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large circle of friends. As might be expected, he was temperate in his habits. To his home attachments he was faithful, and was careful with the education of his children. His heart was ever open to kindly influences ; and his wit and facetiousness, which have delighted so many, partakes of the same nature, being devoid of sting, bite, or claws: it is never spiteful, but ever genial and good-natured. He was as faithful to the principles of his religion, as he was loyal to his king and country, and he never hésitated to give utterance to his convictions.

Of his faults, some of which have been hinted at, I cannot now speak. The remembrance of his own gentleness and charity in dealing with the faults of others, warns us to deal gently and charitably to him. The silence which surrounds his tomb, at which we have just in fancy been gazing, should hush the voice that would harshly censure him.

* There is a voice, by nature thrown

Around the noiseless dead, Which ought to soften censure's tone,

And guard the lowly bed Of those who, whatsoe'er they were, Wait Heaven's unerring audit there !”

other's grasp

A TRUE MEANING OF MARRIAGE.— The only union that deserves and does not dishonour the name of marriage, is one in which, whatever external attractions accompany it, there is mental and moral sympathy; and, above all, the hallowing presence of religious faith. For this alone brings us into real union with another. We may dwell in the same home with another, and yet be as wide apaxt as if oceans rolled between us. But where there is congeniality of taste, sympathy of soul, union of heart in the same God and Saviour, no external distance can affect, or lapse of time weaken it, nor can even that which breaks up all other connections, dissolve this. The hands that were clasped at Manimon's altar may soon drop from each

The hearts which passion's force united, when passion's fire has cooled, may fall off from each other, or, in the recoil, fly far apart. But they whom God and holy love bind together, none can ever put asunder. Money may go, hardship and ill fortune betide them, but there are those, many and many a one, whom sorrow and toil and suffering, borne together, have only bound into a closer, deeper, dearer affection. The ardour of youthful passion may evaporate, but there is a calmer, serener, profounder feeling that rises, as the years pass on, in hearts that have known and trusted each other long. "The fair face may lose its outer loveliness, and the form its roundness, and the once light and airy step its elasticity. But even on the outward face and form there is a beauty which steals out often, to replace with a more exquisite charm that which years bear away ;-the beauty of Christian gentleness and sweetness, of maturing character and more deeply settled inward peace-"the ornament of a meek and quiet spirit.” Onward through life's

path, stage after stage, truer and more trusted, loving and more beloved, they who are thus united, may tread together ;-on, amidst the gathering evening shadows and the soft waning lights, that tell how fast their sun of earthly joy is westering-pensively, it may be, yet not sadly or despairingly ;-on, hand clasped in hand, heart knit to heart, till the hour when the inevitable parting comes. And yet even in that which to all besides has in it a horror of darkness too dreadful to be calmly contemplated, there is no lasting gloom for them. A little longer, and the loved and lost shall be once more and for ever united ; and when the churchyard shadows in summer and winter days play softly on the grave, where side by side their dust reposes, bright with immortal beauty, loving as immortal spirits only love, they shall dwell together in the presence of the Lamb. -Good Words.

THE RIGHT-DOWN HONEST WORKING MAN.

AIR—“The Old Country Gentleman."

Y-
SING not of the olden times,

Nor the belted knights of yore,
When the baron's boast was of serfs a host,

And vassals by the score :
I rather sing the present days-

The better days, I wot-
Of a right-down honest working man,

Who lives in a humble cot-
A right-down honest working man, one of the present time.

“Come, prove his honesty,” you say:

I will---then pray attend :
He does not fawn to gold array,

Nor sycophantic bend ;
He has a mind to live and hope,

An independent soul,
A heart that can with trouble cope,

A brother's woes condole:
This brave-bred, honest working man, one of the present time.

He has a smile when joy is near,

With the lone heart heaves a sigh;
His hopeful words the mourner cheer,

And the cheek of sorrow dry:
He would not stain a brother's name

With one degrading word,
But labours stoutly to reclaim,

And injured worth reward :
This upright, honest working man, one of the present time.

He shuns the haunts where blinded men

In the mad carousal share ;
The dear ones of his “but and ben"

His nobler feast prépare :

There he presides with smiling face,

While kindness lights his eye,
And songs and glee combine to chase

The golden moments by,
At the home of the honest working man, one of the present time.

A willing hand is his for toil,

He scorns the idler's lot,
He meets his labour with a smile,

The long day daunts him not;
As bright the flame of Hope upburns

On the altar of his breast,
Through the darkling night his eye discerns

The good man's promised rest:
This hopeful, honest working man, one of the present time.

Out with thee, tyrant, ill-advised,

Would grudge his hard-won bread!
A narrow mind is ill disguised

’Neath a high and haughty head.
Away! nor pain his noble heart

With act or word unkind;
Base 'tis to hold the lion's part,

And grind! and grind ! and grind !
The anxious, honest working man, in this or any time.

But cheer thee, honest fellow-man !

With heart still stout and strong,
Thy part fulfil with honour still,

Be the struggle short or long.
And fostered aye 'neath Heaven's smile

Be Labour's noble bands ;
For the bulwarks of our sea-girt isle,

Are the hearts and horny hands
Of her earnest honest working men, both now and in all time.

Bacup.

THOMAS NEWBIGGING.

THE PRINTER.—The printer is the adjutant of thought, and this explains the mysteries of the wonderful word that can kindle a home as no song can—that word “we,” with a handin-hand warmth in it, for the author and printer are engineers together. Engineers, indeed! When the little Corsican bombarded Cadiz, at the distance of five miles, it was deemed the very triumph of engineering. But what is that paltry range to this, whereby they bombard the ages yet to be? There at the case” he stands, and marshals into line the forces armed for truth, clothed in immortality and English. And what can be more noble than the equipinent of a thought in sterling SaxonSaxon with a ring of spear on shield therein, and then commissioning it, when we are dead, to move gradually on to "the last syllable of recorded time.” This is to win a victory from death, for this has no dying in it. The printer is called a labourer, and the office he performs is toi). Oh! it is not work, but a sublime rite he is performing, when he thus “sights” the engine that is to fling a worded truth in grander curve than missiles ever before described-flings it into the bosom of an age unborn. He throws off his coat, indeed ; we but wonder the rather that he does not put off his shoes, for the place on which he stands is holy ground. A little song was uttered somewhere not long ago; it wandered through the twilight feebler than a star; it died upon the ear; but the printer takes it up where it was lying there in the silence like a wounded bird, and he sends it forth from the ark that had preserved it, and it flies into the future with the olive branch of peace, and around the world with melody, like the dawning of a spring morning.Bayard Taylor.

THE VILLAGE FOOL.-Every village has its fool, and, of course, Dreamthorp is not without one. Him I get to run my messages for me, and he occasionally trims my gardenborders with a neat hand enough. He and I hold frequent converse ; and people here, I have been told, think we have certain points of sympathy. Although this is not meant for a compliment, I take it for one. The poor faithful creature's brain has strange visitors. Now 'tis fun, now wisdom, and now something which seems in the queerest way a compound of both. He lives in a kind of twilight which obscures objects, and his remarks seem to come from another world than that in which ordinary people live. He is the only original person of my acquaintance; his views of life are his own, and form a singular commentary on those generally accepted. He is dull enough, at times, poor fellow ! but anon he startles you with something that makes you think he must have wandered out of Shakspeare's plays into this out-of-the-way place.—Alexander Smith.

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