Quite disgusted with his dining, he betakes him to

his bed;

But, alas! the golden pillow doesn't rest his weary

head;

Nor does all the gold around him soothe the monarch's tender skin:

Golden sheets, to sleepy mortals, might as well be sheets of tin.

Now poor Midas, straight repenting of his rash and foolish choice,

Went to Bacchus and assured him, in a very plaintive voice,

That his golden gift was working in a manner most unpleasant;

And the god, in sheer compassion, took away the fatal present.

MORAL.

By this mythologic story we are very plainly told, That though gold may have its uses, there are better things than gold;

That a man may sell his freedom to procure the shining pelf,

And that avarice, though it prosper, still contrives to cheat itself.

MORNING.

HAMLET. ACT I. SCENE I.

"But look, the morn, in russet mantle clad,
Walks o'er the dew of yon high eastern hill."

EARLY RISING.

ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. ACT IV. SCENE I
"This morning, like the spirit of a youth
That means to be of note, begins by times."

RING OUT THE OLD, RING IN THE
NEW.-(Tennyson.)

Ring out wild bells to the wild sky,
The flying cloud, the frosty light:
The year is dying in the night—
Ring out, wild bells, and let him die.

Ring out the old, ring in the new—
Ring, happy bells, across the snow
The year is going, let him go;
Ring out the false, ring in the true.

Ring out the grief that saps the mind,
For those that here we see no more;
Ring out the feud of rich and poor,
Ring in redress to all mankind.

Ring out a slowly dying cause,
And ancient forms of party strife;
Ring in the nobler modes of life,
With sweeter manners, purer laws.

Ring out the want, the care, the sin,

The faithless coldness of the times; Ring out, ring out my mournful rhymes, But ring the fuller minstrel in.

Ring out false pride in place and blood,
The civic slander and the spite;
Ring in the love of truth and right,
Ring in the common love of good.

Ring out old shapes of foul disease;
Ring out the narrowing lust of gold;
Ring out the thousand wars of old,
Ring in the thousand years of peace.

Ring in the valiant man and free;
The larger heart, the kindlier hand;
Ring out the darkness of the land
Ring in the Christ that is to be.

THE VILLAGE SCHOOLMASTER.
(Oliver Goldsmith.)

Beside yon straggling fence, that skirts the way
With blossomed furze, unprofitably gay,
There, in his noisy mansion, skilled to rule,
The village master taught his little school.
A man severe he was, and stern to view:
I knew him well, and every truant knew.
Well had the boding tremblers learned to trace
The day's disasters in his morning's face;
Full well they laughed, with counterfeited glee,
At all his jokes-for many a joke had he;
Full well the busy whisper, circling round,
Conveyed the dismal tidings when he frowned.
Yet he was kind; or, if severe in aught,
The love he bore to learning was in fault.
The village all declared how much he knew;
'Twas certain he could write, and cipher too;
Lands he could measure; terms and tides presage ;
And e'en the story ran, that he could-gauge.
In arguing, too, the parson owned his skill;
For, e'en though vanquished, he could argue still;
While words of learnèd length and thundering
sound

Amazed the gazing rustics ranged around;

And still they gazed; and still the wonder grew, That one small head-could carry all he knew.

THE PICTURE BIBLE.
(Ferdinand Freiligrath.)

Thou old and time-worn volume,
Thou friend of childhood's age,
How frequently dear hands for me
Have turned the pictured page!
How oft, his sports forgetting,
The gazing boy was borne
With joyous heart, by thy sweet art,
To tread the land of morn.1

Thou didst fling wide the portals
Of many a distant zone;
As in a glass I saw them pass,
Faces and forms unknown!
For a new world I thank thee!-
The camel wandering free,

The desert calm, and the stately palm,
And the Bedouin's tent, I see.

And thou didst bring them near me,
Hero, and saint, and sage,

Whose deeds were told by the seers of old
On the book of books' dread page ;
And the fair and bride-like maidens
Recorded in thy lines-

Well could I trace each form of grace
Amid thy rich designs.

And I saw the hoary patriarchs
Of old and simple days,

An angel-band, on either hand,
Kept watch upon their ways;

1 "The land of morning." By this beautiful expression the Germans designate the East.

I saw their meek herds drinking
By fount or river-shore,

When mute I stood, in thoughtful mood, Thine open page before.

Methinks I see thee lying

Upon thy well-known chair;

Mine eager gaze once more surveys

The scenes unfolded there

As, years ago, I saw them,

With wonder and delight,
Each form renews its faded hues,
Fresh, beautiful, and bright.

Again I see them troining

In ceaseless shapes of change; Bright and grotesque each Arabesque, Mazy and wild and strange; Each fair design encircling

In varied shape and dress,

A blossom now, and then a bough,
But never meaningless.

As in old times, entreating,

I seek my mother's knee,

That she may teach the name of each, And what their meanings be;

I learn, for every picture,

A text, a verse, a psalm;

With tranquil smile, my sire the while Watches, well-pleased and calm.

Ye seem but as a fable,

O days that are gone by;

That Bible old, with clasps of gold-
That young believing eye-