ONLY add Deeds to thy knowledge answerable ; add faith, Add virtue, patience, temperance; add love, By name to come call'd charity,—the soul Of all the rest.-Milton.

'Mongst all your virtues
I see not charity written, which some call
The first-born of religion ; and I wonder,
I cannot see it in yours. Believe it, sir,
There is no virtue can be sooner miss'd,
Or later welcomed ; it begins the rest,
And sets them all in order.—Middleton.

While thirst of praise and vain desire of fame
In ev'ry age is ev'ry woman's aim ;
With courtship pleased, of silly trifles proud,
Fond of a train, and happy in a crowd ;
On each proud fop bestowing some kind glance,
Each conquest owing to some loose advance ;
While vain coquettes affect to be pursued,
And think they're virtuous, if not grossly lewd ;
Let this great maxim be my virtue's guide :
In part she is to blame who has been tried,
He comes too near who comes to be denied.

Lady Montage.

422. CHARITY. Unbounded

427. CHEERFULNESS : encouraged.

Self-LOVE thus push'd to social,—to divine,
Gives thee to make thy neighbour's blessing thine.
Is this too little for the boundless heart?
Extend it-let thy enemies have part,
Grasp the whole worlds of reason, life, and sense,
In one close system of benevolence :
Happier as kinder, in whate'er degree
And height of bliss but height of charity.-Pope.

423. CHARITYUnostentatious

LIFE, believe, is not a dream

So dark as sages say ;
Oft a little morning rain

Foretells a pleasant day.
Sometimes there are clouds of gloom,

But these are transient all;
If the shower will make the roses bloom,
Oh why lament its fall ?

Rapidly, merrily,
Life's sunny hours Alit by,

Gratefully, cheerily,

Enjoy them as they fly!
What though Death at times steps in,

And calls our best away?
What though sorrow seems to win,

O'er hope, a heavy sway?
Yet hope again elastic springs,

Unconquer'd, though she fell ;

LET huinble Allen, with an awkward shame, Do good by stealth, and blush to find it fame.

Pope. 424. CHASTISEMENT. Views of

RABIA, sick upon her bed, By two saints was visited, Holy Malik, Hassan wise, Men of mark in Moslem eyes.

Still buoyant are her golden wings,
Still strong to bear us well.

Manfully, fearlessly,
The day of trial bear,

For gloriously, victoriously,
Can courage quell despair !

Charlotte Bronté. Were it not worse than vain to close our eyes

Unto the azure sky and golden light, Because the tempest cloud doth sometimes rise, And glorious day must darken into night?

Douglas Ferrold's Magasine.

Better to hope, though the clouds hang low,

And to keep the eyes still lifted ; For the sweet blue sky will soon peep through,

When the ominous clouds are rifted ; There was never a night without a day,

Nor an evening without a morning ; And the darkest hour, the proverb goes,

Is the hour before the dawning.

428. CHEERFULNESS: its value.

CHEERFUL looks make every dish a feast, And 'tis that crowns a welcome.—Massinger.

THERE's many a trouble

Would break like a bubble, And into the waters of Lethe depart,

Did not we rehearse it,

And tenderly nurse it,
And give it a permanent place in the heart.

There is many a gem in the path of life,

Which we pass in our idle pleasure, That is richer far than a jewell'd crown,

Or the miser's hoarded treasure; It may be the love of a little child,

Or a mother's prayer to heaven, Or only a beggar's grateful thanks,

For a cup of water given.
Better to weave in the web of life

A bright and golden filling,
And to do God's will with a ready heart,

And hands that are swift and willing,
Than to snap the delicate silver threads

Of curious lives asunder ; And then blame heaven for the tangled ends,

And sit, and grieve, and wonder.

There's many a sorrow

Would vanish to-morrow, Were we not unwilling to furnish the wings;

So sadly intruding

And quietly brooding,
It hatches out all sorts of horrible things.

