sin, Whom the snares of the tempter have gathered in.

They wander far in distant climes ;

They perish by fire and flood;

And their hands are black with the direst crimes That kindled the wrath of God;

Yet a mother's song has soothed them to rest,

She hath lulled them to slumber upon her breast,

And then I think of my children three

My babies that never grow old—

And know they are waiting and watching for me, In the city with streets of gold-

Safe, safe from the cares of the weary years,

From sorrow and sin and war,

And I thank my God, with falling tears,
For the things in the bottom drawer.

UNCROWNED KINGS.

ANONYMOUS.

O ye uncrowned but kingly kings!
Made royal by the brain and heart;
Of all earth's wealth the noblest part,
Yet reckoned nothing in the mart

Where men know naught but sordid things—
All hail to you, most kingly kings!

O ye uncrowned but kingly kings!

Whose breath and words of living flame
Have waked slaved nations from their shame,
And bid them rise in manhood's name,
Swift as the curved bow backward springs,
To follow you, most kingly kings!

O ye uncrowned but kingly kings!
Whose strong right arm hath oft been bared
Where fires of righteous battle glared,
And where all odds of wrong ye dared!
To think on you the heart upsprings,
O ye uncrowned but kingly kings!

O ye uncrowned but kingly kings!
Whose burning songs, like lava poured,
Have smitten like a two-edged sword

Sent forth by heaven's avenging Lord
To purge the earth, where serfdom clings
To all but you, O kingly kings!

O ye uncrowned but kingly kings!
To whose ecstatic gaze alone

The beautiful by Heaven is shown,
And who have made it all your own;
Your lavish hand around us flings
Earth's richest wreaths, O noble kings!

O ye uncrowned but kingly kings!
The heart leaps wildly at your thought,
And the brain fires as if it caught
Shreds of your mantle: ye have fought
Not vainly, if your glory brings
A lingering light to earth, O kings!

A PLEA FOR THE SAILOR.

ANONYMOUS.

Living here comfortably at home, do we ever think of the perils of the poor sailor? Do we ever recall how much we owe him? Live comfortably we cannot-live at all, perhaps, we cannot-without seamen will expose themselves for us, risk themselves for us and, alas! often, very often, drown-drown in our service-drown and leave widows and orphans destitute. To beg with me, to plead with me for the destitute ones, there comes from many a place where seamen have died a call, a prayer, a beseeching voice; a cry from the coast of Guinea, where there is fever evermore; a cry from Arctic seas, where icebergs are death; a cry from coral reefs, that ships are wrecked on horribly; a cry from mid ocean, where many a sailor drops into a sudden grave! They ask your help, your charity, for the widows and orphans of those who have gone down to the sea-have gone down to the sea in ships,

TAKE CARE OF THE MINUTES.

ANONYMOUS.

Take care of the minutes, they are priceless, you know;
Will you value them less that so quickly they go?
"It is but a minute," the trifler will say ;

But the minutes make hours, and hours make the day.

The gold-dust of time are these minutes so small;
Will you lose even one? why not treasure them all?
As each broken petal disfigures the flower,

So each wasted minute despoils the full hour.

Take care of the minutes; they come and are gone;
Yet in each there is space for some good to be done.
Our time is a talent we hold from above:
May each hour leave us richer in wisdom and love!

GOOD-NIGHT AND GOOD MORNING.

A fair little girl sat under a tree,

LORD HOUGHTON.

Sewing as long as her eyes could see;
Then smoothed her work and folded it right,
And said, "Dear work, good night! good-night!"

Then a number of rooks came over her head,
Crying, "Caw! caw!" on their way to bed;
She said, as she watched their curious flight,
"Little black things, good-night! good-night !"

The horses neighed, and the oxen lowed,

The sheep's Baa! baa !" came over the road;
All seeming to say, with a quiet delight,

"Good little girl, good-night! good-night!"

She did not say to the sun

Good-night!"

Though she saw him there, like a ball of light;