Fairest and most lonely,

From the world apart,
Made for beauty only,

Veiled from Nature's heart,

With such unconscious grace as makes the dream of Art!

Were not mortal sorrow

An immortal shade,

Then would I to-morrow

Such a flower be made,

And live in the dear woods where my lost childhood played.

IT IS MORE BLESSED.

Give as the morning that flows out of heaven;
Give as the waves when their channel is riven;
Give as the free air and sunshine are given;
Lavishly, utterly, carelessly give.

Not the waste drops of thy cup overflowing,
Not the faint sparks of thy hearth ever glowing,
Not a pale bud from the June rose's blowing;
Give as He gave thee, who gave thee to live.

Pour out thy love like the rush of a river
Wasting its waters, for ever and ever,

Through the burnt sands that reward not the giver;
Silent or songful, thou nearest the sea.

Scatter thy life as the Summer shower's pouring!
What if no bird through the pearl-rain is soaring?
What if no blossom looks upward adoring?

Look to the life that was lavished for thee!

Give, though thy heart may be wasted and weary,
Laid on an altar all ashen and dreary;
Though from its pulses a faint miserere

Beats to thy soul the sad presage of fate,
Bind it with cord of unshrinking devotion;
Smile at the song of its restless emotion;
'Tis the stern hymn of eternity's ocean;

Hear! and in silence thy future await.

So the wild wind strews its perfumed caresses,
Evil and thankless the desert it blesses,
Bitter the wave that its soft pinions presses,
Never it ceaseth to whisper and sing.

What if the hard heart give thorns for thy roses?
What if on rocks thy tired bosom reposes?
Sweetest is music with minor-keyed closes,
Fairest the vines that on ruin will cling.

Almost the day of thy giving is over;

Ere from the grass dies the bee-haunted clover,
Thou wilt have vanished from friend and from lover,
What shall thy longing avail in the grave?

Give as the heart gives whose fetters are breaking,
Life, love, and hope, all thy dreams and thy waking,
Soon, heaven's river thy soul fever slaking,
Thou shalt know God and the gift that He gave.

INDOLENCE.

Indolent indolent !-Yes I am indolent!
So is the grass growing tenderly, slowly;
So is the violet fragrant and lowly,
Drinking in quietness, peace, and content;
So is the bird on the light branches swinging,
Idly his carol of gratitude singing,
Only on living and loving intent.

Indolent! indolent !—Yes I am indolent!

So is the cloud overhanging the mountain; So is the tremulous wave of a fountain, Uttering softly its silvery psalm :

Nerve and sensation in quiet reposing,
Silent as blossoms the night-dew is closing,
But the full heart beating strongly and calm.

Indolent! indolent !-Yes I am indolent,
If it be idle to gather my pleasure
Out of creation's uncoveted treasure:
Midnight and morning, by forest and sea;
Wild with the tempest's sublime exultation,
Lonely in Autumn's forlorn lamentation,
Hopeful and happy with Spring and the bee.

Indolent! indolent! Are ye not indolent?
Thralls of the earth, and its usages weary;
Toiling like gnomes where the darkness is dreary;
Toiling and sinning to heap up your gold!
Stifling the heavenward breath of devotion;
Crushing the freshness of every emotion;
Hearts like the dead which are pulseless and cold!

Indolent! indolent! Art thou not indolent?
Thou who art living unloving and lonely,
Wrapped in a pall which will cover thee only;
Shrouded in selfishness, piteous ghost!-

Sad eyes behold thee, and angels are weeping
O'er thy forsaken and desolate sleeping!
Art thou not indolent?-Art thou not lost?

COOPER, JAMES FENIMORE, an American novelist, born at Burlington, N. J., September 15, 1789; died at Cooperstown, N. Y., September 14, 1851. At the age of thirteen he was admitted to Yale College, and on quitting college entered the navy. In 1811 he resigned his commission, married, and settled at Westchester, N. Y. His first novel, Precaution, was a failure. The Spy, published in 1821, showed his real power, and met with great success. It was followed, in rapid succession, by The Pioneers, the first of the LeatherStocking series (1823); The Pilot (1823); Lionel Lincoln (1825); The Last of the Mohicans (1826); The Prairie (1826); The Red Rover (1827); The Wept of Wish-ton-Wish (1827); The Water-witch (1830); The Bravo (1831); Heidenmauer (1832); The Headsman of Berne (1833); The Monikins (1835); Homeward Bound and Home as Found (1838); The Pathfinder, Mercedes of Castile, and The Deerslayer (1841); The Two Admirals and Wing and Wing (1842); Wyandotte, The Autobiography of a Pocket-Handkerchief, and Ned Meyers (1843); Afloat and Ashore and Miles Wallingford (1844); The Chainbcarer and Satanstoe (1845); The Redskins (1846); The Crater, or Vulcan's Peak (1847); Oak Openings and Jack Tier (1848); The Sea Lions (1849); The Ways of the Hour (1850). Besides his novels Cooper wrote A Naval History of the United States (1839); The Lives of