Page images

2. Which English word contains the greatest number of letters ?

3. What English word is that, the letters of which, three in number, may be placed in any order, and at each transposition form a well-known word ?

4. What word of six letters admits of five successive elisions leaving at each abbreviation a well-known word ?

5. What word of six letters contains six words besides itself, without transposing a letter?

ANSWERS. 1. Strength and identity. 2. Disproportionableness. 3. Ear. 4. Brandy. 5. Herein.-J. W. Ĝ., Family Friend, Vol. II. No. 16.

TRIFLES. Where there's a will, there's a way; but where there are a great many wills there's no way.

* I go through my work," as the needle said to the idle boy. “But not till you're hard pushed,” as the idle boy said to the needle.

If some men could come out of their graves and read the inscriptions upon their tombs, they would think they had laid down in the wrong place.

At a dinner of the Cincinnatti firemen, recently, the following sentiment was proposed :-" The ladies : their eyes kindle the only flame which we cannot extinguish, and against which there is no insurance !"Id.

STRIKE the harp to chiefs in story,

Ar hyd y nos.
Days of old and deeds of glory,

Ar hyd y nos.
Music's tide of true devotion,
Numbers pour in warm emotion,
Swell the strain o'er earth and ocean,

Ar hyd y nos.
Echo swells the votive measure,

Ar hyd y nos.
Every bosom throbs with pleasure,

Ar hyd y nos.

To their hearts responsive ringing,
Native lays the minstrels singing,
Cambria's fame to mem'ry bringing,

Ar hyd y nos.

J. Parry.

Like to the falling of a star,
Or as the flight of eagles are;
Or like the fresh spring's gaudy hue,
Or silver drops of morning dew;
Or like a wind that chates the flood,
Or bubbles which on water stood :
Ev'n such is man whose borrow'd light
Is straight called in, and paid to-night.
The wind blows out; the bubble dies;
The spring entomb'd in autumn lies;
The deep dries up; the star is shot;
T'he flight is pass'd—and man forgot.

Henry King

In sleep thy little spirit seems

To some bright world to wander back :
And seraphs, mingling with thy dreams,

Allure thee to their shining track. Already like a vernal flower,

I see thee opening to the light; And day by day, and hour by hour,

Becoming more divinely bright. Sweet bud of beauty! how wilt thou

Endure the bitter tempest's strife ? Shall thy blue eyes be dimmed-thy brow

Indented by the cares of life?
Yet, ah! if prayers could aught avail,

So calm thy skies of life should be,
That thou should'st glide beneath the sail

Of Virtue on a stormless sea.
Across thy path Religion's star

Should ever shed its healing ray,
To lead thee from this world's vain jar,

To scenes of peace and purer day.

Shun Vice—the breath of her abode

Is poison'd, though with roses strown; And cling to Virtue; though the road

Be thorny, boidly travel on. For thee I ask not riches : thou

Wert wealthy with a spotless name; I ask not beauty, for thy brow

Is fair as my desires could claim.
Be thine a spirit loathing guilt,

Kind, independent, pure and free;
Be like thy mother, and thou wilt
Be all my soul desires to see.


The sky's thy home, the air's thy minion,
And man's a worm in thy opinion,
As o'er green earth’s extreme dominion,

And circling sea,
Thou spread'st forth thy majestic pinion,

Untamed and free.

Allan Cunningham. THE SPIRIT'S LAND. Oh! beauteous are the forms that stand

Bevond death's dusky wave,
And beckon to the Spirit's land,

Across the narrow grave!
No damp is on the freed one's brow,

No dimness in his eye;
The dews of heaven refresh him now,

The fount of light is nigh.
The parent souls that o'er our bed

Oft poured the midnight prayer,
Now wonder where their cares are fled,

And calmly wait is there.
The dearer still—the close-entwined

With bands of roseate hue:
We thought them fair; but now we find

'Twas but their shade we knew.

Tis sweet, when tempests earth deform,

And whirlwinds sweep the sky,
To know a haven from the storm,

When worlds themselves must die;
To know that there in safety rest

The tranquil barks of those
Who, soaring on life's billowy crest,

Attain’d to heaven's repose ;
To know that brethren fondly wait

Our mansion to prepare-
That death but opes that mansion's gate,

And, lo! our souls are there.

Night mounts her throne ; the cloud's dark massive form,
The rustling winds declare a coming storm;
The elements with gradual fury fill ;
The winds already combat on the hill.
Lo! how the rising ocean pours

his waves,
Feather'd with foam, impetuous to their caves ;
Without a requiem, save his laugh of scorn,
Down in his depths the mariner is borne ;
Fierce through the heavens the forked lightnings fly,
Like glances of the wrathful Deity.
The night hath passed : how lovely o'er the sea
The shallop glides in morn's tranquillity!
Gradual the mists unveil the silver stream,
And dripping rock and banging forest gleam;
A balmy fragrance floats on every gale;
The soul of music melts in every vale;
The elements, that late like demons strove,
Have, smiling pardon, softened into love.

Thou art gone, lovely day, and no longer thy beam

Brightly glows over ocean and earth;
Thou hast sunk like a drop in Eternity's stream,

Ere man had discerned thy worth.

I HAVE looked on the dead since I saw ye last ;
I have bent o'er the form as the spirit pass’d;
I have marked the cold and glaring eye,
As it fixed its last gaze on vacancy ;
I have felt the stiffening hand grow cold,
As its fainter grasp relaxed its hold;
I have heard the last expiring breath,
As marking the meeting of life and death ;
And I thought, as I stood in awe and wonder,
How slight was the pang that tore them asunder!
And I gazed on the features when life was fled,
And, oh! what a beauty was over them spread !
'Twas more than when living they ever express'd;
And it seemed as the soul, for eternity dress'd,
Had dropped all its sorrows, its weakness, and fears,
That had hung like a cloud o'er mortality's years.
O Death! how mysterious thy nature and power !
How dreaded in health is thy still solemn hour!
Yet sickness and weakness thy coming await,
And in hope, and in confidence, enter thy gate.
Then why should we wrap thee in terror and gloom ?
Though dark be thy shadow, thou king of the tomb,

has shed o'er thy valley a hope and a ray,
And has told that beyond there is beauty and day.

MEMOIR OF MRS. SHERMAN. Although it is a fact unquestioned by all who revere the word of truth, that the most efficient maternal guidance cannot change the heart, and renew the nature for God, without the gracious influence of his Spirit: yet, where a mother unites piety, wisdom, and perseverance in the training of her children, she seldom fails to draw down that influence on her interesting charge. Education, especially in the formation of character, does not consist merely in conveying to the mind ethical maxims, useful knowledge, and the higher branches of gospel lore, but in the living exhibition of personal grac 5,-a rigid love of truth,--a spirit of prayer,--a dependence on Divine aid,-a delicate sense of purity,--and an indomitable perseverance in aiming to win the heart to Christ. Chap. 1.

Happy they who begin to work for God early, and form the

« PreviousContinue »