430. CHEERFULNESS. Power of The stoutest armour of defence is that which is

within the bosom, And the weapon that no enemy can parry is a bold

and cheerful spirit : Catapults in old war worked liked Titans, crushing

foes with rocks; So doth a strong-springed heart throw back every

load on its assailants. - Tupper.

431. CHEERFULNESS. Psalm of

How welcome the seeming

Of looks that are beaming,
Whether one's wealthy or whether one's poor;

Eyes bright as a berry,

Cheeks red as a cherry, The groan and the curse and the heartache can cure.

Resolved to be merry,

All worry to ferry
Across the famed waters that bid us forget,

And no longer fearful,

But happy and cheerful, We feel life has much that's worth living for yet.

Georgiana C. Clark.

I MOURN no more my vanish'd years :

Beneath a tender rain,
An April rain of smiles and tears,

My heart is young again.

429. CHEERFULNESS : its wisdom.
THERE is many a rest on the road of life,

If we would only stop to take it ;
And many a tone from the better land,

If the querulous heart would wake it.
To the sunny soul that is full of hope,

And whose beautiful trust ne'er faileth, The grass is green and the flowers are bright,

Though the wintry storm prevaileth.

The west winds blow, and singing low

I hear the glad streams run;
The windows of my soul I throw

Wide open to the sun.
No longer forward, nor behind,

I look in hope and fear :
But grateful, take the good I find,

The best of now, and here.

I plough no more a desert land

For harvest, weed and tare; The manna dropping from God's hand

Rebukes my painful care.

2nd Cland. They planted herWishe come up next year?

Ist Chald. No, not so soon; Bat some day God will call her to come up, And then she will Papa knows everything; He said she would, before they planted her.

Jean Ingela. 433. CHILD. Death of a

When the morning, half in shadow,
Ran along the hill and meadow,
And, with milk-white fingers, parted
Crimson roses, golden-hearted;
Opening over ruins hoary
Every purple morning-glory,
And outshaking from the bushes
Singing larks and pleasant thrushes :
That's the time our little baby-
Stray'd from paradise it may be-
Came with eyes like heaven above her ;
Oh, we could not choose but love her!

I break my pigrim staf, I lay

Aside the towing car,
The angel sought so far away

I welcome at my door.
The airs of spring may never play

Among the ripening com,
Nor freshness of the flowers of May

Blow through the autumn morn ;
Yet shall the blue-eyed gentian look

Through fringed lids to heaven, And the pale aster in the brook

Shall see its image given ;
The woods shall wear their robes of praise,

The south winds softly sigh,
And sweet calm days in golden haze

Melt down the amber sky.
Not less shall manly deed and word

Rebuke an age of wrong:
The graven flowers that wreathe the sword

Make not the blade less strong.
Enough that blessings undeserved

Have mark'd my erring track,
That wheresoe'er my feet have swerved,

His chast'ning turn'd me back;
That more and more a Providence

Of love is understood,
Making the springs of time and sense

Sweet with eternal good;
That death seems but a cover'd way,

Which opens into light,
Wherein no blinded child can stray

Beyond the Father's sight;
That care and trial seem at last,

Through memory's sunset air,
Like mountain ranges overpast

In purple distance fair ;
That all the jarring notes of life

Seem blending in a psalm,
And all the angles of its strife

Slow rounding into calm. And so the shadows fall apart,

And so the west winds play : And all the windows of my heart

I open to this day.-Whittier.

Not enough of earth for sinning,
Always gentle, always winning,
Never needing our reproving,
Ever lovely, ever loving ;
Starry eyes, and sunset tresses,
White arms, made for light caresses,
Lips, that knew no word of doubting,
Often kissing, never pouting;
Beauty, even in completeness,
Over-full of childish sweetness :
That's the way our little baby,
Far too pure for earth, it may be,
Seem'd to us, who, while about her,
Deem'd we could not do without her.
When the morning, half in shadow,
Ran along the hill and meadow,
And, with milk-white fingers, parted
Crimson roses, golden-hearted;
Opening over ruins hoary
Every purple morning-glory,
And outshaking from the bushes,
Singing larks and pleasant thrushes :
That's the time our little baby,
Pining here for heaven, it may be,
Turning from our bitter weeping,
Closed her eyes as when in sleeping,
And her white hands on her bosom
Folded, like a summer blossom.

