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THE POET'S DEATH-SONG.

BY MARIE J. EWEN.

Oh, God! the years are weary, and my spirit would be free;

I would lie down on Thy fair, green earth-I would be at rest with
Thee.

My body to the cold, dark grave, my soul to God above,
The fountain of the beautiful, the Infinite of love.

And I would see the flashing of the paradisal streams,

And view in full distinctness all the splendours of my dreams;
I would eat of the leaves of that most fair and blessed tree,
That "healeth all the nations," and so healing even me.

I would hear the rich, clear tones of those harmonies sublime,
Whose echoes used to strike my ear like some far distant chime ;-
And used to shake my very soul, and agitate my breast,
With strange, vague aspirations, for the triumph and the rest.

Ah, how I longed to re-produce those phantoms of a strain,-
My heart was faint, my hand was weak, they would not come again;
So, leaning o'er my silent harp, I looked to heaven once more,
Imploring high achieving strength, when the conflict should be o'er.
For I cannot choose but think, that my spirit when 'tis free,
Shall be poured out in a mighty tide of gushing harmony;
When the trial shall be done, and the sacred peace come down,
And the life of suff'ring shall be changed for the glory and the

crown.

For not the less that in my soul is solemn rapture now,

Was sorrow ofttimes at my heart, and paleness on my brow;

For though removed from common men in joys, and doubts, and fears, Yet I was ever one with them in the fellowship of tears.

So I go in gladness; I leave an echo and a name;

Not weeping that mine hour is come in the fulness of my fame;
And if I still have one regret beneath my setting sun,

It is that I so much have dreamed, and yet so little done.

And yet though thus I truly deem, around my brow are set
The praises of the earth, disposed like regal coronet.
Ah! had I lived to riper years, I might perchance have won
Yet worthier praise, yet nobler crown-I have so little done.

Well, it is well but even so;-I will no more repine,

For strange, sweet visions come across this parting soul of mine;
My spirit is returning to those glad, free early days,

Ere ever I caught the breath of fame, or heard the voice of praise.

And I look upon the universe with childhood's faith and love;
With the waving trees around me, and the happy skies above;
With the streamlets merry tune, and the breeze that fanned my face,
And sweetest Nature folding me in an infinite embrace.

The fair and gorgeous wonderland that lay about me then,
Bright with the rosy life of old comes o'er me once again;
But, best of all, I can look to God, free from all tumult wild,
With undoubting love and reverence, as I were indeed a child.

So like a tired, a weary child I turn again to Him,

For the voice is faint and fainter still, and the vision hath grown dim;
And I hear the clashing of the world like sea-waves from afar,
And all things fade away from view but one still untroubled star;
And I will fix my gaze on that, till the gate is opened wide,
And I stand in the fair Paradise with angels at my side,
Until I hear the golden harps, and the sweetly-chanted psalms,
Amid the flashing of the crowns, and the flourish of the palms.

RECIPES.

31. HASHED BEEF.-Cut the beef into small thin slices, which lay upon a plate, and to every pound of beef add half a table spoonful of flour, a little chopped onion or eschalot, two tablespoonsful of salt, and a half one of pepper, mix the whole well together, and put it into a saucepan, with half a pint of water, stir it over the fire until upon the point of boiling, then set it at the corner of the fire to simmer for ten minutes; it is then ready to serve. A great improvement to the appearance of hash may be effected by adding a few spoonfuls of brown gravy, or a tea-spoonful of colouring, which might always be kept in a bottle.

32. BROWN GRAVY.-Rub an ounce of butter over the bottom of a stewpan capable of holding about three quarts; have ready peeled four onions, cut them into thick slices, with which cover the bottom of the stewpan; over these lay about three pounds of beef from the leg or shin, cut into thin slices, with the bone chopped very small; add a carrot, a turnip cut in slices, and a

couple of cloves; set the stewpan upon a gentle fire for ten minutes, shaking it round occasionally to prevent burning; after which let it go upon a slow fire for upwards of an hour, until the bottom is covered with a blackish glaze, but not burnt; when properly done and ready for filling up, you will perceive the fat that runs from the meat quite clear; fill up the stewpan with cold water, add a tea-spoonful of salt, and when upon the point of boiling set it on a corner of the fire, where let it simmer gently about an hour, skimming off all the fat and scum which may rise to the surface when done, pass through a fine sieve into a basin, and put by to use for the following purposes. For every kind of roast meat, poultry, or game especially; also, to give a good colour to soups and sauces. This gravy will keep several days, by boiling it every other day. Although beef is the most proper meat for the above purpose, it may be made of veal, mutton, lamb, or even with fresh pork, rabbits, or poultry.

33. BROWNING.-Put two oz. of powered sugar into a middling sized stewpan, which place over a slow fire; when beginning to melt, stir it round with a wooden spoon until quite black, then pour over half a pint of cold water; leave it to dissolve, and take a little for use when required: only a very few drops.

