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The glass like diamonds in the sun,

Came when thou bid'st one hopeless rise And turn his gaze to glory's realm;

And yon bright room, so sweet within, Grew like Aladdin's when life's helm

Thou seized, and steered from shoals of sin. "Abijah Dunn! dost thou recall

A smile that dried a poor child's tears? That smile, a picture on the wall,

Will sing of sunshine through long years. Rememberest thou a fallen one,

Long since returned to kindly dust, With whom thou shared, Abijah Dunn,

When others sneered, thine only crust ? “From tears of thankfulness she shed

Grew trees whose fruits like pearls catch light, And, o'er the walks that thou wilt tread,

Dispel forever aught like night,
And throw their gleam to towers that grew

When aspiration with thee dwelt,
And windows catching heaven's blue

When eyes looked whence the suppliant knelt, “Abijah Dunn! thy home is here,

Not made with hands, but builded, lo! Above earth's labors, year by year,

As thou didst toward fulfilment grow.” Ah! blest at last whose lives be true!

And sad those lost in earthly rust! Those“ builded better than they knew,"

And these find but decay and dust.


What's the best thing in the world ?
June-rose, by May-dew impearled;
Sweet south-wind, that means no rain;
Truth, not cruel to a friend;
Pleasure, not in haste to end;
Beauty, not self-decked and curled
Till its pride is over-plain;
Light, that never makes you wink;
Memory, that gives no pain.;
Love, when, so, you're loved again.
What's the best thing in the world?
--Something out of it, I think.

A CURIOUS LIFE POEM. Mrs. H. A. Deming, of San Francisco, is said to have occupied a year in hunting up and fitting together the following thirty-eight lines from thirty-eight English poets. The names of the authors are given below: 1-Why all this toil for triumphs of an hour? 2--Life's a short summer, man a flower; 3-By turns we catch the vital breath, and die4-The cradle and the tomb, alas! so nigh. 5–To be is better far than not to be, 6—'Though all man's life may seemn a tragedy; 7--But light cares speak when mighty griefs are dumb, 8-The bottom is but shallow whence they come. 9-Your fate is but the common fate of all; 10-Uumingled joys, here, to no man befall. 11–Nature to each allots his proper sphere, 12–Fortune makes folly her peculiar care; 13-Custom does often reason overrule, 14–And throw a cruel sunshine on a fool. 15—Live well, how long or short, permit to heaven, 16--They who forgive most shall be most forgiven. 17--Sin may be clasped so close we cannot see its face18--Vile intercourse where virtue has not place; 19--Then keep each passion down, however dear; 20--Thou pendulum betwixt a smile and tear; 21--Her sensual snares, let faithless pleasure lay 22—With craft and skill, to ruin and betray; 23-Soar not too high to fall, but stoop to rise. 24-We masters grow of all that we despise. 25--0, then, renounce that impious self-esteem; 26-Riches have wings, and grandeur is a dream. 27--Think not ambition wise because 'tis brave, 28--The paths of glory lead but to the grave. 29--What is ambition? 'tis a glorious cheat, 30-Only destructive to the brave and great, 31--What's all the gandy glitter of a crown? 32—The way to bliss lies not on beds of down. 33-How long we live, not years, but actions, tell; 34—That man lives twice who lives the first life well. 35— Make, ther, while yet ye may, your God your friend, 36—Whom Christians worship, yet not comprehend. 37—The trust that's given, guard, and to yourself be just; 38–For, live we how we can, yet die we must.

1, Young; 2, Dr. Johnson; 3, Pope; 4, Prior; 5, Sewell; 6, Spenser; 7, Daniel: 8, Sir Walter Raleigh ; 9, Longfellow; 10, Southwell; 11. Congrere; 12, Church. Iull; 1:3, Rochrater; 14, Armstrong: 15, Milton; 16, Baily; 17, Trench ; 18, Somprville; 19. Thomson ; 20, Byron; 21, Smollet; 22, Crabbe; 23, Massinger: 24, Cowley: 25. Battip: 26, Cowper: 27, Sir Walter Davenant; 28, Grer; 29, Willis ; 31), Allison; 31, Dryden; 32, Francis Quarles; 33, Watkins; 34, Herrick; 35, Wilian Mason; 36, Hill; 37, Dana; 38, Shakspeare.


A few years since, when the subject of temperance was being freely discussed, the citizens of a little town in the western part of Massachusetts called a meeting to talk over the matter. There had never been a temperance society in the place, but after some little discussion it was voted to form one. They drew up a pledge of total abstinence, and agreed if any member of the society broke it, he should be turned out.

