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818 Miners’ Rules in the Seventeenth Cen-
Hippopotami Fighting in the Zoölogical
ARNOLD'S “Literature and Dogma," 39| Irish Representation and the Disruption
MULLER's Lectures on Darwin's Philoso-
3 phy of Language,
704 Miners Rules in the Seventeenth Cen:
3 Mill, John Stuart, Death of
443 Marie-Amélie de Bourbon, Queen of the
683 Maintenon, Madame, and the Last Years
764 Old Catholic Bishop, The German 764
178 PRESCOTTS of Pamphillon, The 23, 231, 355,
398, 497, 555
81, 154, 270, 599, 812
637 Persia — Baron Reuter's Bargain, 185
164, 213, 290, 428, 475, 530, 662, The Prescotts of Pamphillon, 23, 231, 355, 398,
81, 154, 270, 599, 812
50, 106, 338
No. 1517. - July 5, 1873.
CONTENTS. 1. DARWIN ON EXPRESSION,
Quarterly Review, II. THE PRESCOTTS OF PAMPHILLON. By the
author of “Dorothy Fox.” Part VI., Good Words, III. AMATEUR THEOLOGY : ARNOLD'S LITERATURE AND DOGMA,
mann-Chatrian, authors of “The Conscript,”
St. James Magazine,
POETRY IF I SHOULD DIE TO-NIGHT,
2 THE HOLY. COMMUNION, By Geo. CHILDREN'S EVENING HYMN,
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IF I SHOULD DIE TO-NIGHT.
Then of this also I am sure If I should die to-night,
That Thou didst all these pains endure
To abolish Sinn not Wheat.
Creatures are good, and have their place And deem that death had left it almost fair;
Sinn onely, wch did all deface
Thou drivest from his seat. And, laying snow-white flowers against my
hair, Would smooth it down with tearful tenderness, At the rate of an Incarnation
I could beleeve an Impanation And fold my hands with lingering caress.
If Thou hadst dyde for Bread. Poor hands, so empty and so cold to-night!
But that wch made my soule to dye
My flesh, and fleshy villany If I should die to-night,
That allso made Thee dead. My friends would call to mind, with loving thought,
That fflesh is there, mine eyes deny: Some kindly deed the icy hand had wrought; And what shold flesh but flesh discry, Some gentle word the frozen lips had said;
The noblest sence of five? Errands on which the willing feet had sped : If glorious bodies pass the sight The memory of my selfishness and pride, Shall they be food and strength, and might, My hasty words, would all be put aside.
Euen there, where they deceiue ? And so I should be loved and mourned to-night.
Into my soule this cannot pass If I should die to-night,
Fflesh (though exalted) keeps his grass Even hearts estranged would turn once more
And cannot turn to soule. to me,
Bodyes and Minds are different spheres Recalling other days remorsefully.
Nor can they change their bounds and meres The eyes that chill me with averted glance
But keep a constant Pole.
This gift of all gifts is the best, For who could war with dumb, unconscious Thy flesh the least yt I request : clay?
Thou took'st that pledg from mee :
Give me not that I had before, So I might rest, forgiven of all, to-night.
Or give me that, so I have more, Oh, friends, I pray to-night,
My God, give mee all Thee.
GEO. HERBERT. Keep not your kisses for my dead, cold brow. The way is lonely, let me feel them now. Think gently of me; I am travel-worn : My faltering feet are pierced with many a thorn. Forgive, oh, hearts estranged, forgive, I plead! CHILDREN'S EVENING HYMN. When dreamless rest is mine I shall not need
The little birds now seek their rest; The tenderness for which I long to-night.
The baby sleeps on mother's breast; Christian Union.
Thou givest all Thy children rest,
God of the weary. The sailor prayeth on the sea;
The little ones at mother's knee;
Now comes the penitent to Thee,
God of the weary. O GRATIOUS Lord, how shall I know
The orphan puts away his fears; Whether in these gifts Thou bee so
The troubled hopes for happier years; As thou art every-where;
Thou driest all the mourner's tears, Or rather so, as Thou alone
God of the weary. Tak’st all ye Lodging, leaving none Ffor Thy poore creature there.
Thou sendest rest to tired feet,
To little toilers slumbers sweet, Ffirst I am sure, whether bread stay
To aching hearts repose complete, Or whether Bread doe fly away
God of the weary. Concerneth Bread not mee. But yt both Thou, and all Thy traine
In grief, perplexity, or pain,
None ever come to Thee in vain;
Thou makest life a joy again,
God of the weary. And if in comming to Thy foes Thou dost conse first to them, yt showes
We sleep that we may wake renewed, The hast of Thy good will.
To serve Thee as Thy children should, Or if that Thou two stations makest,
With love, and zeal, and gratitude, In Bread and mee, the way Thou takest
God of the weary. Is more, but for mee still.