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Thy creatures, legions, day by day,
And then proclaim Thee just;
Spread ruin at their nod,
“King William thanks his God ?”
If these are Thine annointed, Lord,
And thus they do thy will,
To work each other ill;
Obscurely on to plod,
Offensive thanks to God.
DEATII OF LITTLE PAUL.
“Floy,” said Paul, “ what is that?" Wherc, dearest?” “There! at the bottom of the bed.” “ There's nothing there except Papa !” The figure lifted up its head and rose, and, coming to the bedside, said, "My own boy, don't you know me?” Paul looked it in the face, and thought, Was this his father? But the face, so altered to his thinking, thrilled while he gazed, as if it were in pain; and, before he could reach out both his hands to take it between them and draw it toward him, the figure turned away quickly from the little bed, and went out at the door. Paul looked at Florence with a fluttering heart; but he knew what she was going to say, and stopped her with his face against her lips. The next time he observed the figure sitting at the bottom of the bed. he called to it. " Don't be so sorry for me dear saving in the morning that he was a great deal better, and that they were to tell his father so.
How many times the golden water danced upon the wall-how many nights the dark, dark river rolled toward the sea in spite of him—Paul never counted, never sought to know. If their kindness, or his sense of it, could have increased, they were more kind, and he more grateful, every day; but whether they were many days or few, appeared of little moment now to the gentle boy. One night he had been thinking of his mother and her picture in the drawing-room down stairs, and had thought she must have loved sweet Florence better than his father did, to have held her in her arms when she felt that she was dying; for even he, her brother, who had such dear love for her, could have no greater wish than that. The train of thought suggested to him to inquire if he had ever seen his mother; for he could not remember whether they had told him yes or no—the river running very fast, and confusing his mind. “Floy, did I ever see mamma ?” "No, darling: why ?" · Did I ever see any kind face, like mamma's, looking at me when I was a baby, Floy?" he asked, incredulously, as if he had some vision of a face before him. “Oh, yes, dear.” “Whose, Floy?” “Your old nurse's, often." “And where is my old nurse?” said Paul. "Is she dead, too? Floy, are we all dead, except you ?"
There was a hurry in the room for an instant-longer, perhaps, but it seemed no more _then all was still again; and Florence, with her face quite colorless, but smiling, held his head upon ber arm. Her arm trembled very much. “Show me that old nurse, Floy, if you please.”
She is not here, darling. She shall come tomorrow “ Thank you, Floy." *
“And who is this? Is this my old nurse?" said the
kind, good face!” said Paul. “I am glad to see it again, Don't go away, old nurse! Stay here !”
“Now lay me down," he said ; "and, Floy, come close to me and let me see you!” Sister and brother wound their arms around each other, and the golden light came streaming in and fell upon them, locked together." How fast the river runs between its green banks and the rushes, Floy! But it's very near the sea. I hear the wares! They always said so." Presently he told ber that the motion of the boat upon the stream was lulling him to rest. How green the banks were now! how bright the fiowers growing on them! and how tall the rushes! Now the boat was out at sea, but gliding smoothly on; and now there was a shore before them. Who stood on the bank? He put his bands together, as he had been used to do at his prayers. He did not remove his arms to do it; but they saw him fold them so, behind ber neck. “Mamma is like you, Floy: I know ber by the face! But tell them that the print upon the stairs at school is not divine enough. The light about the head is shining on me as I go!”
The golden ripple on the wall came back again, and nothing else stirred in the room. The old, old fashion! The fashion that came in with our first garments, and will last unchanged until our race bas run its course, and the wide firmament is rolled up like a scroll. The old, old fashion-Death! Oh, thank God, all who see it, for that older fashion yet, of Immortality! And look upon us, angels of young children, with regards not quite estranged when the swift river bears us to the ocean!
IN MEMORY OF CHARLES DICKENS.
As sunset's glow illumed the sea
One balmy day of June,
To greet the rising moon,
Went out-alas! how soon !
Great England's son! Ilis nobie name
She'll proudly call her own,
Yet not her pride alone;
The world his genius own.
Mid friendly smile and cheer,
Death's shadow drawing near,
From love and labor here.
O’ershadowed by the angel's wing,
Unconsciously he lay,
But gently passed away, –
He gains eternal day.
6 Out with the tide," his life of love
On to the sea shall flow,-
Nor waves of sorrow know;
Bliss earth could ne'er bestow.
Ilis name indeed a “houschold word"
Through ages now shall be, The cheerful sound of “Chimes"' be leard
Like notes of melody; And “ Christmas Carol,” word for word,
“Keep green his memory.” Oh! could he, with his parting breatlı,
Have whispered what lie felt; Revealed his earnest thoughts of death
To those who near him knelt;As once he spake, through “lillle Pau!,”
THERE lived, as Fame reports, in days of yore,
A pleasant wight on town, yclept Tom King, -
In sliort, for strokes of humor quite the thing.
To many a jovial club this King was known,
Choice spirit, grave free-mason, buck and blood,
His humor Blowed in such a copious flood.
To him a frolic was a high delight:
Careless how prudence on the sport might frown.
Nor left the game till he had run it down.
One night, our hero, rambling with a friend,
Just by that spot, the Seven Dials hight.
And scarce a lamp displayed a twinkling light. Around this place there lived the numerous clans Of honest, plodding, foreign artisans,
Known at that time by name of refugees. The rod of persecution from their home Compelled the inoffensive race to roam,
And here they lighted, like a swarm of bees.
Well! our two friends were sauntering through the street,
Wien, in a window near, a light they view;
So towards the gloomy dome our hero drow.