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The silver moon looked kindly doon,
And seemed to smile sae sweetly there;
To see beneath, earth's greatest boon,
A youthful, modest, loving pair.

Pale Cynthia reigns her 'lotted time,
And even love at last must part;
But, midnight tolled her drowsy chime,
Ere we could tear our hearts apart.

Reluctant still, we reach the gate
Which wound around the trysting tree;
My arm encircling love and fate,

For more than life her love to me.

Ten times and aye the last embrace,

With welded hands and bursting sigh,

We tried to leave that happy place,

But could not breathe that word "good bye."

At last we tore ourselves away,

Yet, left behind, each other's heart;

Oh, may they ne'er be led astray,

To play a fickle, faithless part.

Lang, ere the sun with cheerful ray,

Had reached the height where Cynthia shone ;

The snorting engine bore away

That heart, a prey for grief alone.

To sell my work I crossed the sea,

And tore my soul from Love away;

To imitate the summer bee,

Though heart and nature bade me stay.

Seven times the globe had wheeled around,
Since last I left her cottage door,

And though the jonquils rich abound,
I prized my absent rose the more.

No lilies wooed my love from it,
Nor red magnolias tempt astray,
Though black-eyed beauties round me flit,
My Scottish rose still held its sway

No peach-hued cheek, however pure,
Nor cherry lip, however gay,
Nor laughing eye could ever lure

My heart from her, though far away.
Oft have the tears unbidden stole,

When on the lake the moonbeams played,
They seemed to melt my very soul,
And conjured up yon weeping maid.
But now I've gained my heart's desire,
As much as buy a snug bit home,
Where Love again shall light her fire,

And I no more for gold shall roam.
With anxious step, and beating heart,
I bounded past that trysting tree,
And found her true as angels art,
And that, on earth, was Heaven to me !

SLEEPING IN CHURCH.

DEAR Doctor M. D. W. James,
I'm very much surprised
That such a Christian always seems
To be by sleep capsized-
Unchristian-like capsized.

No sooner do you take your seat
When leaving plate at door,
And Mess John stands upon his feet,
Than you begin to snore!-
Disgracefully to snore!

It would be better far,-I think-
To take your nap at home,

For, when rich Elders always wink,

The poor man's mind may roam-
Most certainly will roam!

I have always viewed the habit of sleeping in what is called a church (a place set apart avowedly for the worship of God), as one of the most ungodly and irreligions-not to say gratuitously, hypocritically blasphemous, practices that man or woman can be guilty of; because they go spontaneously to a place, under the cloak of Religion, with the pretence of worshipping an Omniscient Beingwho is everywhere, and needs no mock worship-while their senses are steeped in brutish oblivion, like over-fed swine; or, it may be, worshipping the Devil, by dreaming of their worldly schemes and riches; or still grosser lusts of the flesh. In this respect they may be likened to the Ark of the Patriarch, where all ranks and kinds of beasts, whether clean or unclean, are permitted to enter.

THE FIRST ANGRY WORD.

"Reader attend, whether thy soul
Soars fancy's flights beyond the pole,
Or darkling grubs this earthly hole
In low pursuit,

Know, prudent, cautious, self-control
Is wisdom's root."-Burns.

"And let all others learn when they are young,

Strictly to bridle the unruly tongue."-Blind Harry.

For "To be angry, is to punish thyself for the fault of another."--Swift. While "He that ruleth his spirit is better than he who taketh a city."Solomon.

I

FAIN would have young married pairs

To read with care these verses,

As I believe, domestic cares

First spring from words and curses,
Much more than empty purses.

When courting, you were mild as doves,
No frowning gloomed your eye;
Then why so soon forget your loves?
And petty faults espy?—

To make yourselves a lie!

Be doubly careful, since your one,
To be both true and good;

For once you scold you'll ne'er be done,

But wrangling still intrude,

And be for ever rude.

The dyke will long keep back the stream,
Without a flaw or rent;

But all your care will prove a dream,
When once the flood gets vent,
A fireside deluge sent.

But, sure, a pair when joined in one,
Must make the strongest being;
If each will keep-while life's sands run,
Their tongues from disagreeing,

And wee faults never seeing.

Ah! ere the Honeymoon be past,
And Hymen's sun arise,

With hands, join hearts, while life shall last,
You swear, no strife surprise,

Nor anger light your eyes.

Be warned in time, and aye withhold
The first loud angry word,

For Peace and Love are more than gold;
But anger breaks the chord
Of sweetest sweet concord.

"I have known a spirit, calmer

Than the calmest lake, and clear
As the heavens that gazed upon it,
With no wave of hope or fear;
But a storm had swept across it,

And its deepest depths were stirred
(Never, never more to slumber)

Only by a word."

Words, from "Legends and Lyrics," Adelaide Anne Proctor.

"O! many a shaft at random sent,

For

Finds mark the archer little meant!

And many a word at random spoken,

"Lord of the Isles," by Walter Scott.

May soothe or wound a heart that's broken !"

"The current that with gentle murmur glides,
Thou know'st, being stopp'd impatiently doth rage."-Shakespeare.
"Though little fires grow great with little winds,

Yet extreme gusts will blow out fire and all."-Ibid.

ON THE DEATH OF A FRIEND'S WIFE.

AH! Willie lad, you've lost a friend,
Which Time can ne'er replace;

For Nature only once doth lend
A true, loved, loving face!

Another woman can be found,
But not such other wife,

For, though the world with maids abound,
True wives are not so rife.

THE DRUNKARD'S DOOM.

Cassio "O thou invisible spirit of wine, if thou hast no name to be known by, let us call thee-devil! O, that men should put an enemy in their mouths, to steal away their brains! that we should with joy, revel, pleasure, and applause, transform ourselves into beasts! To be now a sensible man, byand-by a fool, and presently a beast! O strange! Every inordinate cup is unblessed, and the ingredient is a devil."-Othello.

"Woe unto him that giveth his neighbour drink, that putteth thy bottle to him, and makest him drunken also."-Habakkuk ii.

"Woe unto them that rise up early in the morning, that they may follow strong drink; that continue until night, till wine inflame then."-Isaiah v. 11.

ADOSE which a horse or a pig would not stand,

Proud, reasoning man, like a fool, drinks off hand,

Well pleased on the morn if he headache escapes,
Or, crawls not about like a sick jackanapes.
The ass will not drink if the water's not pure,1
But, two-legged donkeys gulp poison, I'm sure,
Mixed up in their whisky, with vitriol flour,
Or, what is as deadly, ale, bitter and sour.

At the end of a year one dram begets nine,
For spirits will thrive though the body should pine;
Aye, thrives on distress, and strongest will grow,
Where the children and wife are starving in woe.
Those children who often with glee used to run,
And search all his pockets for a whistle or gun,
Are now with a curse and an oath thrust aside,
Till cowering 'neath Terror their faces they hide.
Their mother, who once was so trig and so clean,
And smiled as he called her his own darling Jean,
Squats now beside Woe with her tawdry dress soiled,
While Famine writes Death on the face of her child.
His house, which so lately with pictures was graced,
With dirt and broke plaster is sadly defaced,
Till now it is more like a jail or a den,
For nothing but misery revels within.

He reels in the door with the laugh of a focl,

And falls with a curse o'er his wee lassie's stool;

The ass, though content to live on the coarsest food, is very particular as to its drink, and will scarcely drink if the water is the least sullied with impurity.

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