In

France no dinner is served without soup, and no good soup is made without the pot-au-feu (which we will give in our next number), it being the national diet of the middle and poorer classes of that country. It might be of service to our working classes, as by it they would be oftener able to partake of a hot dinner, from which great advantages are to be derived in a cold climate like ours.

34. STOCK FOR ALL KINDS OF SOUP.-Procure a knuckle of veal about six pounds in weight, eut into pieces about the size of an egg, as also half a pound of lean ham or bacon, then rub a quarter of a pound of butter upon the bottom of the stewpan (capable of holding about two gallons), into which put the meat and bacon, with half a pint of water, two ounces of salt, three middle sized onions, with two cloves in each, one turnip, a carrot, half a leek, and half a head of celery; put the cover upon the stewpan, which place over a sharp fire, occasionally stirring round its contents with a wooden spoon, until the bottom of the stewpan is covered with a white thickish glaze, which will lightly adhere to the spoon; fill up the stewpan

with cold water, and when upon the boiling point draw it to the corner of the fire, where it must gently simmer for three hours, carefully skimming off every particle of grease and scum; pass your stock through a fine hair sieve, and it is ready for use when required.

The above will make a delicious broth for all kinds of clear soups, and of course for thick soups or purées. To give a little colour, use a little browning or brown gravy.

35. MINT SAUCE FOR LAMB. -Take three table-spoonsful of chopped leaves of green mint, three table-spoonsful of brown sugar, and put into a bason, with half a pint of brown vinegar; stir it well up, add one tablespoonful of salt, and serve it. 36. ANCHOVY BUTTER SAUCE. Put into a stewpan eight spoonsful of demiglaze, or three of broth; when boiling, add one oz. of anchovy butter, stir continually till melted.

37. RICE SOUP.-Well wash two oz. of the best Patna rice, strain off the water, put the rice in a stewpan, with a quart of cold stock; place it upon the fire, and let it simmer about half an hour, until the rice is very tender, but not in pulp.

38. MACARONI.-Boil a quarter of a pound of macaroni in a quartof water ten minutes, then strain it off, and throw it into two quarts of boiling stock; let it simmer gently for half an hour, when serve it with grated cheese, upon a plate separately.

SUNBEAMS.

A rough tongue never smoothed a difficulty.

A good heart is the best friend of a good head.

Enduring fame depends mainly on enduring effects. Posterity care little about any but those who have done something for posterity's interests.

The world's wastes would supply the world's wants.

Those who aim only at accomplishments will accomplish but little.

The punishment of a sinful act often consists in the strength that it gives to a sinful habit.

Great talkers think aloud. They resemble young children, who cannot think without speaking.

The surest way to improve one's condition is to improve one's self.

A generous man will, in his treatment to an enemy, resemble the sun, which pours light all around it, even upon the clouds which strive to dim its lustre.

How near are two hearts when there is no deceit between them. A man may be great by chance; but never wise or good without taking pains for it.

Conscience is the best friend we have; with it we may bid defiance to man; without it all the friends in the world can be of no use to us.

He who beholds the faults of others through his own virtues, is generally disposed to forgive them; indulgence is the child of purity of heart.

Riches may be admitted into our houses but never into our hearts.

To do good is the perfection of all conduct.

Education is a young man's capital-every hour spent in study is working for high wages.

A strong mind and a cultivated mind, may claim respect; but there is needed a noble one to win affection.

What can draw the heart into the fulness of love so quick as sympathy?

Feelings, like flowers, sow their own seeds.

A strong will makes its own laws and defends its own rights. Hope is the sunbeam of the heart, which dispels or gilds the chilling clouds of adversity.

The Favorite.

COMIC LITERATURE.

He is

THE office of censor, though a necessary, is still an ungracious one. A systematic fault-finder is not very popular in society; he is still less welcome in literature. regarded as a sort of æsthetic policeman, whose occupation ceases as soon as there is nothing to object to or complain of. The analogy thus suggested between policemen and critics, though it derogates from the dignity, does not impugn the utility, of criticism. If critics are as useful in literature as the constabulary in communities, they must be considered as rendering good service; since the attention of rulers and magistrates has in all ages been directed more to the detection and punishment of offenders than to the discovery and encouragement of good and worthy citizens.

With these few words in defence of an office we have so gratuitously assumed, we purpose examining briefly what appears to us to be the excessive cultivation of a particular element in our literature. Let it be understood we enter on the subject with no prepossessions against comic writing. We claim credit for a great respect for some wit, and an unfeigned love of good humour. In commenting upon what appears to us to be an unreasonable comic mania, we by no means intend to question the merits of humorous composition, regulated by correct taste, and restricted to subjects on which it may be legitimately employed. A perception and enjoyment of the ludicrous seems to us to be a natural, and not necessarily unamiable, attribute of human nature. Far from accepting Chesterfield's dogma, that "laughter is at all times ungraceful," we hold that the human contenance rarely appears to more advantage than when lighted up by merriment. We admire

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