THE DREAM OF LIFE.

"The poor man in this bustling world is thrust down like a dwarf in a crowd, and so trodden under foot; the rich and powerful rise like giants above the press, and are at ease while all is turmoil around them."-Sir Walter Scott. "Woe doth the heavier sit,

Where it perceives it is but faintly borne,

And gnarling sorrow hath less power to bite

The man that mocks at it, and sets it light."-Shakespeare.

"He that is without money, means, and content,

Is without three good friends."—Ibid.

For "Age and Want 's an ill-matched pair," so said Robert Burns. Or, as the great dramatist, William Shakespeare, said before him, and as truth says still, that he is poor indeed who is

Yea!

་་

Oppressed with two weak evils, age and hunger."

"The pleasures and delights which mask

In treacherous smiles life's serious task,

What are they all?

But the fleet coursers of the chase,
And death, an ambush in the race,
Wherein we fall."

Coplas De Manrique, translated by Longfellow.

THERE once was a young man,

TH

So healthy and strong,

Who frolicked with Pleasure
The whole day long.

With cheerful companions,

So jolly and free;
His life was as happy
As happy could be.

A tidy bit income

His father had left,
Disappeared owre his throat.

Like wine-butt when cleft.

At length, in the middle
Of youth's sunny day,
When weary with drinking,
And dizzy with play,

A drowsiness came o'er
His vigour at last,
And his life now became
But a dream of the past.

How long in this torpor

He deep might have lain, I cannot well tell you,

Till he woke up in pain.

Many years had rolled by
When, dreaming he lay,-
From the glass how he started
To see his locks grey!

Remorse was the demon
That woke him in pain,
And fain would he now sleep,
And slumber again!

His jolly companions,
He saw them no more,
They either forgot him,
Or passed by his door.

But he searched out their homes
And begged, in despair,

Some little assistance

The prodigal's share.

They told him the poor-laws
Provided for such;

They paid all their taxes-
Which were far too much.

The inspector of poor

Would look to his case,

Then slap went the door
With a bang in his face.

In the poorhouse at length
He lingered and lay,
A babe as to strength,
But withered and grey.

The fire of the maniac

Gleamed wild through his eye,
As the flash from the wreck,
Lights up the dark sky.

As the flame-eaten ship

Soon is quenched by the wave,
So hard poverty's grip,

Dragged him down to the grave.

"And Death, the sovereign's sovereign, though the great
Gracchus of all mortality who levels

With his agrarian laws, the high estate

Of him who feasts, and fights, and roars, and revels,
To one small grass-grown patch (which must await
Corruption for its crop) with the poor devils

Who never had a foot of land till now,

Death's a reformer, all men must allow."-Don Juan.

**Where lives the man that has not tried,

How mirth can into folly glide,

And folly into sin?"-Bridal of Triermain.

I penned the above piece from seeing a respectable-looking old man in one of the rooms of a poorhouse; he was a silver-haired, withered-looking beinghis shrunk arms betokened strength exhausted, and his wild, wandering eye, painfully told that the hidden spirit was either dissatisfied with the pitiful position of its tenant, or wandering in search of something it missed or expected to possess. There was no furniture nor fire in the room; true, he was bedrid, but an ill-painted, worm-eaten old chest gave a still more wretched look to the cold and cheerless-looking room. I was told by the woman who had charge of the house that he had been a hard-working man till very old, he came from the country, that all his family were either dead or had left Scotland for Australia, Alas! I thought that here age and want were indeed an ill-matched pair.

MEN LIKE MINNOWS IN A TUMBLERFUL

OF WATER.

MAN's life on earth is very strange, we see,
There's little Love, and far less Amity!
Upon my soul-they are as like's can be
Two tumblered minnows,-for they can't agree.

THE HORSE AND ASS.

Ou seeing a big fool on a very wee pony, foreing the poor, reeking little creature on--both by whip ami spur.

You see ven Ass upon the Horse,

With whip in hand and spur on heel

The Horse, I'm sure it might do worse
Than thing the Ass-and kick him weel:

"O gentlemen, the time of life is short;

To spend that shortness, basely, were too long;

If life did ride upon a dial's point,

Still ending at the arrival of an hour."-Shakespeare.

"I am a worm, and no man; a reproach of men, and despised of the people." "I may tell all my bones: they look and stare upon me."-David, Psalm xxii. "Here lie I, Martin Elginbrodde,

Hae mercy o' my soul, Lord God,
As I would do, were I Lord God,

And ye were Martin Elginbrodde."-An Epitaph.

FULL many an hour, like youth, hath sped away,

Like sunken treasure, never to return,

In barren folly lost-till now grown gray,

And life's low, flickering lamp can scarcely burn.
Forgive me, Lord, the hours thus sinful lost;
Have mercy on a weak, offending worm!
Thy goodness, Lord, is all I dare to boast;
A heartfelt prayer is all my shield from harm.
Ah! who can fathom all the depths of soul,

That fears, yet yearns to quit its home on earth,
And shrinks to think that when the dust shall roll
Upon its shell, ends, as it ne'er had birth.

But that I know that greater minds have writ,

And dwarfed this puny intellect of mine;
The hours thus lost, like fiends would round me flit,
Upbraiding me for thoughts that wished to shine.
Thou know'st that we are frail and weak, O Lord;
Knows that we live, indeed, but soon must die;
Knows that the Truth is writ by Nature's word;
That human creeds are, at the best, a lie.
The only creed that ever can be right,

Is Love to Thee, and Love to brother man ;
Refusing to believe in Hell's eternal night,
Or Thon decree so dreadful, fiend-like plan.
What is the essence of all canting tracts,

But subtle Priestcraft 'neath Religion's guise;
Alas! the prim-face and the canter, lacks

The charity that bade yon woman rise!

"When Jesus had lifted up himself, and saw none but the woman, he said unto her, Woman, where are those thine accusers? hath no man condemned thee? She said, No man, Lord. And Jesus said unto her, Neither do I condemn thee: go, and sin no more."-John viii.

“

TRUE LOVE.

"The sacred low o' weel-placed love
Luxuriantly indulge it,

But never tempt the illicit rove,
Though naething should divulge it.
I waive the quantum o' the sin,
The hazard o' concealing;

But oh! it hardens a' within,

And petrifies the feeling."-Burns.

"For your brother and my sister no sooner met, but they looked; no sooner looked, but they loved; no sooner loved, but they sighed; no sooner sighed, but they asked one another the reason; no sooner knew the reason, but they sought the remedy; and in these degrees have they made a pair of stairs to marriage, which they will climb incontinent."-" As you like It," Shakespeare. "Each loves itself, but not itself alone,

Each sex desires alike, till two are one;

Nor ends the pleasure with the fierce embrace,

They love themselves a third time, in their race."-Pope.

"Poor and content is rich, and rich enough,

L

But, riches endless, are as poor as winter

To him who ever fears he shall be poor,

Good heaven! the souls of all my tribe, defend
From jealousy."-lago.

IKE chequered Love are April showers,

For sweet the sun shines through her tears,

The thrush and lav'rock sweetly pours

Their music on our raptured ears.

But, sweeter far my Jenny smiles,
While pearl-like tears bedim her 'ee;
When fondly hoping serpent wiles,
Would never come 'twixt her an' me.

Our parting kiss was heavenly pure,
As crystal streams together meet;
Pure as the dew wakes opening flower,
With little, silent, crystal feet.

Lang, lang, and hushed our fond embrace,
Unbroken, save by smothered sigh;
Our thoughts too deep for words to chase,
Our feelings with a cold "good bye."