The sparkling jewels, fair were they to see,
But far too heavy was their weight for me.

"This may not be," I cried, and looked again,
To see if any there could ease my pain;
But, one by one I passed them slowly by,
Till on a lovely one I cast my eye.

Fair flowers around its sculptured form entwined,
And grace and beauty seemed in it combined;
Wondering I gazed,--and still I wondered more,
To think so many should have passed it o'er.
But oh, that form so beautiful to see,

Soon made its hidden sorrows known to me;
Thorns lay beneath those flowers and colors fair;
Sorrowing I said, “This cross I may not bear."
And so it was with each and all around,
Not one to suit my need could there be found;
Weeping I laid each heavy burden down,
As my guide gently said, "No cross,--no crown."

At length to him I raised my saddened heart;
He knew its sorrows, bade its doubts depart;
"Be not afraid," he said, "but trust in me;
My perfect love shall now be shown to thee."

And then, with lightened eyes and willing feet,
Again I turned, my earthly cross to meet;
With forward footsteps, turning not aside,
For fear some hidden evil might betide;
And there, in the prepared, appointed way,
Listening to hear, and ready to obey,-
A cross I quickly found, of plainest form,
With only words of love inscribed thereon.
With thankfulness I raised it from the rest,
And joyfully acknowledged it the best,-
The only one, of all the many there,
That I could feel was good for me to bear.
And while I thus my chosen one confessed,
I saw a heavenly brightness on it rest;
And as I bent, my burden to sustain,
I recognized my own old cross again.
But, oh! how different did it seem to be,
Now I had learned its preciousness to see!

No longer could I unbelieving say,

"Perhaps another is a better way."

Ah, no! henceforth my one desire shall be,
That he, who knows me best, should choose for me;
And so, whate'er his love sees good to send,

I'll trust it's best,-because he knows the end.

BRUTUS ON THE DEATH OF CESAR.-SHAKSPEARE,

Hear me for my cause;
Believe me for mine

Romans, countrymen, and lovers! and be silent, that you may hear. honor; and have respect to mine honor, that you may believe. Censure me in your wisdom; and awake your senses, that you may the better judge. If there be any in this assembly, any dear friend of Cæsar's,-to him I say, that Brutus' love to Cæsar was no less than his. If, then, that friend demand why Brutus rose against Cæsar, this is my answer: Not that I loved Cæsar less, but that I loved Rome more. Had you rather Cæsar were living, and die all slaves, than that Cæsar were dead, to live all freemen? As Cæsar loved me, I weep for him; as he was fortunate, I rejoice at it; as he was valiant, I honor him; but as he was ambitious, I slew him. There are tears for his love, joy for his fortune, honor for his valor, and death for his ambition.

Who is here so base, that would be a bondman? If any, speak; for him have I offended. Who is here so rude, that would not be a Roman? If any, speak; for him have I offended. Who is here so vile, that will not love his country? If any, speak; for him have I offended. I pause for a reply. None? Then none have I offended. I have done no more to Cæsar than you should do to Brutus. The question of his death is enrolled in the Capitol; his glory not extenuated, wherein he was worthy; nor his offences enforced, for which he suffered death.

Here comes his body, mourned by Mark Antony, who, though he had no hand in his death, shall receive the benefit of his dying,-a place in the commonwealth; as which of you shall not? With this I depart :-That, as I slew my best lover for the good of Rome, I have the same dagger for myself, when it shall please my country to need my death.

ANTONY'S ADDRESS TO THE ROMANS.-SHAKSPEARE

Friends, Romans, countrymen! lend me your ears;

I come to bury Cæsar, not to praise him.

The evil that men do lives after them;
The good is oft interred with their bones:
So let it be with Cæsar. The noble Brutus
Hath told you Cæsar was ambitious;

If it were so, it was a grievous fault,
And grievously hath Cæsar answered it.
Here, under leave of Brutus, and the rest,-
For Brutus is an honorable man,

So are they all, all honorable men,—

Come I to speak in Cæsar's funeral.

He was my friend, faithful and just to me:

But Brutus says he was ambitious,

And Brutus is an honorable man.

He hath brought many captives home to Rome,
Whose ransoms did the general coffers fill:

Did this in Cæsar seem ambitious?

When that the poor have cried, Cæsar hath-wept;
Ambition should be made of sterner stuff:
Yet Brutus says he was ambitious,

And Brutus is an honorable man.

