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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 !”
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."
Nor the belted knights of yore,
And vassals by the score :
The better days, I wot-
Who lives in a humble cot-
“Come, prove his honesty,” you say:
I will---then pray attend :
Nor sycophantic bend ;
An independent soul,
A brother's woes condole:
He has a smile when joy is near,
With the lone heart heaves a sigh;
And the cheek of sorrow dry:
With one degrading word,
And injured worth reward :
He shuns the haunts where blinded men
In the mad carousal share ;
His nobler feast prépare :
There he presides with smiling face,
While kindness lights his eye,
The golden moments by,
A willing hand is his for toil,
He scorns the idler's lot,
The long day daunts him not;
On the altar of his breast,
The good man's promised rest:
Out with thee, tyrant, ill-advised,
Would grudge his hard-won bread!
’Neath a high and haughty head.
With act or word unkind;
And grind! and grind ! and grind !
But cheer thee, honest fellow-man !
With heart still stout and strong,
Be the struggle short or long.
Be Labour's noble bands ;
Are the hearts and horny hands
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.