And sitting down by the green well, I'll pause and sadly

""Twas here he bowed his glossy neck when last I saw him

drink."

When last I saw thee drink!

o'er !

Away! the fevered dream is

I could not live a day, and know that we should meet no

more;

They tempted me, my beautiful! for hunger's power is

strong

They tempted me, my beautiful! but I have loved too long.

Who said that I had given thee up? Who said that thou wert sold?

'Tis false! 'tis false, my Arab steed! I fling them back their gold!

Thus

thus I leap upon thy back, and scour the distant plains!

Away! who overtakes us now shall claim thee for his pains.

LXXVIII.-THE OLD COTTAGE CLOCK.

CHARLES SWAIN.

O, THE old, old clock, of the household stock,
Was the brightest thing and neatest;
The hands, though old, had a touch of gold,
And its chime rang still the sweetest.

'Twas a monitor, too, though its words were few;
Yet they lived, though nations altered;
And its voice, still strong, warned old and young,
When the voice of friendship faltered.

“Tick, tick,” it said —“quick, quick, to bed;

For ten I've given warning;
Up, up, and go, or else, you know,
You'll never rise soon in the morning."

A friendly voice was that old, old clock,
As it stood in the corner smiling,
And blessed the time with a merry chime,
The wintry hours beguiling;

But a cross old voice was that tiresome clock
As it called at daybreak boldly,

When the dawn looked gray o'er the misty way,

And the early air blew coldly :

"Tick, tick," it said

quick, out of bed;

For five I've given warning;

You'll never have health, you'll never get wealth,
Unless you're up soon in the morning."

LXXIX.- WILLIAM TELL TO HIS NATIVE MOUNTAINS.

J. S. KNOWLES.

YE crags and peaks, I'm with you once again!

I hold to you the hands you first beheld,

To show they still are free. Methinks I hear
A spirit in your echoes answer me,

And bid your tenant welcome to his home

Again! O sacred forms, how proud you look!
How high you lift your heads into the sky!
How huge you are, how mighty, and how free!

Ye are the things that tower, that shine; whose smile

Makes glad whose frown is terrible; whose forms,
Robed or unrobed, do all the impress wear

Of awe divine. Ye guards of liberty,

I'm with you once again!

-I call to you

With all my voice! I hold my hands to you

To show they still are free. I rush to you
As though I could embrace you!

Heavens! with what pride I used To walk these hills, and look up to my God, And think the land was free! Yes, it was freeFrom end to end, from cliff to lake, 'twas free Free as our torrents are that leap our rocks, And plough our valleys without asking leave; Or as our peaks, that wear their caps of snow In very presence of the regal sun.

How happy was I then! I loved

Its very storms. Yes, I have often sat

In
my boat at night, when midway o'er the lake
The stars went out, and down the mountain gorge
The wind came roaring. I have sat and eyed
The thunder breaking from his cloud, and smiled
To see him shake his lightnings o'er my head,
And think I had no master save his own.
On the wild jutting cliff, o'ertaken oft
By the mountain blast, I've laid me flat along;
And while gust followed gust more furiously,
As if to sweep me o'er the horrid brink,

Then I have thought of other lands, whose storms
Are summer flaws to those of mine, and just

Have wished me there;

the thought that mine was free Has checked that wish, and I have raised my head, And cried in thraldom to that furious wind, "Blow on! This is the land of liberty!"

LXXX.-GOOD AND BAD TEMPER.

GOOD temper is not exactly a virtue, and bad temper is not exactly a vice; but the happiness or unhappiness of life depends so much upon them that we should aim at one as if

it were a virtue, and avoid the other as if it were a vice. A good-tempered man brings with him an atmosphere of sunshine; but a bad-tempered man breathes round him an influence like that of a day of clouds and rain. To live in the same house with an ill-tempered person is like living in the same room with a loaded gun: in both cases we are in constant danger of an explosion.

There are many kinds of bad temper in the world. There is the hot and hasty temper, which flames up into a blaze on any sudden provocation, vents itself in angry expressions, and is known by the inflamed cheek and the kindling eye; but after a while the storm blows over, and all is calm again. Many men of this stamp will, when their passion has cooled, express the greatest sorrow for what they have said and done in their angry mood, and endeavor, by kindness and caresses, to recover the affection of those whose feelings they have wounded.

Then there is the sullen temper, which broods over an offence whether real or imaginary, cherishes unkind and revengeful thoughts, and obstinately refuses to forgive an injury or make up a quarrel. This is a hateful form of ill temper; and a man who is cursed with it is to be pitied as well as avoided. His heart may be compared to some dark cavern or den, where the blessed light of day never comes, and which is haunted by bats, and toads, and serpents.

Then there is the suspicious temper, which is, indeed, one form of the sullen temper; which all the time keeps an uneasy watch over the conduct of others, and takes offence where none is meant. A man of this temper sees things through a false medium, which discolors and distorts all objects. A friend, absorbed in thought, passes him in the street without bowing to him; but he believes it to have been done on purpose, and broods over the fancied slight day after day. His friend, innnocent and unsuspecting, does not know what to make of his altered manner and short replies. It is a safe rule to suppose that others act from good motives, and when

an act is capable of being explained in two ways, to take the kind and generous view. A suspicious man is always making himself unhappy without cause.

Then there is the peevish temper, which expresses itself by scolding, fretting, and complaining; incessant as the dropping from the eaves in a wet day, and so wearisome that we should be thankful for a violent explosion of passion, which might act like a clearing-up shower, and bring a calm afterwards. Sad is the lot of those who are obliged to live in the same house with a peevish and fretful man or woman; for in such a house there is no peace and no joy, but a constant succession of trials, each one of which is little in itself, but all added together make a great sum of discomfort.

Some persons are born with better tempers than others, just as some are born with stronger bodies and higher mental powers than others. Some, too, have their tempers injured by sickness, by loss of property, by troubles and disappointment. But every one can do much to correct a bad temper by care, and watchfulness, and self-discipline. General Washington was naturally passionate; but he subdued his passion so completely that he seemed one of the calmest and mildest of men. Mr. Jefferson once wrote down some rules of conduct, one of which was this: "When angry, count ten before you speak; if very angry, a hundred." This is a good piece of advice to a passionate person.

Unless we learn to control our tempers, we can hardly help making ourselves and others constantly unhappy by our fretfulness and fits of anger; for many things happen in this world which are vexatious and annoying. We are often obliged to give up what we want, and to do what we do not like to do. This is the common lot; and it is in this way that God educates us for a better life hereafter. Many things, for instance, happen in the most prosperous and best-ordered family, which have a tendency to try the temper. The baby will sometimes cry; the fire sometimes smokes; the dinner is not always ready at the exact moment; the rain leaks through