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The Fireside.


EAR Chloe, while the busy crowd,

The vain, the wealthy, and the proud,
In folly's maze advance;
Though singularity and pride
Re called our choice, we'll step aside,

Nor join the giddy dance.
From the gay world we'll oft retire
To our own family and fire,

Where love our hours employs;
No noisy neighbor enters here,
No intermeddling stranger near,

To spoil our heartfelt joys.
If solid happiness we prize,
Wi:hin our breast this jewel lies,

And they are fools who roam;
The world hath nothing to bestow,-
From our own selves the bliss must flow,

And that dear hut, our home.

Our portion is not large, indeed;
But then how little do we need,

For Nature's calls are few;
In this the art of living lies,
To want no more than may suffice,

And make that little do.
We'll therefore relish with content
Whate'er kind Providence has sent,

Nor aim beyond our power;
For, if our stock be very small,
'Tis prudence to enjoy it all,

Nor lose the present hour.
To be resigned when ills betide
Patient when favors are denied,

And pleased with favors given -
Dear Chloe, this is wisdom's part,
This is that incense of the heart,
Whose fragrance smells to Heaven

-Nathaniel Cotton.

Friendship in the Future Life.


OW shall I know thee in the sphere which keeps Will not thy own meek heart demand me there !
The disembodied spirits of the dead,

That heart whose fondert throbs to me were given; When all of thee that time could wither sleeps

My name on earth was ever in thy prayer, And perişhes among the dust we tread ?

And wilt thou never utter it in heaven? For I shall feel the sting of ceaseless pain

In meadows fanned hy heaven's life-breathing wind, If there I meet thy gentle presence not;

In the resplendence of that glorious sphere, Nor hear the voice I love, nor read again

And larger movements of the unfettered mind, In thy serenest eyes the tender thought.

Wilt thou forget the love that joined us here? 94

And wrath has left its scar—that fire of hell

Has left its frightful scar upon my soul.

The love that lived through all the stormy past,

And meekly with my harsher nature bore, And deeper grew, and tenderer to the last,

Shall it expire with life, and be no more ? A happier lot than mine, and larger light,

Await thee there; for thou hast bowed thy will In cheerful homage to the rule of right,

And lovest all, and renderest good for ill. For me, the sordid cares in which I dwell,

Shrink and consume my heart, as heat the scroll;

Yet thongh thou wear'st the glory of the sky,

Wilt thou not keep the same beloved name,
The same fair thoughtful brow, and gentle eye,

Lovelier in heaven's sweet climate, yet the same!
Shalt thou not teach me, in that calmer home,

The wisdom that I learned so ill in this,
The wisdom which is love-till I become
Thy fit companion in that land of bliss ?

- William Cullen Bryan.

A Temple of Friendship. A TEMPLE. co Friendship," cried Laura en

“O, never," said she, “could I think of enshrining

An image whose looks are so joyless and dim;
But yon little god upon roses reclining,
We'll make, if you please, sir, a Friendship of


"I'll build in this garden; the thought is divine."
So the temple was built, and she now only wanted

An image of friendship, to place on the shrine.
So she flew to the sculptor, who set down before

An image, the fairest his art could invent;
But so cold, and so dull, that the youthful adorer

Saw plainly this was not the Friendship she meant.

So the bargain was struck; with the little god laden,

She joyfully flew to her home in the grove. "Farewell," said the sculptor, "you're not the first

maiden Who came but for Friendship, and took away Love."

- Thomas Moore.


NO one can be happy without a friend, and no one can know what friends he has until he

is unhappy.

It has been observed, that a real friend is somewhat like a ghost or apparition; much talked of, hut hardly ever seen. Though this may not be exactly true, it must, however, be confessed that a friend does not appear every day, and that he who in reality has found one, ought to value the boon and be thankful.

Where persons are united by the bonds of genuine friendship, there is nothing, perhaps more conducive to felicity. It supports and strengthens the mind, alleviates the pain of life, and renders the present state, at least somewhat comfortable. “Sorrows,” says Lord Verulam, "by being communicated, grow less, and joys greater.” “And indeed,” observes another, "sorrow like a stream, loses itself in many channels; while joy, like a ray of the sun, reflects with a greater ardor and quickness when it rebounds upon a man from the breast of his friend."

The friendship which is founded upon good tastes and congenial habits, apart from piety, is permitted by the benignity of Providence to embellish a world, which, with all its magnificence and beauty, will shortly pass away; that which has religion for its basis will ere long be transplanted to adorn the paradise of God.

There is true enjoyment in that friendship which has its source in the innocence and uprightness of a true heart. Such pleasures do greatly sweeten life, easing it from many a bitter burden. A sympathizing heart finds an echo in sympathizing bosoms that brings back cheering music to the spirit of the loveliest. Be all honor then, true friendship, and may it gather yet more fragrant blossoms from the dew-bathed meadows of social intercourse, to spread their aroma along the toil worn road of life. What a blessing it is to have a friend to whom one can speak fearlessly upon any subject; with whom one's deepest thoughts come simply and safely. O, the comfort, the inexpressible comfort, of feeling safe with a person-having neither to weigh the thoughts nor measure the words, but pouring them all right out, just as they are, chaff and grain together, certain that a faithful hand will take and sift them; keep what is worth keeping, and then, with the breath of kindness, blow the rest away.

