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Then he went to the mountain, and powdered its crest ;
A coat of mail, that it need not fear
He went to the windows of those who slept,
Most beautiful things. There were flowers and trees,
But he did one thing that was hardly fair:
"Now, just to set them a thinking,
Shall 'tchick,' to tell them I'm drinking !”
Funeral in a new Colony.-MRS. SIGOURNEY.
AROUND the forest-skirted plain
A few rude cabins spread,
And from their doors a humble train
Came forth with drooping head.
They hied them to the dead man's home,
His widowed wife was weeping loud,
Sent forth a feeble wail of wo:-
They bare him through his cultured land,
The corn was planted by his hand;
Where his own plough had broke the soil
His narrow grave was made,
And 'mid the trophies of his toil
That manly sleeper laid.
His stricken household gathered near ;
They mourned in deep despair :Where was the spell to soothe their tear? Where was the heaven-breathed prayer?
Forget they that Almighty Hand
Who o'er them held the rod ?
Ah!-blame ye not that alien band,—
No healer, Gilead's balm to shed
The English Church Service.-JAMES GRAHAME.
NOR would I leave unsung
The lofty ritual of our sister land:
In vestment white, the minister of God
The stated portion reads. A pause ensues.
The people, rising, sing, with harp, with harp
He smiles on death; but, ah! a wish will rise,—
My Mother's Grave.-ANONYMOUS.
"I had a mother once, like you,
Kissed from my cheek the briny dew,
But then there came a fearful day :
I sought my mother's bed,
Till harsh hands tore me thence away,
It was thirteen years since my mother's death, when, after a long absence from my native village, I stood beside the sacred mound beneath which I had seen her buried. Since that mournful period, great changes had come over me. My childish years had passed away, and with them had passed my youthful character. The world was altered too; and as I stood at my mother's grave, I could hardly realize that I was the same thoughtless, happy creature, whose cheek she so often kissed in her excess of tenderness. But the varied events of thirteen years had not ef faced the remembrance of that mother's smile. It seemed as if I had seen her yesterday—as if the blessed sound of her
voice was then in my ear. The gay dreams of my infancy and childhood were brought back so distinctly to my mind, that, had it not been for one bitter recollection, the tears I shed would have been gentle and refreshing. The circumstance may seem a trifling one; but the thought of it even now agonizes my heart, and I relate it, that those children who have parents to love them, may learn to value them as they ought.
My mother had been ill a long time, and I had become so much accustomed to her pale face and weak voice, that I was not frightened at them, as children usually are. At first, it is true, I had sobbed violently-for they told me she would die; but when, day after day, I returned from school, and found her the same, I began to believe she would always be spared to me.
One day, when I had lost my place in the class, and done my work wrong-side-outward, I came home discouraged and fretful. I went into my mother's chamber. She was paler than usual,-but she met me with the same affectionate smile that always welcomed my return. Alas! when I look back, through the lapse of thirteen years, I think my heart must have been stone, not to have been melted by it.
She requested me to go down stairs, and bring her a glass of water; I pettishly asked why she did not call the domestic to do it. With a look of mild reproach, which I shall never forget, if I live to be a hundred years old, she said, "And will not my daughter bring a glass of water for her poor sick mother?"
I went and brought her the water; but I did not do it kindly. Instead of smiling, and kissing her, as I was wont to do, I set the glass down very quick, and left the
After playing a short time, I went to bed without bidding my mother "good night;" but when alone in my room, in darkness and silence, I remembered how pale she looked, and how her voice trembled when she said,