Nobody knows of the lessons taught
Of loving one another;

Nobody knows of the patience sought,
Nobody-only mother.

Nobody knows of the anxious fears,
Lest darlings may not weather
The storm of life in after years,
Nobody knows-but mother.

Nobody kneels at the throne above
To thank the Heavenly Father

For that sweetest gift-a mother's love;

Nobody can-but mother.

The Fireside.

SPEECH AT PLYMOUTH ROCK, 1853.

"The poor solitary May-Flower has multiplied herself into the thousand vessels that bear the flag of the Union to every sea; has scattered her progeny through the land to the number of nearly a quarter of a million for every individual in that drooping company of one hundred; and in place of that simple compact, which was signed in her cabin, has exhibited to the admiration of mankind a Constitution of Republican Government for all this growing family of prosperous States.

"But the work is in its infancy. It must extend throughout the length and breadth of the land; and what is not done directly by ourselves, must be done by other governments and other races, by the light of our example. The work-the work must go on. It must reach, at the North, to the enchanted cave of the magnet, within never-melting barriers of Arctic ice; it must bow to the lord of

day on the altar-peak of Chimborazo; it must look up and worship the Southern Cross! From the easternmost cliff on the Atlantic, that blushes in the kindling dawn, to the last promontory on the Pacific, which catches the parting kiss of the setting sun, it must make the out-going of the morning and evening to rejoice in the gladsome light of morals, and letters, and arts. Emperors, and kings, and parliaments-the oldest and the strongest Governments in Europe -must engage in this work in some part or other of the continent; but no part of it shall be so faithfully and successfully performed as that which was undertaken on the spot where we are now gathered, by the Pilgrim Fathers of New England.

"When we contrast the heart-stricken company which on that day knelt and wept on the quay at Delft Haven, till the impassive spectators-ignorant of the language in which their prayers were offered, and the deep fountains of grief from which their sorrows flowed-were yet fain to melt in sympathetic tears—when we compare them with the busy, prosperous millions of our present New England, we seem to miss that due proportion between results and their causes, which history delights to trace. But a deeper and more appreciative study reveals the secret.

"There are two Master Ideas, greatest of the spiritual images enthroned in the mind of man, the only ones, comparatively speaking, which deserve a name among men, springs of all the grand beneficent movements of modern times, by whose influence the settlement of New England may be rationally explained. You have anticipated me, descendants of the Pilgrims; these great ideas are God and Liberty! It was these that inspired our Fathers; by these that their weakness was clothed with power; that their simplicity was transmuted to wisdom; by these that the great miracle of their enterprise was wrought.

Edward Everett.

OLD IRONSIDES.

Aye, tear her tattered ensign down!
Long has it waved on high,

And many an eye has danced to see
That banner in the sky;

Beneath it rung the battle shout,
And burst the cannon's roar;—
The meteor of the ocean air

Shall sweep the clouds no more!

Her deck, once red with heroes' blood,
Where knelt the vanquished foe,
When winds were hurrying o'er the flood,
And waves were white below,

No more shall feel the victors' tread,
Or know the conquered knee;-
The harpies of the shore shall pluck
The eagle of the sea!

O better that her shattered hulk
Should sink beneath the wave;
Her thunders shook the mighty deep,
And there should be her grave;
Nail to the mast her holy flag,
Set every threadbare sail,

And give her to the god of storms,—

The lightning and the gale!

Oliver Wendell Holmes.

THE LAST GATE.

"The tomb is but the gateway to an eternity of opportunity."

Anon.

A ROSE TO THE LIVING.

A rose to the living is more

Than sumptuous wreaths to the dead;
In filling love's infinite store,

A rose to the living is more
If graciously given before

The hungering spirit is fled

A rose to the living is more,

Than sumptuous wreaths to the dead.

Nixon Waterman, in “A Book of Verses."

SOMETIME.

"What I do thou knowest not now, but thou shalt know hereafter."

Sometime, when all life's lessons have been learned,

And sun and stars forevermore have set,

The things which our weak judgment here have spurned,
The things o'er which we grieved with lashes wet,
Will flash before us, out of life's dark night,

As stars shine more in deeper tints of blue,
And we shall see how all God's plans were right,
And how what seemed reproof was love most true.

And we shall see how, while we frown and sigh,
God's plans go on as best for you and me;
How, when we called, He heeded not our cry,
Because His wisdom to the end could see.

And even as prudent parents disallow

Too much of sweet to craving babyhood,
So God, perhaps, is keeping from us now
Life's sweetest things, because it seemeth good.

And if, sometimes commingled with life's wine,
We find the wormwood and rebel and shrink,
Be sure a wiser hand than yours or mine

Pours out this potion for our lips to drink.
And if some friend we love is lying low,
Where human kisses cannot reach his face,
Oh, do not blame the loving Father so!

But wear your sorrow with obedient grace.

And you shall shortly know that lengthened breath
Is not the sweetest gift God sends His friend,
And that sometimes the sable pall of death
Conceals the fairest bloom his love can send.
If we could push ajar the gates of life

And stand within and all God's workings see,
We could interpret all this doubt and strife,
And for each mystery would find a key.

But not today. Then be content, poor heart!
God's plans, like lilies, pure and white unfold.
We must not tear the close-shut leaves apart;
Time will reveal the hidden cups of gold,
And if through patient toil we reach the land.
Where weary feet, with sandals loose, may rest,
Then shall we know and clearly understand-
I think that we shall say, "God knows the best."
Mary Louise Riley Smith.

HE SILENCED THE DEVIL.

If you find yourself getting miserly, begin to scatter, like a wealthy farmer in New York state that I heard of. He was a noted miser, but he was converted. Soon after, a poor man who had been burned out and had no provisions came to him for help. The