room. The golden ripple on the wall came back again, and nothing else stirred in the The old, old fashion! The fashion that came in with our first garments, and will last unchanged until our race has run its course, and the wide firmament is rolled up like a scroll. The old, old fashion-Death! Oh thank God, all who see it, for that older fashion yet, of Immortality! And look upon us, angels of young children, with regards not quite estranged, when the swift river bears us to the ocean! Dickens. ON VIEWING THE DEAD BODY OF A BOY. `HERE is a smile upon that cheek— TH Those lips would seem almost to speak, Calm is that look, that brow is fair, The flaxen ringlet wantons there! And well those features sweet we trace, Which hover on that angel face; Carrington. TO THE RIVER CHARLES. R IVER! that in silence windest Through the meadows, bright and free, Till at length thy rest thou findest In the bosom of the sea! Four long years of mingled feeling, Thou hast taught me, silent River! Oft in sadness and in illness, I have watched thy current glide, Till the beauty of its stillness Overflowed me, like a tide. And in better hours and brighter, I have felt my heart beat lighter, Not for this alone I love thee, Nor because thy waves of blue From celestial seas above thee Take their own celestial hue. |