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In all his course; nor yet in the cold ground,
The golden sun,
And beauty of its innocent ave cut off--
So live, that when thy summons comes, to join
OPPOSITE EXAMPLES.- By H. Mann. I ASK the young man who is just forming his habite of life, or just beginning to indulge those habitual trains of thought out of which habits grow, to look around him, and mark the examples, whose fortune he would covet, or whose fate he would abhor. Even as we walk the streets, we meet with exhibitions of each extreme. llere, behold a patriarch, whose stock of vigor three-score years and ten seem hardly to have impaired. His erect form, his firm step, his elastic limbs, and undimmed sense are so many certificates of good conduct; or, rather, so many jewels and orders of nobility with which nature has honored him for his fidelity to her laws. His fair complexion shows that his blood has never been corrupted; his pure breath, that he has never yielded his digestive apparatus to abuse; his exact language and keen apprehension, that his brain has never been drugged or stupe fied by the poisons of distiller or tobacconist. Enjoying his appetites to the highest, he has preserved the power of enjoying them. As he drains the cup of life, there are no lees at the bottom. Hlis organs will reach the goal of existence together. Painlessly as a candle burns down in its socket, so will he expire ; and a little imagination would convert him into another Enoch, translated from earth to a better world without the sting of death.
But look at an opposite extreme, where an opposite history is recorded. What wreck so shocking to behold as the wreck of a dissolute man;-the vigor of life exhausted, and yet the first steps in an honorable career not taken; in hini. self a lazar-house of diseases; dead, but, by a heathenish custom of society, not buried! Rogues have had the initial letter of their title burnt into the palms of their hands; even for murder, Cain was only branded on the forehead, but over the whole person of the debauchee or the inebriate, the signatures of infamy are written. How nature brands him with stigma and opprobrium! How she hangs labels all over him, to testify her disgust at his existence, and to admonish others to beware of his example! How she loosens all his joints, sends tremors along his muscles, and bends forward his frame, as if to bring him upon all-fours with kindred brutes, or to degrade him to the reptile's crawling! How she disfigures his countenance, as if intent upon obliterating all traces of her own image, so that she may swear she never made him! How she pours rheum over his eyes, sends foul spirits to inhabit his breath, and shrieks, as with a trumpet, from every pore of his body, “BEHOLD A BEAST!”. Such a man may be seen in the streets of our cities every day; if rich enough, he may be found in the saloons, and at the tables of the “Upper Ten;" but surely, to every man of purity and honor, to every man whose wisdom as well as whose heart is unblemished, the wretch who comes cropped and bleeding from the pillory, and redolent with its appropriate perfumes, would be a guest or a companion far less offensive and disgusting.
Now let the young man, rejoicing in his manly proportions, and in his comeliness, look on this picture, and on this, and then say, after the likeness of which model he intends his, on erect stature and sublime countenance shall be configured.
DRIFTING.–By T. Buchanan Read.
My soul to-day
Is far away,
My winged boat,
A bird afloat,
Round purple peaks
It sails, and seeks
Where high rocks throw,
Through deeps below,
Far, vague, and dim,
The mountains swim;
With outstretched hands,
The gray smoke stands
Here Ischia smiles
O'er liquid miles; And yonder, bluest of the isles,
Calm Capri waits,
Her sapphire gates Beguiling to her bright estates.
I hecd not, if
My rippling skiff Float swift or slow from cliff to cliff ;-
With dreamful eyes
My spirit lies
Under the walls
Where swells and falls The Bay's deep breast at intervals
At peace I lie,
Blown softly by,
The day, so mild,
Is Ileaven's own child, With earth and ocean reconciled ;
The airs I feel
Around me steal Are murmuring to the murmuring keel,
Over the rail
My hand I trail Within the shadow of the sail,
A joy intense,
The cooling sense
With dreamful eyes
My spirit lies Where summer sings and never dies,
O'erveiled with vines,
She glows and shines Among her future oil and wines.
Her children, hid The cliffs amid,
Yon deep bark goes
Where Trulie blows, Froin lands of sun to lands of snow?;
This baprier one,
Its course is run
O happy ship,
To rise and dip,
() happy crew,
My heart with you
No more, no more
The worldly shore Upbraids me with its loud uproar!
With dreamful eyes
My spirit lies
THE IIEART OF THE WAR. PEACE in the clover-scented air,
And stars within the dome, And underneath, in dim repose,
A plain New England home. Within, a murmur of low tones
And sighs from hearts oppressed, Merging in prayer at last, that bringi
The balm of silent rest.
I've closed a hard day's work, Marty-
The evening chores are done;
And with the liitle one.
With all our pretty brood;
And it will do me goed.
The irouble in my heart,
To take and bear your part.
Vou've felt it day and night; For it has filled our litile home, And banished all its light.