PARADISE.-Milton. So on he fares, and to the border comes Now nearer, crowns with her enclosure green, Cedar, and pine, and fir, and branching palm, Of stateliest view. Yet higher than their tops When God hath shower'd the earth; so lovely seem'd Meets his approach, and to the heart inspires Vernal delight and joy, able to drive All sadness but despair: now gentle gales, Native perfumes, and whisper whence they stole Beyond the Cape of Hope, and now are past Sabean odours from the spicy shore Of Araby the blest; with such delay Well pleased, they slack their course, and many a league, Cheer'd with the grateful smell, old Ocean smiles. THE silence often of pure innocence DYING YET LIVING.-Theodore Tilton. SHE died, yet is not dead! Ye saw a daisy on her tomb : It bloomed to die-she died to bloom; She died, yet is not dead! Ye saw the jewels all unset ; She died, yet is not dead! Ye saw her gazing towards a sky She died, yet is not dead! Through pearly gate, on golden street, CATO'S SOLILOQUY.-Addison. IT must be so-Plato, thou reason'st well,- Or whence this secret dread, and inward horror 'Tis Heaven itself, that points out an hereafter, Eternity! thou pleasing, dreadful thought! Through what new scenes and changes must we pass ! Through all her works), he must delight in virtue, But when, or where ?-This world was made for Cæsar. I'm weary of conjectures-this must end them. The wreck of matter, and the crash of worlds. HYMN OF THE CITY.-Bryant. NOT in the solitude Alone, may man commune with Heaven, or see, And sunny vale, the Present Deity; Or only hear His voice Where the winds whisper and the waves rejoice. E'en here do I behold Thy steps, Almighty!— here, amidst the crowd With everlasting murmur, deep and loud- 'Mongst the proud piles, the work of human kind. Thy golden sunshine comes From the round heaven, and on their dwellings lies, And lights their inner homes! For them thou fill'st with air the unbounded skies, And givest them the stores Of ocean, and the harvest of its shores. Thy spirit is around, Quickening the restless mass that sweeps along; Voices and footfalls of the numberless throng Like the resounding sea, Or like the raving tempest, speaks of thee. And when the hours of rest Come, like a calm upon the mid-sea brine, The quiet of that moment, too, is thine; The vast and helpless city while it sleeps. KING HENRY IV., PART II., ACT III., SCENE I. Shakspeare. Enter King Henry in his night-gown, with a Page. K. Hen. Go, call the earls of Surrey and of Warwick; But, ere they come, bid them o'er-read these letters, And well consider of them: make good speed. [Exit Page. How many thousand of my poorest subjects Why rather, sleep, liest thou in smoky cribs, And hush'd with buzzing night-flies to thy slumber, And lull'd with sounds of sweetest melody? Who take the ruffian billows by the top, Curling their monstrous heads, and hanging them Deny it to a king? Then, happy low, lie down! Enter Warwick and Surrey. War. Many good morrows to your majesty ! War. 'Tis one o'clock, and past. K. Hen. Why, then, good morrow to you all, my lords. Have you read o'er the letters that I sent you? War. We have, my liege. K. Hen. Then you perceive, the body of our kingdom, How foul it is; what rank diseases grow, And with what danger, near the heart of it. War. It is but as a body yet distemper'd; Which to its former strength may be restor❜à With good advice and little medicine : My lord Northumberland will soon be cool'd. K. Hen. O Heaven! that one might read the book of fate, And see the revolution of the times Make mountains level, and the continent (Weary of solid firmness) melt itself Into the sea! and, other times, to see The beachy girdle of the ocean Too wide for Neptune's hips; how chances mock, With divers liquors! O, if this were seen, The happiest youth, viewing his progress through 'Tis not ten years gone Since Richard and Northumberland, great friends, Yea, for my sake, even to the eyes of Richard (You, cousin Nevil, as I may remember), [To Warwick. When Richard, with his eye brimful of tears, K |