R 0 The shadow is dense, but Faith's spirit-voce sings, "There's a silver lining to every cloud." RECREATIONS. ELIZA COOL ECREATION is a second creation when weariness hath almost annihilated one's spirits. ness. Spill not the morning, the quintessence of the day, in recreations; for sleep is itself a recreation. Add not therefore sauce to sauce; and he cannot properly have any title to be refreshed who was not first faint. Pastime, like wine, is poison in the morning. It is then good husbandry to sow the head, which hath lain fallow all night, with some serious work. Chiefly, intrench not on the Lord's day to use unlawful sports; this were to spare thine own flock, and to shear God's lamb. Take heed of boisterous and over-violent exercises. Ringing ofttimes hath made good music on the bells, and put men's bodies out of tune, so that, by overheating themselves, they have rung their own passing-bell. 'THOMAS FULLER. THE WAY OF THE WORLD. World-circling traffic reared through mart and street. LAUGH, and the world laughs with you, His priests were gods, his spice-balmed kings Weep, and you weep alone, For the brave old earth must borrow its mirth But has trouble enough of its own. Sigh, it is lost on the air; Rejoice, and men will seek you, There are none to decline your nectared wine, But alone you must drink life's gall. Feast, and your halls are crowded, But, one by one, we must all march on ELLA WHEELER WILCOX. GIFTS. WORLD God, give me wealth!" the Egyptian cried. enshrined, Set death at naught in rock-ribbed channels deep. Seek Pharaoh's race to-day and ye shall find "O, World God, give me beauty!" cried the His prayer was granted. All the earth be came Plastic and vocal to his sense; each peak, Each grove, each stream, quick with Promethean flame, Peopled the world with image grace and light, The lyre was his, and his the breathing might Of the immortal marble, his the play Of diamond-pointed thought and golden Go seek the sunshine-race; ye find to-day "O, World God, give me power!" the Roman cried. His prayer was granted. The vast world A captive to the chariot of his pride. Within, the burrowing worm has gnawed His prayer was granted. High as heaven, A roofless ruin stands where once abode behold Palace and pyramid: the brimming tide Of lavish Nile washed all his land with gold. Armies of slaves toiled ant-wise at his feet, The imperial race of everlasting Rome. "O, Godhead, give me truth!" the Hebrew cried. His prayer was granted; he became a slave Of the Idea, a pilgrim far and wide, Whose instinct can alone detect The soul behind the shifting screen. The flower feels the dew, but not The diamond in the dewdrop's crypt, The bee, the flower from which it sipped The sweet; its beauty is forgot. The brute beholds wide lake and lea, So earthy minds the earthy feel; Though dead to beauty, well content, The soul awaits for whom 'twas meant. Thus instinct is to instinct leal. C. R. LATHROP. VANITY FAIR. ANITAS vanitatum" has rung in the ears Of gentle and simple for thousands of years; The wail still is heard, yet its notes never scare Either simple or gentle from Vanity Fair. I often hear people abusing it, yet There the young go to learn, and the old to forget; The mirth may be feigning, the sheen may be glare, But the gingerbread's gilded in Vanity Fair. Old Dives there rolls in his chariot, but mind Atra Cura is up with the lacqueys behind; Joan trudges with Jack-are the sweethearts aware Of the trouble that waits them in Vanity Fair? We saw them all go, and we something may learn Of the harvest they reap when we see them return; The tree was enticing, its branches are bareHeigh-ho for the promise of Vanity Fair! That stupid old Dives, once honest enough, His honesty sold for star, ribbon, and stuff; And Joan's pretty face has been clouded with care Since Jack bought her ribbons at Vanity Fair. Contemptible Dives! too credulous Joan! I own I've a weakness for Vanity Fair. Philosophy halts, wisest councils are vain- there So come and be merry in Vanity Fair. FREDERICK LOCKER. HIGH DAYS AND HOLIDAYS. LONG and lagging hours of time, How heavily the hope you mock, How slow you creep across the clock, When the child waits for you to chime The year returning in its prime Yet all so glad! yet all so glad! O hurrying hours, when age is nigh, SOLITUDE. (From The Search After Happiness."') Parent of Virtue, nurse of Thought, Whate'er exalts, refines and charms, In these blest shades, oh, still maintain With thee the charms of life shall last, No more with this vain world perplexed, HANNAH MORE. MRS. HANNAH MORE. APOSTROPHE TO SLEEP. (From the Second Part of King Henry IV., Act III., Scene 1.) HOW LOW many thousands of my poorest subjects Are at this hour asleep!-Sleep, gentle sleep, Than in the perfum'd chambers of the great, A watch-case, or a common 'larum bell? In cradle of the rude imperious surge; With deafning clamours in the slippery clouds, Whose herds with milk, whose fields with bread, Whose flocks supply him with attire; Whose trees in summer yield him shade, In winter fire. Blessed, who can unconcernedly find Sound sleep by night; study and ease Thus let me live, unseen, unknown; SONG. ALEXANDER POPT (Made extempore by a gentleman, occasioned by a f drinking out of his cup of ale.) USY, curious, thirsty fly, Drink with me, and drink as I; Freely welcome to my cup, |