sies. come back spent with the vehement heat, her | hemlock stalks, which Damotus once gave savory mess of bruised garlic and wild thyme; me as a present. His dying words were, but I, as I am scanning the prints of your 'It is yours now, as my next heir.' So said feet, am left with a choir of hoarse cicalas Dametus. Amyntas, in his folly, felt jealthat make the plantation ring again under ous. Besides, I have two young roes, which the blazing sun. Was there not satisfaction I found in a dangerous valley, their skins still in bearing Amaryllis's storms of passion and sprinkled with white, sucking the same ewe her scornful humors? or Menalcas, again- twice a day. I am keeping them for you. dark as he was-fair as are you? Do not, Thestylis, to be sure, has been long begging loveliest boy, do not presume too much on to get them away from me, and so she shall, that bright bloom: white privet is left to as you think my presents so mean. Come fall; dark hyacinths are gathered for po- to me, loveliest boy. See, the nymphs are bringing basketsful of lilies, all for you; for "You think scorn of me, Alexis, without you the fair naiad plucks yellow violets and even asking what I am-how rich I am in poppy-heads and puts them with the narciscattle, how overflowing in milk white as sus and fragrant fennel flower, twines them snow. Why, I have a thousand ewe lambs with cassia and other pleasant plants, and picks straying at large over the mountains of Sicily; out the delicate hyacinth with the yellow new milk never fails me either summer or marigold. I will gather you myself quinces winter. I can sing as Amphion of Dirce sang with their soft white down, and chestnuts, when calling the flocks home on the Attic which my Amaryllis used to love so, and put Aracynthus. I am not so unsightly either in waxen plums. This fruit, too, shall come the other day on the seashore I looked at my-in for honor. You, too, I will pluck, ye self, as the sea was standing all glassy in a bays, and you, myrtle, that always go with calm. I should not fear competing with them; so placid you make a union of sweet Daphnis in your judgment, if the reflection smells. never play false. "Oh, if you would but take a fancy to live with me a homely country life in a humble cottage, shooting the deer, and driving the herds of kids afield to the green mallows! Living with me, you shall soon rival Pan in singing in the woodland. Pan it was that first taught the fashion of fastening several reeds together with wax. Pan it is that cares for sheep and shepherds. Do not think you would be sorry to chafe your lip with a reed to learn this same lesson, what used not Amyntas to go through? I have a pipe made out of seven uneven "Corydon, you are nothing but a clown. Alexis cares nothing for such presents. Nay, if presents are to be your weapons, Iollas will not yield the day to you. Alas! alas! what wretched wish have I been forming? I have been madman enough to let the south wind into my flower-beds, and the boars into my clear springs. Do you know who you are flying from, infatuate as you are? Why, even the gods have lived in the country-ay, and in Dardan Paris. Leave Pallas to live by herself in the great city towns she has built; let us love the country beyond any other place. The grim lioness goes after the wolf; the wolf, for his part, after the goat; the playful goat after the flowering lucerne; Corydon after you, Alexis. Each is drawn by his peculiar pleasure. Look! the bullocks are drawing home the plough, with its share slung up, and the sun, as he withdraws, is doubling the lengthening shadows, yet still love is burning me up; for how should there be any stint for love? Ah, Corydon, Corydon! what madness has possessed you? Here are your vines half pruned, and the elms they hang on overgrown with leaves. Come, you had better set about plaiting out some work for needful occasions with twigs or pliant rushes. You will find another Alexis, though the present one may scorn you." Translation of JOHN CONINGTON. MATTER HAS A SPIRITUAL SIDE. these same bioplasts-which, according to materialism, have nothing at all behind them but chemical forces-suddenly catch a new and very brilliant idea; namely, that they will weave a flying creature. Whence comes that? Out of matter, for matter has a physical and a spiritual side. They thereupon, without any new environment, with the same sun above them, and the same earth underneath them, and the same food, begin to execute a wholly new plan-or, rather, to carry out one held in reserve from the first. They weave anew; there appears within and rising out of the creeping odious worm your gorgeous tropical butterfly; and he is the same. There is identity between that flying creature and that creeping creature. Are they two, or one? You breathed by gills once; you breathe by lungs now. Is your identity affected by the change? Your bioplasts wove you so that once you had a heart of one cavity, and now have one of four. Are you the same? FROM LECTURE ON BIOLOGY,* "DOES DEATH END ALL?" Is your identity affected through all these DELIVERED AT TREMONT TEMPLE, BOSTON. WILL you, my friends, but VILL you, my friends, but picture to yourselves the change of plan which must be made when a creeping creature is transformed into a flying one? Your beautiful tropical butterfly was once a repulsive chrysalid. It had only the power of crawling. But the bioplast wove it. Little points of transparent structureless matter were moving in it, were throwing off cell-walls in it and bringing these walls into the shape now of a tendon, now of a muscle, now of a nerve, and so completing the whole marvellous plan of a crawling creature, disgusting in our first sight, a miracle at the second. But now * Published by James R. Osgood & Co. changes? Every few months the flux of the particles of the living tissues carries away all the particles in the entire physical system. How do we retain identity? Matter has a physical and a spiritual side, indeed. While all the matter that composed my body has gone in the flux of growth, I am I, however. I have an ineradicable conviction that I am the same person that I was years ago, and yet, years ago, there was not in my body a particle that is now there. I have an ineradicable conviction that the butterfly is identical with the crawling worm, but the characteristics of your worm are left behind when there appears in the worm a resurrection to a new life. JOSEPH COOK. Which daily from thy childish lips did pour Its music sweet along? Wilt thou not come again? The birds on ground or on the branches green Hop to and fro and glitter in the sun. Now is the time for those who wisdom love, Who love to walk in Virtue's flowery road, Thy bonnet, satchel, books and slate are Along the lovely paths of spring to rove EHOLD! the trees new deck their Their ample leaves the hospitable plane, And follow Nature up to Nature's God. I would have lived could I have done aught The blooming hawthorn variegates the But thou wilt stand within the breach and scene. The lily of the vale, of flowers the queen, try to rescue them; Tell all our loved ones, too, to trust to our undying Friend; Puts on the robe she neither sewed nor It would be dreadful, oh, father, to miss them spun; at the end! No more I'll guard my sisters now-how | Hark! how the surges o'erleap the deck! dear to me they are! But let them trust that Brother's arm "that Ah! daylight will look upon many a wreck sticketh closer" far: nal years to spend; Drifting over the desert waves. Yet courage, brothers: we trust the wave, BAYARD TAYLOR. BUILD ON HIGH GROUND. BESIDES, the sportive brook for ever shakes It would be dreadful, oh, father, to miss her The trembling air; that floats from hill to at the end! MARGARET L. CARSON. STORM SONG. hill, From vale to mountain, with incessant change Of purest element, refreshing still Your airy seat and uninfected gods. HE clouds are scudding across the moon, Chiefly for this I praise the man who builds THE A misty light is on the sea, The wind in the shrouds has a wintry tune, And the foam is flying free. Brothers, a night of terror and gloom Speaks in the cloud and gathering roar; Thank God, he has given us broad sea-room, A thousand miles from shore ! Down with the hatches on those who sleep: The wind and whistling deck have we; Good watch, my brothers, to-night we'll keep, While the tempest is on the sea. Though the rigging shriek in his terrible grip And the naked spars be snapped away, Lashed to the helm, we'll drive our ship In the teeth of the whelming spray. High on the breezy ridge whose lofty sides |