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Example of Friendship. THERE is a remarkable example on friendship told of such as never heard of Him who is

the friend of sinners. It is so remarkable indeed that it procured divine honors to Orestes and Pylades from the Scythians—a race so bloody, rude and savage, that they are said to have fed on human flesh, and made drinking-cups of their enemies' skulls. Engaged in an arduous enterprise, Orestes and Pylades, two sworn friends, landed on the shores of the Chersonesus to find themseives in the dominions and power of a king whose practice was to seize on all strangers, and sacrifice them at the shrine of Diana. The travelers were arrested. They were carried before the tyrant; and, doomed to death, were delivered over to Iphigenia, who, as priestess of Diana's temple, had to immolate the victims. Her knife is to be buried in their bosoms but she learns before the blow is struck that they are Greeks-natives of her own native country. Anxious to open up a communication with the land of her birth, she offers to spare one of the two, on condition that the survivor will become her messenger, and carry a letter to her friends in Greece. But which shall live, and which shall die? That is the question. The friendship which has endured for years, in travels, and courts, and battlefields, is now put to a strain it never bore before. And nobly it bears it! Neither will accept the office of messenger, leaving his fellow to the stroke of death. Each implores the priestess to select him for the sacrifice, and let the other go. While they contend for the pleasure and honor of dying, Iphigenia discovers in one of them her own brother! She embraces him; and, sparing both, flees with them from that cruel shore. Both are saved; and the story, borne on the wings of fame, flies abroad, fills the world with wonder, and, carried to distant regions, excited such admiration among the barbarous Scythians, that they paid divine honors to Orestes and Pylades, and deifying these heroes, erected temples to their worship.

- Dr. Thomas Guthrie.


NVIDIOUS grave; how dost thou rend in sunder

Whom love has knit, and sympathy made one !
A tie more stubborn far than nature's band.
Friendship! mysterious cement of the soul;
Sweetener of life, and solder of society,
I owe thee much. Thou hast deserved from me
Far, far beyond what I can ever pay:
Oft have I proved the labors of thy love,
And the warm efforts of the gentle heart,
Anxious to please. Oh! when my friend and I
In some thick wood have wander'd heedless on,
Hid from the vulgar eye, and sat us down
Upon the sloping cowslip-covered bank,
Where the pure limpid stream has slid along

In gratefui errors through the underwood,
Sweet murmuring: methought the shrill-tongued

Mended his song of love; the sooty blackbird
Mellow'd his pipe, and soften'd every note:
The elegantine smell’d sweeter, and the rose
Assumed 4 dye more deep: whilst every hour
Vied with its fellow plant in luxury
Of dress-Oh! then, the longest summer day
Seem'd too, too much in haste: still the full heart
Had not imparted half: 'twas happiness
Too exquisite to last. Of joys departed,
Not to return, how painful the remembrance!

- Robert Blair,

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The Maid with the Milking Pail.



From the clear pool her face had fled;
It rested on my heart instead,

Reflected when the maid was gone.
With happy youth, and work content
So sweet and stately, on she went,

Right careless of the untold tale.
Each step she took I loved her more,
And followed to her dairy door
The maiden with the milking pail.

For hearts where wakened love doth lurk,
How fine, how blest a thing is work!

For work does good when reasons failGood; yet the axe at every stroke The echo of a name awoke

Her name is Mary Martindale.

HAT change has made the pastures sweet,

And reached the daisies at my feet,
And cloud that wears a golden hem?
This lovely world, the hills, the sward-
They all look fresh, as if our Lord

But yesterday had finished them.
And here's the field with light aglot;
How fresh its boundary lime trees show!

And how its wet leaves trembling shine!
Between their trunks come through to me
The morning sparkles of the sea,

Below the level browsing line.
I see the pool more clear by half
Than pools where other waters laugh,

Up at the breasts of coot and rail.
There, as she passed it on her way,
I saw reflected yesterday

A maiden with a milking pail.
There, neither slowly nor in haste,
One hand upon her slender waist,

The other lifted to her pail-
She, rosy in the morning light,
Among the water daisies white,

Like some fair sloop appeared to sail.
Against her ankles as she trod
The lucky buttercups did nod;

I leaned upon the gate to see.
The sweet thing looked, but did not speak;
A dimple came in either cheek,

And all my heart was gone from me.


I'm glad that echo was not heard
Aright by other men A bird

Knows doubtless what his own notes teli;
And I know not-but I can say
I felt as shamefaced all that day

As if folks heard her name right well.

Then, as I lingered on the gate,
And she came up like coming fate,

I saw my picture in her eyes-
Clear dancing eyes, more black than sloes!
Cheeks like the mountain pink, that grows

Among white-headed majesties!

And when the west began to glow
I went-I could not choose but go-

To that same dairy on the hill;
And while sweet Mary moved about
Within, I came to her without,

And leaned upon the window-sill. The garden border where I stood Was sweet with pinks and southernwood.

I spoke-her answer seemed to fail.
I smelt the pinks—I could not see;
The dusk came down and sheltered me,

And in the dusk she heard my tale.
And what is left that I should tell?
I begged a kiss - I pleaded well:

The rosebud lips did long decline;
But yet I think-I think 'tis true-
That, leaned at last into the dew,

One little instant they were mine!

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O life! how dear thou hast become!
She laughed at dawn, and I was dumb!

But evening counsels best prevail.
Fair shine the blue that o'er her spreads,
Green be the pastures where she treads,
The maiden with the milking pail!

- can Ingelow.

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