NEVER TOO LATE TO LEARN.

MAN must never cease to learn. Life, in its whole duration, is a school, and there never comes a time, even amongst the decays of age, when he should lay aside eagerness of acquisition and cheerfulness of endeavour. I utterly protest against the common notion of growing old. It is an unchristian, a heathen idea, which regards old age as the season of sullenness and torpor and cessation of growth. It may befit those who expect to lay down their being in the grave, and who look forward to no to-morrow after the day of death. But such a sentiment is most unseemly in Christians who profess to regard the sepulchre as the birthplace of immortality. Old age may be and should be a cheerful, happy, active time. The affections are often as warm and the intellect as

clear as they ever were. The aged Christian is approaching his rest, he already almost grasps the prize, the battle is almost fought, the victory is almost gained, and an endless existence of joy opens before him. Is it for him to sit down in torpid apathy, or yield to a spirit of sullen discontent?

From dulness, nor let cold indifference steep

My senses in oblivion: if the thrill

Of early bliss must sober, as it will

And should, when earthly things to heavenly yield,

I would have feelings left time cannot chill;

That while I yet can walk through grove or field,

I may be conscious there of charms by Thee revealed.

And when I shall, as soon or late I must,

Become infirm, in age if I grow old,

Or sooner, if my strength should fail its trust,

When I relinquish haunts where I have strolled

At morn or eve, and can no more behold

NEVER TOO LATE TO LEARN.

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Thy glorious works, forbid me to repine;

Let memory still their loveliness unfold

Before my mental eye, and let them shine
With borrowed light from Thee-for they are Thine."

An admirable illustration of the spirit I now enforce is afforded by that great painter, poet, sculptor, architect and Christian, Michael Angelo. In extreme old age he was found by Cardinal Farnese alone among the ruins of the Colosseum. Surprise being expressed by the Cardinal, with an inquiry what brought him there; he replied: "I am come here for the purpose of study. I hope to be a scholar so long as God shall spare my life."

PAINFUL MEMORIES.

BUT, ever and anon, of griefs subdued
There comes a token, like a scorpion's sting,
Scarce seen, but with such bitterness imbued ;
And slight withal may be the things that bring
Back on the heart the weight which it would fling
Aside for ever: it may be a sound-

A tone of music-Summer's eve-or Spring

A flower-the wind-the ocean-which shall wound,
Striking th' electric chain wherewith we're darkly bound.

And how and why we know not, nor can trace
Home to its cloud this lightning of the mind;
But feel the shock renewed, nor can efface

The blight and blackening which it leaves behind,
Which out of things familiar, undesigned,

When least we deem of such, calls up to view

The spectres whom no exorcism can bind,

The cold-the changed-perchance, the dead—anew,

The mourned, the loved, the lost-too many-yet how few!

DEPARTED FRIENDS.

THEY are all gone into a world of light,
And I alone sit lingering here ;
Their very memory is fair and bright,

And my sad thoughts doth clear.

DEPARTED FRIENDS.

It glows and glitters in my cloudy breast,
Like stars upon some gloomy grove;

Or those faint beams in which this hill is drest
After the sun's remove.

I see them walking in an air of glory,

Whose light doth trample on my days;
My days which are at best but dull and hoary,
Mere glimmering and decays.

O holy Hope, and high Humility,

High as the heavens above!

These are your walks, and you have showed them me,
To kindle my cold love.

Dear, beauteous Death, the jewel of the just,

Shining nowhere but in the dark, What mysteries do lie beyond thy dust, Could man outlook that mark!

He that hath found some fledged bird's nest may know,

At first sight, if the bird be flown;

But what fair dell or grove he sings in now,
That is to him unknown.

And yet as angels, in some brighter dreams,
Call to the soul when man doth sleep,

So some strange thoughts transcend our wonted themes,
And into glory peep.

If a star were confined into a tomb,

Her captive flames must needs burn there;
But when the hand that locked her up gives room,
She'll shine through all the sphere.

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O Father of eternal life, and all
Created glories under Thee!

Resume Thy spirit from this world of thrall
Into true liberty.

Either disperse these mists, which blot and fill
My perspective, still, as they pass;

Or else remove me hence unto that hill,
Where I shall need no glass.

A CHURCHYARD WALK.

"Death and its two-fold aspect-wintry one;
Cold, sullen, blank, from hope and joy shut out;
The other, which the ray divine hath touched,
Replete with vivid promise, bright as Spring."

WE walked within the churchyard bounds,
My little boy and I-

He laughing, running happy rounds,
I pacing mournfully.