You all did see, that, on the Lupercal,

I thrice presented him a kingly crown,

Which he did thrice refuse. Was this ambition?
Yet Brutus says he was ambitious,

And, sure, he is an honorable man.

I speak not to disprove what Brutus spoke,

But here I am to speak what I do know.

You all did love him once, not without cause:

What cause withholds you then to mourn for him?

O judgment, thou art fled to brutish beasts,
And men have lost their reason!-Bear with me;
My heart is in the coffin there with Cæsar,
And I must pause till it come back to me.

But yesterday the word of Cæsar might

Have stood against the world; now lies he there,
And none so poor to do him reverence.

O masters! if I were disposed to stir

Your hearts and minds to mutiny and rage,

I should do Brutus wrong, and Cassius wrong,
Who, you all know, are honorable men.

I will not do them wrong; I rather choose
To wrong the dead, to wrong myself and you,
Than I will wrong such honorable men.

But here's a parchment, with the seal of Cæsar;
I found it in his closet; 'tis his will.

Let but the commons hear this testament,-
Which, pardon me, I do not mean to read,-
And they would go and kiss dead Caesar's wounds,
And dip their napkins in his sacred blood;
Yea, beg a hair of him for memory,

And, dying, mention it within their wills,
Bequeathing it, as a rich legacy,

Unto their issue.

If you have tears, prepare to shed them now.
You all do know this mantle; I remember
The first time ever Cæsar put it on;

'Twas on a summer's evening, in his tent;

That day he overcame the Nervii.-

Look! In this place ran Cassius' dagger through;
See what a rent the envious Casca made;

Through this, the well-beloved Brutus stabbed,
And, as he plucked his cursed steel away,
Mark how the blood of Cæsar followed it,
As rushing out of doors, to be resolved
If Brutus so unkindly knocked, or no;
For Brutus, as you know, was Cæsar's angel ;
Judge, O ye gods, how dearly Cæsar loved him!
This was the most unkindest cut of all;

For when the noble Cæsar saw him stab,

Ingratitude, more strong than traitors' arms,

Quite vanquished him. Then burst his mighty heart; And, in his mantle muffling up his face,

Even at the base of Pompey's statue,

Which all the while ran blood, great Cæsar fell.

Oh, what a fall was there, my countrymen!

Then I, and you, and all of us fell down,

Whilst bloody treason flourished over us.

Oh! now you weep; and I perceive you feel The dint of pity;-these are gracious drops.

Kind souls! What, weep you when you but behold Our Cæsar's vesture wounded? Look you here! Here is himself, marred, as you see, by traitors.

Good friends, sweet friends, let me not stir you up To such a sudden flood of mutiny.

They that have done this deed are honorable!

What private griefs they have, alas! I know not, That made them do it. They are wise and honorable, And will, no doubt, with reasons answer you.

I come not, friends, to steal away your hearts;

I am no orator, as Brutus is;

But as you know me all, a plain, blunt man,

That love my friend; and that they know full well
That gave me public leave to speak of him.
For I have neither wit, nor words, nor worth,
Action, nor utterance, nor the power of speech,
To stir men's blood;-I only speak right on;
I tell you that which you yourselves do know;

Show you sweet Cæsar's wounds, poor, poor dumb mouths,
And bid them speak for me. But were I Brutus,
And Brutus Antony, there were an Antony
Would ruffle up your spirits, and put a tongue
In every wound of Cæsar, that should move
The stones of Rome to rise and mutiny!

GRIZZLY GRUMBLER'S ADVICE.

MY DEAR FELLOW-GRUMBLERS:-Poets, philosophers, and fools, in all ages, have been writing and preaching on the art of being happy, without a mighty sight of seals to their ministry, I guess.

But, as many can't be satisfied unless miserable in body and mind, I am going to show all such persons the several means to be used for the attainment of such a desirable end.

In the first place, my beloved whiners, in order to attain any end, you must get up a stiff resolution and determination to conquer. Yes, my hearers, you must set down your foot, grit your teeth, let your resolution be as stiff as boilerplate, let your firmness be as unwavering as the rocks of Gibraltar. Be determined to be miserable, and you shall get your desires. Never mind what people tell you about the bounties of Providence and the beauties of Nature, the balmy breezes of spring, the twittering and warbling of birds, you must sheer off from them like a wealthy upstart from a poor relation.

U*