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GEMS OF POETRY.
By Chebar's brook ye pass'd, such radiance wearing
finest wheel on the market."-Philadelphia Nort American.
The Common Impulse.-" Of course," said th importer, perfection is beyond the bounds o human expectation." "To be sure," replied th statesman. "It is unreasonable to look for Wholly tariff that will be absolutely flawless." "And so long as there must b unreasonable." defects"Yes." "I thought that I migh as well do what I could to have them benefit m instead of somebody else."-Washington Star.
gned by over a thousand lawyers, asking hat the judicial nominations to be made his spring be made by party conventions, nd not by party committees or "machines." hey state that they are not opposed to any greement being made by the two parties s to the division of the Judgeships, but what hey desire is that the Judges allotted to ach party shall be nominated in convention, o that the selection of candidates may not be taken away from the people." It is atural that the lawyers should have their iews regarding as important a subject as he selection of the local judiciary, and it is proper that they should express these views. The party managers will no doubt give them lue consideration.
Are ye not near when sorrow, unrepining,
Yields up life's treasures unto Him who gave?
AFTER THE STORM.
MRS. ANNIE HOWE (BISHOP) THOMSON.
A night without of wind and rain,
A night without of darkness and gloom, And a night in my soul because of a tomb.
A lonely tomb on the hillside made,
A lowly grave where a loved one lies,
And a pallor that only comes when life
With folded hands and a quiet breast:-
And close sealed lips that never again,
To faltering feet; nor will I prove
What wonder if anguish fills my breast, That sadden my days and break my rest! What wonder if life and its pleasures seem But a fitful glow, and a fading dream!—
That I long in the same low bed to lie,
Sleeping my last, long, dreamless sleep,
But, the night will go and the morning beam, And the storm die out as fading dream;
And the blue sky smile from its midnight pall, With the beautiful sunshine over all :
So, out of my heart this weary pain,
Will one day go, when the morn shall rise,
And my loved and lost shall walk with me,
With a beaming eye and a radiant brow, Though silent and cold, and moldering now.
Then heart be still, and patient wait!
Will open to you on realms of bliss,
But when Spring comes, up they start;
"Time to do our Summer's work:
Violets, you begin it!"
A CHRISTMAS HYMN.
[The following is one of the most beautiful poems ever written on the subject. The author is supposed to have been Alfred Domett.]
T was the calm and silent night!
Seven hundred years and fifty-three
And now was queen of land and sea!
Peace brooded o'er the hushed domain;
Held undisturbed their ancient reign,
'Twas in the calm and silent night!-
From lordly revel rolling home!
His breast with thoughts of boundless sway;
What recked the Roman what befell
A paltry province far away,
In the solemn midnight