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to continue. God is in his universe and guides the nations in their way.
9. We will hold to our goodly trust; and, in the strength of that earnest trust, we will firmly believe that he has rich blessings yet in store for Ireland. Where often we can see nothing but evil, our gracious Father is preparing good; and we so believe it now, for sad, afflicted, mourning Ireland. O land of my heart, of my fathers, and my birth! I will ever keep it in my thoughts that God is looking down upon you with pity and with grace, and that he will call you up more brightly from your calamity. The times, indeed, seem bad; but suffering will leave its blessings.
10. Plenty will come again'; and humility', and gratitude', and mercy', and penitent and softened hearts', will come along with it'. Peace will be established'; confidence will come with peace'; capital will follow confidence'; employment will increase with capital'; education will be desired'; knowledge will be diffused', and virtue will grow with knowledge'. Yet, even if these things should not soon be,-if all that is now anticipated should long be “hope deferred,” and many a heart should sicken in waiting for relief,—yet I will not despond: I will not despond for Ireland; I will not despond for humanity; I will entertain no doubt in the Agency which guides the world, and no mistrust in the destiny whereunto the world moves.
BY THOMAS HOOD. THOMAS Hood, a distinguished poet and essayist, was born in London in 1798, and died in 1845.
1. With fingers weary and worn',
With eyelids heavy and red',
Stitch! stitch! stitch !
And still, with a voice of dolorous pitch,
And work! work! work!
6. « Work! work! work!
My labor never flags;
A crust of bread', and rags';
A table', a broken chair, And a wall so blank', my shadow I thank . . For sometimes falling there'?
7. “Work! work! work!
Work! work! work!
Band, and gusset, and seam,
Seam, and gusset, and band,
As well as the weary hand..
3. “Work! work! work!
And work! work! work !
The brooding swallows cling,
And twit me with the spring.
9. “Oh! but to breathe the breath
Of the cowslip and primrose sweet,
And the grass beneath my feet!
To feel as I used to feel,
And the walk that costs a meal!
10 “Oh! but for one short hour!
A respite, however brief!
But only time for grief!
But in their briny bed
Hinders needle and thread !”
11. With fingers weary and worn,
With eyelids heavy and red,
Stitch! stitch ! stitch!
She sung this “Sono f the Shirt.”
THE VULTURE AND THE CAPTIVE INFANT.
ANONYMOUS. 1. I've been among the mighty Alps, and wander'd through
their vales, And heard the honest mountaineers relate their dismal tales, As round the cotter's blazing hearth, when their daily work was
o’er, They spake of those who disappear’d, and ne'er were heard of
2. And there I, from a shepherd, heard a narrative of fear,
3. “It is among these barren cliffs the ravenous vulture dwells,
4. “ One cloudless Sabbath summer morn,, the sun was rising
high, When from my children on the green I heard a fearful cry; As if some awful deed were done,-a shriek of grief and pain, A cry I humbly trust in God I ne'er may hear again. 5. “I hurried out to learn the cause, but, overwhelm'd with
fright, The children never ceased to shriek; and from my frenzied
sight I miss'd the youngest of my babes, the darling of my care : But something caught my searching eyes, slow sailing through
- 6. “Oh, what an awful spectacle to meet a father's eye!
His infant made a vulture's prey, with terror to descry,
7. “My infant stretch'd his little hands imploringly to me, And struggled with the ravenous bird, all vainly, to get free! At intervals I heard his cries, as loud he shriek'd and scream'd! Until upon the azure sky a lessening spot he seem’d. 8. “The vulture flapp'd his sail-like wings, though heavily he
flew; A move upon the sun's bright face he seem'd unto my view. But once I thougkt I saw him stoop, as if he would alight: 'Twas only a delusive thought, for all had vanish'd quite. 9. “All search was vain, and years had pass'd:-that child was
ne'er forgot; When once a daring hunter climb'd unto a lofty spot; From thence, upon a rugged crag the chamois never reach'd, He saw an infant's fleshless bones, the elements had bleach'd ! 10. “I clamber'd up that rugged cliff; I could not stay away ; I knew they were my infant's bones thus hastening to decay. A tatter'd garment yet remain'd, though torn to many a shred, The crimson cap he wore that morn was still upon his head.” 11. That dreary spot is pointed out to travelers passing by, Who often stand, and, musing, gaze, nor go without a sigh; And, as I journey'd the next morn along my sunny way, The precipice was shown to me whereon the infant lay.
MANNERS IN NEW YORK IN EARLY TIMES.
BY WASHINGTON IRVING. 1. The houses of the higher class were generally constructed of wood, excepting the gable end, which was of small-black-and yellow Dutch bricks, and always faced on the street; as our ancestors, like their descendants, were very much given to outward show, and were noted for putting the best foot foremost. The house was always furnished with abundance of large doors and small windows on every floor; the date of its erection was curiously designated by iron figures on the front and on the top of the roof was perched a fierce little weat! Keks, to let the family into the important secret which way therco . 2. These pointed so many differ.
os that every man could have a wind to his mind; and you
have thought old Æolus
o wind blew
A VE ways the