The mother who conceals her grief

While to her breast her son she presses,
Then brather a few brave words and brief,
Kissing the p
The pamet brow she blesses,

hut her secret god,

With

мо

To know

Sheds holy

прои weighs upon her,

the pain that

blood

as ver the sod

Received on Freedoms field of honor.

J. Bucha

nan Rag

"You are old, Father William," the young man | O'er beauty's face, seeming to hide,
cried,
More sweetly shows the blushing bride
A soul whose intellectual beams

"And life must be hastening away ;
You are cheerful, and love to converse upon death; No mists do mask, no lazy streams
Now tell me the reason, I pray."
A happy soul, that all the way
To heaven hath a summer's day!

"I am cheerful, young man," Father William Wouldst see a man whose well-warmed blood

replied;

Bathes him in a genuine flood?
A man whose tunèd humors be

"Let the cause thy attention engage;
In the days of my youth I remembered my God! A seat of rarest harmony?
And he hath not forgotten my age."

ROBERT SOUTHEY.

OLD AGE OF TEMPERANCE.

FROM "AS YOU LIKE IT,” ACT II. SC. 2.

ADAM. Let me be your servant;
Though I look old, yet am I strong and lusty :
For in my youth I never did apply
Hot and rebellious liquors in my blood;
Nor did not with unbashful forehead woo
The means of weakness and debility.
Therefore my age is as a lusty winter,
Frosty, but kindly let me go with you;
I'll do the service of a younger man
In all your business and necessities.

SHAKESPEARE.

TEMPERANCE, OR THE CHEAP
PHYSICIAN.

Go now! and with some daring drug
Bait thy disease; and, whilst they tug,
Thou, to maintain their precious strife,
Spend the dear treasures of thy life.
Go take physic - dote upon
Some big-named composition,
The oraculous doctor's mystic bills-
Certain hard words made into pills;
And what at last shalt gain by these?
Only a costlier disease.

That which makes us have no need
Of physic, that's physic indeed.
Hark, hither, reader! wilt thou see
Nature her own physician be?
Wilt see a man all his own wealth,
His own music, his own health
A man whose sober soul can tell
How to wear her garments well —
Her garments that upon her sit
As garments should do, close and fit --
A well-clothed soul that 's not oppressed
Nor choked with what she should be dressed -
A soul sheathed in a crystal shrine,
Through which all her bright features shine:
As when a piece of wanton lawn,
A thin aerial veil, is drawn

་་

Wouldst see blithe looks, fresh cheeks beguile
Age? Wouldst see December smile?
Wouldst see nest of new roses grow
In a bed of reverend snow?
Warm thoughts, free spirits flattering
Winter's self into a spring?

In sum, wouldst see a man that can
Live to be old, and still a man?
Whose latest and most leadened hours

Fall with soft wings, stuck with soft flowers;
And when life's sweet fable ends,
Soul and body part like friends
No quarrels, murmurs, no delay
A kiss, a sigh, and so away?

This rare one, reader, wouldst thou see?
Hark, hither! and thyself be he!