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And he returned to the man of God, he and all his company, and came and stood before him: and he said, Behold, now I know that there is no God in all the earth but 6 in Israel ; now therefore, I pray thee, take a blessing of thy servant. But he said, As the Lord liveth, before whom I stand, I will receive none. And he urged him to take it : but he refused.

So he departed from him a little way.

But Gehazi, the servant of Elisha, the man of God, said, Behold, my master hath spared Naaman this Syrian, in not receiving at his hands that which he brought; but, as the Lord liveth, I will run after him, and take somewhat of him.

So Gehazi followed after Naaman: and when Naaman saw him running after him, he lighted down from the chariot to meet him, and said, Is all well ? And he said, All is well. My master hath sent me, saying, Behold, even now there be come to me from mount Ephraim two young men of the sons of the prophets : give them, I pray thee, a talent of silver, and two changes of garments.

And Naaman said, Be content; take two talents. And he urged him, and bound two talents of silver in two bags,

with two changes of garments, and laid them upon two of 8 his servants; and they bare them before him. And when he came to the tower, he took them from their hand, and bestowed them in the house; and he let the men go, and they departed. But he went in and stood before his master.

And Elisha said unto him, Whence comest thou, Gehazi ? And he said, Thy 'servant went no whither. And he said unto him, Went not my heart with thee, when the man turned again from his chariot to meet thee? Is it a time to receive money, and to receive garments, and olive

yards, and vineyards, and sheep, and oxen, and men-ser9 vants, and maid-servants ? The leprosy, therefore, of Naaman shall cleave unto thee.

And he went out from his presence a lepèr .. white as snow.


The Little Graves.--ANONYMOUS.
1 'Twas autumn, and the leaves were dry,

And rustled on the ground,


And chilly winds went whistling by,

With low and pensive sound.

2 As through the grave-yard's lone retreat

By meditation led,
I walked, with slow and cautious feet,

Above the sleeping dead,

3 Three little graves, ranged side by side,

My close attention drew;
O'er two, the tall grass bending, sighed,

And one seemed fresh and new.

4 As, lingering there, I mused awhile

On death's long, dreamless sleep,
And opening life's deceitful smile,

A mourner came to weep.

5 Her form was bowed, but not with years,

Her words were faint and few,
And on those little graves her fears

Distilled like evening dew.

6 A prattling boy, some four years old,

Her trembling hand embraced,
And from my heart the tale he told

Will never be effaced.

7 “Mamma, now you must love me more,

For little sister's dead;
And t'other sister died before,
And brother, too, you


8 “Mamma, what made sweet sister die ?

She loved me when we played : You told me, If I would not cry,

You'd show me where she's laid."

9 “ 'Tis here, my child, that sister lies,

Deep buried in the ground:
No light comes to her little eyes,

And she can hear no sound.”


And put

Mamma, why can't we take her up,

her in


bed ?
I'll feed her from my little cup,

And then she won't be dead :

11 “For sister'll be afraid to lie

In this dark ve to-night
And she'll be very cold, and cry

Because there is no light."

12 “No, sis:er is not cold, my child,

For God who saw her die,
As he looked down from heaven and smiled,

Recalled her to the sky.

:3 “And then her spirit quickly fled

To God, by whom’twas given;
Her body in the ground is dead,

But sister lives in heaven."

14 “Mamma, won't she be hungry there,

And want some bread to eat ?
And who will give her clothes to wear,

And keep them clean and neat ?

15 “ Papa must go and carry some;

I'll send her all I've got ;
And he must bring sweet sister home,

Mamma, now must he not ?"

16 “No, my dear child, that cannot be ;

But, if you're good and true,
You'll one day go to her; but she

Can never come to you.

17 « Let little children come to me,'

Once our good Savior said,
And in his arms she'll always be,
And God will give her bread.”



To-Morrow.--Cotton. 1 TO-MORROW, didst thou say? Methought I heard Horatio


To-morrow: Go to~I will not hear of it-To-morrow! "Tis a sharper, who stakes his penury Against thy plenty-who takes thy ready cash, And pays thee nought, but wishes, hopes, and promises, The currency of idiots--injurious bankrupt, That gulls the easy

creditor!-To-morrow! It is a period nowhere to be found

In all the hoary registers of Time,
2 Unless perchance in the fool's calendar.

Wisdom disclaims the word, nor holds society
With those who own it. No, my Horatio,
Tis fancy's child, and folly is its father ;
Wrought of such stuff as dreams are, and as baseless
As the fastastic visions of the evening.

But soft, my friend-arrest the present moment
For be assured they all are arrant tell-tales :
And though their flight be silent, and their path

Trackless, as the winged couriers of the air
3 They post to heaven, and there record thy folly;

Because, though stationed on the important watch,
Thou, like a sleeping, faithless sentinel,
Didst let them pass unnoticed, unimproved.
And know, for that thou slumberest on the guard,
Thou shalt be made to answer at the bar
For every fugitive ; and when thou thus
Shalt stand impleaded at the high tribunal
Of hoodwinked justice, who shall tell thy audit ?

Then stay the present instant, dear Horatio, 4 Imprint the marks of wisdom on its wings.

'Tis of more worth than kingdoms : far more precious
Than all the crimson treasures of life's fountain.
Oh! let it not elude thy grasp ; but, like
The good old patriarch upon record,
Hold the fleet angel fast until he bless thee.

I have some favorite flowers in spring, among which are

mountain daisy, the hare-bell, the fox-glove, the wild

brier-rose, the budding birch, and the hoary hawthorn, that I view and hang over with particular delight. I never hear the loud solitary whistle of the curlew in a summer noon, or the wild mixing cadence of a troop of gray plovers in an autumnal morning, without feeling an elevation of soul like the enthusiam of devotion, or poetry. Tell me, my dear friend, to what can this be owing ? Are we a piece of machinery, which, like the Eolian harp, passive takes the impression of the passing accident? Or do these workings argue something within us above “the trodden clod ?" I own myself partial to such proofs of those awful and important realities—a God that made all things--man's immaterial and immortal nature—and a world of weal or wo beyond death and the grave.Burns.


The Humming Bird.AUDUBON. 1 WHERE is the person who, on seeing this lovely little creature moving on humming winglets through the air, suspended as if by magic in it, flitting from one flower to another, with motions as graceful as they are light and airy, pursuing its course over our extensive continent, and yielding new delights wherever it is seen ;-where is the person, I ask, who, on observing this glittering fragment of the rainbow, would not pause, admire, and instantly turn his mind with reverence toward the Almighty Creator, the

wonders of whose hand we at every step discover, and of 2 whose sublime conceptions we every where observe the

manifestations in his admirable system of creation ? There breathes not such a person ; so kindly have we all been blessed with that intuitive and noble feeling-admiration.

No sooner has the returning sun again introduced the vernal season, and caused millions of plants to expand their leaves and blossoms to his genial beams, than the little Humming Bird is seen advancing on fairy wings, carefully visiting every opening flower-cup, and, like a curious florist, re

moving from each the injurious insects that otherwise would 3 erelong cause their beauteous petals to droop and decay.

Hoisted in the air, it is observed peeping cautiously, and

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