MOSAICS.

The curfew tolls the knell of parting day -
Great day from which all other days were made;
Now came still evening on, and twilight gray,
In nature's simplest charms at first arrayed.

Sweet was the sound when oft at evening's close
The moping owl does to the moon complain;
With louder plaint the mother spoke her woes,

Driven by the wind and battered by the rain.

At length 'tis morn, and at the dawn of day
The pealing anthem swells the note of praise;
Westward the star of empire takes its way

And buries madmen in the heaps they raise.

Honor and shame from no condition rise,

Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight. "What were they made for, then, you dog?" he cries; One truth is clear, Whatever is, is right.

Lo, the poor Indian, whose untutored mind
Implores the passing tribute of a sigh.
On with the dance. Let joy be unconfined;
Let earth, unbalanced, from her orbit fly.

A little learning is a dangerous thing;

Oh, give relief, and heaven will bless your store, See the blind beggar dance, the cripple sing

Arm! Arm! It is the cannon's opening roar.

"Live while you live," the epicure would say,
And catch the manners living as they rise.
Approach and read (for thou canst read) the lay,
If ignorance is bliss, 'tis folly to be wise.

You see mankind the same in every age,
And as they first are fashioned always grow;
He struts and frets his hour upon the stage
Virtue alone is happiness below.

"Turn gentle hermit of the dale,
And guide my lonely way";
If I am wrong, oh, teach my heart
To find the better way!

Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
An' never bro't to min'!
Oh, no, my friends, for is it not
Poured out by hands divine?

This world is all a fleeting show
From many an ancient river;
For men may come, and men may go,
But I go on forever.

On Linden when the sun was low,
With eyelids heavy and red,
Man wants but little here below,
As hath been sung or said.

"Forbear, my son," the hermit cries, To be, or not to be;

this the art of living lies,
Come to the sunset tree.

Mary had a little lamb,

With fingers weary and worn, And everywhere that Mary went Shows man was made to mourn.

John Gilpin was a citizen

In poverty, hunger and dirt,
And so the teacher turned him out,
And sang the song of the shirt.

A nightingale that all day long
Made fields and forests bare,
As if he said, "I'm not afraid,'
And hoary was his hair.

And what is friendship but a name?
The eager children cry-

A charm that follows wealth or fame
Comin' through the rye.

And love is still an emptier sound,
Where the scattered waters rave.
A chieftain to the highlands bound
Cries, "A life on the ocean wave.”

Oh, swiftly glides the bonnie boat,
With fainting steps and slow;
He used to wear an old brown coat,
Its fleece was white as snow.

'Tis the voice of the sluggard; I heard him complain : Oh, when shall day dawn on the night of the grave? Oh, give me my lowly thatched cottage again,

O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave.

Three fishers went sailing out into the west,

At the close of the day when the hamlet is still; Sweet Vale of Avoca, how calm could I rest

In the old oaken bucket that hangs in the well.

An exile from home, splendor dazzles in vain,

On the shore dimly seen through the mists of the deep. You have waked me too soon; I must slumber again; Rock me to sleep, mother; rock me to sleep.

The Assyrian came down like a wolf on the fold,
With lovely young Jamie, the pride of the Dee ;
His footsteps are feeble-once fearless and bold -
And away he went singing his chick-a-dee-dee.

Will you come to the bower I've shaded for you?
I would not stay out in the cold and the snow,
Perfumed with fresh flagrance and glittering with dew,
Roderick Vic Alpine Dhu! ho iero!
JOTHAM WINROW.

BUDGE'S STORY OF NOAH'S ARK.

A CHAPTER FROM

"HELEN'S BABIES."

THAT afternoon I devoted to making a bouquet for Miss Mayton, and a most delightful occupation I found it. It was no florist's bouquet, composed of only a few kinds of flowers, wired upon sticks and arranged according to geometric pattern. I used many a rare flower, too shy of bloom to recommend itself to florists; I combined tints almost as numerous as the flowers were, and perfumes to which city bouquets are utter strangers.

At length it was finished, but my delight suddenly became clouded by the dreadful thought, "What will people say?" Ah! I had it. I had seen in one of the library-drawers a small pasteboard box, shaped like a bandbox; doubtless that would hold it. I found the box; it was of just the size I needed. I dropped my card into the bottom no danger of a lady not finding the card accompanying a gift of flowersneatly fitted the bouquet in the center of the box, and went in search of Mike. He winked cheeringly as I explained the nature of his errand, and he whispered:

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"I'll do it as clane as a whistle, yer honor. Mistress Clarkson's cook an' mesilf understhand each other, an' I'm used to goin' up the back way. Niver a man can see but the angels, an' they won't tell."

Very well, Mike; here's a dollar for you; you'll find the box on the hat-rack, in the hall."

Toddie disappeared somewhere, after supper, and came back very disconsolate.

"Can't find my dolly's k'adle," he whined.
"Never mind, old pet," said I soothingly.

ride you on his foot."

"Uncle will

"But I want my dolly's k'adle," said he, piteously, rolling

out his lower lip.

"Don't you want me to tell you a story?"

For a moment Toddie's face indicated a terrible internal conflict between old Adam and mother Eve; but curiosity finally overpowered natural depravity, and Toddie murmured:

"Yesh."

"What shall I tell you about?"

"'Bout Nawndeark."

"About what?"

"He means Noah an' the ark," exclaimed Budge.
"Datsh what I say— Nawndeark," declared Toddie.

"Well," said I, hastily refreshing my memory by picking up the Bible-for Helen, like most people, is pretty sure to forget to pack her Bible when she runs away from home for a few days"well, once it rained forty days and nights, and everybody was drowned from the face of the earth excepting Noah, a righteous man, who was saved with all his family, in an ark which the Lord commanded him to build.”

"Uncle Harry," said Budge, after contemplating me with open eyes and mouth for at least two minutes after I had finished, "do you think that's Noah?"

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Certainly, Budge; here's the whole story in the Bible." "Well, I don't think it's Noah one single bit,” said he, with increasing emphasis.

"I'm beginning to think we read different Bibles, Budge; but let's hear your version."

"Huh?"

"Tell me about Noah, if you know so much about him." "I will, if you want me to. Once the Lord felt so uncomfortable cos folks was bad, that he was sorry he ever made anybody, or any world or anything. But Noah wasn't bad; the Lord liked him first-rate, so he told Noah to build a big ark, and then the Lord would make it rain so everybody should be drownded but Noah an' his little boys an' girls, an' doggies an' pussies an' mamma-cows an' little-boy-cows an' little-girl-cows an' hosses an' everything; they'd go in the ark an' wouldn't get wetted a bit when it rained. An' Noah took lots of things to eat in the ark-cookies an' milk an' oatmeal an' strawberries an' porgies an'- oh, yes; an' plumpuddin's an' pumpkin-pies. But Noah didn't want everybody to get drownded, so he talked to folks an' said, It's goin' to rain awful pretty soon; you'd better be good, an' then the Lord'll let you come into my ark.' An' they jus' said, 'Oh! if it rains we'll go in the house till it stops;' an' other folks said, 'We ain't afraid of rain; we've got an umbrella.' An' some more said they wasn't goin' to be afraid of just a rain. But it did rain though, an' folks went in their houses, an' the water came in, an' they went upstairs, an' the water came up there, and they got on the tops of the houses, an' up in big trees, an' up in mountains, an' the water went after

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