432. CHILD. Burying a

Amy diedDear little Amy! when you talk of her, Say, she is gone to heaven.

Now, the litter she doth lie on, Strew'd with roses, bear to Zion; Go, as past a pleasant meadow, Through the valley of the shadow.

Take her softly, holy angels, Past the ranks of God's evangels, Past the saints and martyrs holy, To the Earth-Born meek and lowly : We would have our precious blossom Softly laid in Jesus' bosom!

434 CHILD. Lesson for a

My fairest child, I have no song to give you ;
Yo lark could pipe to skies so dull and grey;
Yet, ere we part, one lesson I can leave you,

For every day.
Be good, sweet maid, and let who will be clever ;
Do noble things, not dream them, all day long;
And so make life, death, and that vast for ever
One grand, sweet song !

Charles Kingsley. 435. CHILD. My Lost

I CANNOT make him dead !

His fair sunshiny head
Is ever bounding round my study chair ;

Yet when my eyes, now dim

With tears, I turn to him,
The vision vanishes, -he is not there !

I walk my parlour floor,

And, through the open door,
I hear a footfall on the chamber stair!

I'm stepping toward the hall

To give the boy a call ;
And then bethink me that--he is not there !

In dreams I see him now ;

And, on his angel brow,
I see it written, “Thou shalt see me there!''

Yes, we all live to God !

Father, Thy chastening rod
So help us, Thine afflicted ones, to bear,

That in the spirit-land,

Meeting at Thy right hand, 'Twill be our heaven to find that he is there.

Pierpont. 436. CHILDHOOD. Beauty of BEAUTIFUL, beautiful childhood ! with a joy That like a robe is palpable, and flung Out by your ev'ry motion ! delicate bud Of the immortal flower that will unfold And come to its maturity in heaven ! I weep your earthly glory. 'Tis a light Lent to the new-born spirit, that goes out With the first idle wind. It is the leaf Fresh flung upon the river, that will dance Upon the wave that stealeth out its life, Then sink of its own heaviness. The face Of the delightful earth will to your eye Grow dim ; the fragrance of the many flowers Be noticed not, and the beguiling voice Of nature in her gentleness will be To manhood's senseless ear inaudible. --Willis.

437. CHILDHOOD. Mystery of

'Tis aye a solemn thing to me

To look upon a babe that sleeps-
Wearing in its spirit-deeps
The unrevealed mystery

Of its Adam's taint and woe,
Which, when they revealed lie,

Will not let it slumber so.-E.B. Browning.

I thread the crowded street ;

A satchell'd lad I meet, With the same beaming eyes and colour'd hair ;

And, as he's running by,

Follow him with my eye,
Scarcely believing that—he is not there!

I know his face is hid

Under the coffin lid ; Closed are his eyes; cold is his forehead fair ;

My hand that marble felt;

O'er it in prayer I knelt ;
Yet my heart whispers that-he is not there!

Not there! Where, then, is he?

The form I used to see
Was but the raiment that he used to wear.

The grave, that now doth press

Upon that cast-off dress,
Is but his wardrobe lock'd ;-he is not there !

He lives! In all the past

He lives; nor, to the last,
Of seeing him again will I despair ;

438. CHILDREN. Benefit of
A DREARY place would be this earth

Were there no little people in it;
The song of life would lose its mirth

Were there no children to begin it. No little forms, like buds, to grow,

And make the admiring heart surrender ; No little hands on breast and brow,

To keep the thrilling love-chords tender. No rosy boys, at wintry morn,

With satchels to the school-house hasting ; No merry shouts as home they rush,

No precious morsel for their tasting. Tall, grave, grown people at the door,

Tall, grave, grown people at the table;