And a lesson she taught to all,
Of energy, faith, and love;

Hast thou the right? Stand up and fight,
Looking to God above!

Shame on ye! timid souls,

Feeble for aught but ill ;

Shall sin and shall woe waste this world below,
And will ye lie sluggish still?

Wrest from their grasp the prey;

Crush them, though cowards mock;
And if the heart quail and the courage fail,
Think of the EAGLE'S ROCK!

THE HYPOCHONDRIAC.

GOOD

"Suit the action to the word; the word to the action."

1OOD-MORNING, Doctor; how do you do? I hain't quite so well as I have been; but I think I'm some better than I was. I don't think that last medicine you gin me did me much good. I had a terrible time with the earache last night; my wife got up and drapt a few draps of walnut sap into it, and that relieved it some; but I did n't get a wink of sleep till nearly daylight. For nearly a week, Doctor, I've had the worst kind of a narvous headache; it has been so bad sometimes that I thought my head would bust open. Oh, dear! I sometimes think that I'm the most afflictedest human that ever lived.

Since this cold weather sot in, that troublesome cough, that I have had every winter for the last fifteen year, has

began to pester me agin. (Coughs.) Doctor, do you think you can give me any thing that will relieve this desprit pain I have in my side?

Then I have a crick, at times, in the back of my neck, so that I can't turn my head without turning the hull of my body. (Coughs.)

Oh, dear! What shall I do? I have consulted almost every doctor in the country, but they do n't any of them seem to understand my case. I have tried every thing that I could think of; but I

can't find any thing that

does me the leastest good. (Coughs.)

Oh, this cough—it will be the death of me yet! You know I had my right hip put out last fall at the rising of Deacon Jones' saw-mill; it's getting to be very troublesome just before we have a change of weather. Then I've got the sciatica in my right knee, and sometimes I'm so crippled up that I can hardly crawl round in any fashion.

What do you think that old white mare of ours did while I was out plowing last week? Why, the weacked old critter, she kept a backing and backing, ontill she backed me right up agin the colter, and knock'd a piece of skin off my shin nearly so big (Coughs.)

But I had a worse misfortune than that the other day, Doctor. You see it was washing-day-and my wife wanted me to go out and bring in a little stove-woodyou know we lost our help lately, and my wife has to wash and tend to every thing about the house herself.

I knew it would n't be safe for me to go out-as it was a raining at the time-but I thought I'd risk it anyhow. So I went out, picked up a few chunks of stove-wood, and was a coming up the steps into the house, when my feet slipped from under me, and I fell down as sudden as if I'd been shot. Some of the wood lit upon my face,

broke down the bridge of my nose, cut my upper lip, and knocked out three of my front teeth. I suffered dreadfully on account of it, as you may suppose, and my face ain't well enough yet to make me fit to be seen, 'specially by the women folks. (Coughs.) Oh, dear! but that ain't all, Doctor; I've got fifteen corns on my toesand I'm afeard I'm a going to have the " yaller janders." (Coughs.)-DR. VALENTINE.

LOST AND FOUND.

Y daily walk was through a garden fair,

ΜΥ

Which my rich neighbor makes his daily care.
The flowers are his, and yet I called my own
One little rose, its petals partly blown.
It grew so near my pathway; it possessed
The very tints and colors I loved best;

And when I touched its leaves with tender care
A sweet perfume, my favorite, filled the air.
So, day by day, I watched it as it grew,
And day by day increased that feeling, too,
That it was mine. I loved it, and it seemed
That bud and blossom with new beauty beamed
To know my love. 'T would bend its graceful head
Toward me lovingly, and always shed
Its sweetest odors when I came that way.
But going to my task, one autumn day,
I missed its fragrance, and, alas, I found
A withered leaf alone upon the ground,
To tell me that some cruel, wanton hand
Had robbed me of my joy. Dismayed I stand
And weep, and as I weep recall each tint
And shade, and every line and curve imprint

With beauty on its leaves, and to my sense
Its odors come again, as when with recompense
For toil and care they cheered and stayed my
My stricken heart rebels in bitter strife.
I questioned not who planted it, nor where
It gained those beauties that I deemed so fair,
Nor whose the care that sheltered it, and kept
It sweet and safe when I had worked or slept.
I only know I loved it and 't is gone-
My life's a burden and my heart a stone.
So, to and fro, I walk my path along

And brood upon my loss, and nurse my wrong.
All other joys I scorn. I will not see
That, all along my pathway, there may be
Marvels of beauty to relieve my woes;
Colors as bright and odors sweet as those
I loved. Until there came, one eventide,
When worn and weary I could scarce abide
My bitter thoughts, a summons from the home
Of my rich neighbor, bidding me to come,
And in his palace and society

Enjoy a feast and rest prepared for me.
Charmed by his tender care I go and feast,
And oh, what words can tell the rich repast!
My gracious friend now seats me by his side,
And in his willing ear I pour the tide
Of all my sorrows, tell him of my grief,
And in his sympathy find sweet relief.
At last, the banquet o'er, he bids me share
His palace and its honors. No more care
Or toil or grief or tears shall be my lot,
But all my woes in this great joy forgot.
Then, token of his love, upon my brow
He puts a crown-far brighter than the bow

life.

Which throws across the sky its glittering span,
Perpetual prophecy of hope to man-

A crown of rarest jewels, and of flowers
Unfading and immortal. As I gaze

Upon the wreath and scan the glowing maze
Of bud and blossom, crimson, purple, gold,
One tint, one lovely flower, I behold-
The crowning central glory of the crown—
It is the little rose I called my own!

Oh, gracious friend, I see the lesson now!
That lovely blossom was not mine, but thou
Didst plant and nurture it beside my way,
That I might learn to love it day by day.
And thou didst pluck it, ere the chilling frost
Had marred one beauty that I loved the most,
That, when I came to share thy home and rest,
Thy love might seal my joy with this bequest:
Thy hand might place it on my brow, and I
Might know it mine for all eternity.

THOMAS B. APPLEGET.

DESPAIR IS NEVER QUITE DESPAIR.

HE gloomiest day. hath gleams of light,

THE

The darkest wave hath bright foam near it;

And twinkles through the cloudiest night

Some solitary star to cheer it.

The gloomiest soul is not all gloom,

The saddest hour is not all sadness;

And sweetly o'er the darkest doom

There shines some lingering beam of gladness.