Before the pledge was accepted, Deacon D. arose and said he had one objection to it; he thought that Thanksgiving day ought to be free for the members to take something, as he could relish his dinner much better at this festival if he took a glass of wine.

Mr. S. thought that the pledge was not perfect. He didn't care anything about Thanksgiving, but his family always made a great account of Christmas, and he couldn't think of sitting down to dinner then without something to drink. He was willing to give it up on all other days, and, in fact, that was the only time when he cared anything about it.

Mr. B. next arose and said he agreed with the other speakers, except in the time. He didn't think much of Thanksgiving or Christmas, though he liked a little any time. There was one day, however, when he must have it, and that was the Fourth of July. He always calculated upon having a “reg'lar drunk" on that day, and he wouldn't sign the pledge if it prevented him celebrating Independence.

Squire L., an old farmer, followed Mr. B. He was not in the habit of taking anything often, but he must have some when he washed his sheep. He would sign the pledge if it gave him the privilege of imbibing when he washed his sheep. Why, he considered it dangerous for him to keep his hands in cold water without something to keep him warm inside.

After some consideration, it was concluded that each member of the society should take his own occasion to drink -Deacon D. on Thanksgiving, Mr. S. on Christmas, etc. The pledge was signed by a large number, and the society adjourned in a flourishing condition, after voting that it should be the duty of the members to watch each other, to see that they did not break the pledge.

The next morning Deacon D. walked into his next neighbor's yard--who, by the way, was Mr. L., the sheep manwondering, as it was a bitter cold morning, whether L. was up yet. He met his neighbor coming out of the house, and, to his surprise, gloriously drunk; or, to use a modern phrase, “burning a very beautiful kiln."

“Why, L.!" exclaimed the astonished deacon, what does this mean, sir? You have broken your pledge, and disgraced our society and the temperance cause."

"Not-hic-as you knows on, deacon,” says L. “I haven't bro-hic-broke the pledge, deacon.”

“Certainly you have, sir, and I shall report you to the society. You agreed not to drink except when you washed sheep. You cannot make me believe you are going to wash sheep on such a cold day as this."

“F-follow-hic-me, deacon.”

L. started for the barn, and the deacon followed. On entering the door the deacon saw a large wash-tub standing on the floor, with an old ram tied to it, the poor animal shaking dreadfully with the cold, and bleating pitifully.

“There-hic-d-d-deacon," said L., pointing to the sheep with an air of triumph,“that old-hic-ram has been washed six times this,hic--morning.”


They sat and combed their beautiful hair,

Their long, bright tresses, one by one,
As they laughed and talked in the chamber there,

After the revel was done,
Idly they talked of waltz and quadrille,

Hly they laughed, like other girls,
Who over the fire, when all is still,

Comb out their braids and curls.
Robe of satin and Brussels lace,

Knots of flowers and ribbons, too,
Scaitered abont in every place,

For the revel is through.

And Maud and Madge in robes of white,

The prettiest night-gowns under the sun, Stockingless, slipperless, sit in the night,

For ihe revel is done,-Sit and comb their beautiful hair,

Those wonderful waves of brown and gold, Till the fire is out in the chamber there,

And the little bare feet are cold. Then out of the gathering winter chill,

All out of the bitter St. Agnes weather, While the fire is out and the house is still,

Maud and Madge together,Maud and Madge in robes of white,

The prettiest night-gowns under the sun, Curtained away from the chilly night,

After the revel is done,Float along in a splendid dream,

To a golden gittern's tinkling tune, While a thousand lustres shimmering stream,

In a palace's grand saloon. Flashing of jewels, and flutter of laces,

Tropical odors sweeter than musk, Men and women with beautiful faces

And eyes of tropical dusk,And one face shining out like a star,

One face haunting the dreams of each, And ore voice, sweeter than others are,

Breaking into silvery speech, Telling, through lips of bearded bloom,

An old, old story over again,
As down the royal bannered room,

To the golden gittern's strain,
Two and two, they dreamily walk,

While an unseen spirit walks beside, And, all unheard in the lovers' talk,

He claimeth one for a bride. Oh, Maud and Madge, dream on together,

With never a pang of jealous fear! For, ere the bitter St. Agnes weather

Shall whiten another year, Robed for the bridal, and robed for the tomb,

Braided brown hair, and golden tress, There'll be only one of you left for the bloom

of the bearded lips to press,

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