An humble friend to all around,
Where'er my footsteps stray;

Like that pure stream, with tranquil breast,
Like it, still blessing, and still blest.

M. A. Stodart.

THE DAISY.

WHAT hand but His who arched the skies,
And pours the day-spring's living flood,2
Wondrous alike in all He tries,

Could raise the daisy's purple bud,
Mould its green cup, its wiry stem,
Its fringed border nicely spin,
And cut the gold-embossed gein,

That, set in silver, gleams within,
And fling it, unrestrained and free
O'er hill and dale, and desert sod:
That man,
where'er he walks, may see
At every step the stamp of God?

Mason Good.

PRINCIPLE PUT TO THE TEST.

A YOUNGSTER at school, more sedate than the rest,
Had once his integrity put to the test :-

His comrades had plotted an orchard to rob,
And asked him to go and assist in the job.

He was very much shocked, and answered, "Oh no!
What, rob our poor neighbour! I pray you don't go ;

Day-spring-rise of day-dawn. 2 Living flood-of light.

Besides the man's poor, his orchard's his bread;
Then think of his children, for they must be fed."

"You speak very fine, and you look very grave,
But apples we want, and apples we'll have;
If you will go with us, we'll give you a share,
If not, you shall have neither apple nor pear."

They spoke, and Tom pondered, "I see they will go;

Poor man! what a pity to injure him so;

Poor man! I would save him his fruit if I could,
But staying behind will do him no good.

"If this matter depended alone upon me,

His apples might hang till they dropped from the

tree;

But since they will take them, I think I'll go too;
He will lose none by me, though I get a few."

His scruples thus silenced, Tom felt more at ease,
And went with his comrades the apples to seize;
He blamed and protested, but joined in the plan;
He shared in the plunder, but pitied the man.

Conscience slumbered awhile, but soon woke in his breast,

And in language severe the delinquent addressed: "With such empty and selfish pretences away! By your actions you're judged, be your speech what it may."

1

The last verse is added by another hand.

Cowper.

THE GLADNESS OF NATURE.

Is this a time to be cloudy and sad,

When all is smiling above and around; When even the deep blue heavens look glad,

And gladness breathes from the blossoming ground?

There are notes of joy from the blackbird and wren,
And the gossip of swallows through all the sky;
The ground-squirrel gaily chirps by his den,
And the wilding bee hums merrily by.

The clouds are at play in the azure space,
And their shadows sport in the deep green vale ;
And here they stretch to the frolic chace,
And there they roll in the easy gale.

There's a dance of leaves in that aspen bower,

There's a titter of winds in that beechen tree,

There's a smile on the fruit, and a smile on the flower,

And a laugh from the brook that runs to the sea. And look at the broad-faced sun, how he smiles On the dewy earth that smiles in his ray, On the leaping waters and gay young isles,— Ay, look, and he'll smile all thy gloom away. W. C. Bryant

EVENING HYMN.

GOD, that madest earth and heaven,

Darkness and light!

Who the day for toil hast given,

For rest the night;

May Thine angel guards defend us,
Slumber sweet Thy mercy send us,
Holy dreams and hopes attend us,
This livelong night!

Heber.

THE FIRST SWALLOW.

THE gorse is yellow on the heath;

The banks with speed-well flowers are gay;
The oaks are budding, and beneath,
The hawthorn soon will bear the wreath,
The silver wreath of May.

The welcome guest of settled spring,
The swallow, too, is come at last;
Just at sun-set, when thrushes sing,
I saw her dash with rapid wing,
And hailed her as she past.

Come, summer visitant, attach
Το my reed roof your nest of clay,
And let my ear your music catch,
Low twittering underneath the thatch,

At the grey dawn of day.

Charlotte Smith.

THE FAKENHAM GHOST.

THE lawns were dry in Euston park:
(Here truth inspires my tale,)
The lonely footpath, still and dark,
Led over hill and dale.

This ballad is founded on fact.

Benighted was an ancient dame,
And fearful haste she made
To gain the vale of Fakenham,1
And hail its willow shade.

Her footsteps knew no idle stops,
But followed faster still;
And echoed to the darksome copse

That whispered on the hill,

Where clamorous rooks, yet scarcely hushed,
Bespoke a peopled shade;

And many a wing the foliage brushed,
And hovering circuits made.

The dappled 2 herd of grazing deer,
That sought the shades by day,
Now started from their paths with fear,
And gave the stranger way.

Darker it grew, and darker fears

Came o'er her troubled mind;

When now, a short, quick step she hears,
Come patting close behind.

She turned, it stopped; nought could she see
Upon the gloomy plain;

But as she strove the sprite to flee,

She heard the same again.

Now terror seized her quaking frame,
For, where the path was bare,
The trotting ghost kept on the same—
She muttered many a prayer.

1 Fakenham-a village in Suffolk.
2 Dappled--variegated-spotted.