A FACT VERSIFIED.

IT was about the evening hour,
An evening mild and blest,

When wearied out with mirth and noise,
Around a grave three little boys

Had set them down to rest.

Above this calm and simple spot
Some feeling hearts had wept,
For underneath the daisied sod
On which three joyous urchins trod,
A little maiden slept.

"I wonder," cried one tiny lad,
With something of a sigh,
"Where people go when they are dead:
'To heaven,' little Ellen said;

She seem'd to long to die.

"She fear'd not death; and yet to me
It seems a dreadful thing

To leave this glad green earth of ours,
To see no more its streams and flowers,
Nor hear the throstle sing."

The thoughts of little Ellen's fate
Had caused his heart to weep;
Upon his arm he laid his brow,
And shelter'd by the hawthorn bow,
He sobb'd himself to sleep.

Big with emotions new and strange,
His playmates watch'd awhile;

And as they pensively sat by,

They said that once they heard him sigh, And once they saw him smile.

And when they gazed into his face,

Impatient with delay,

He neither spake, nor breathed nor stirr'd, For with that plaintive sigh they heard His spirit passed away.

TARTAR VILLAGES.

The Tartars, unlike most other people, generally prefer the steep side of a hill for the site of their villages, rather than those level situations vulgarly known as "eligible building lots." By excavating a space out of the hill, in proportion to the accommodation required, the architect is saved the trouble of building a back wall, while he simply fills up with mud the angles at the sides. The roof, which thus, as it were, projects out of the hill, is perfectly flat, and covered with mould. It extends beyond the front walls, and, supported hy posts, forms, a sort of verandah. Thus, when the traveller passes below one of these cottages, the roof is not visible at all, while, if he be above them, they would have the effect of diminutive drying-grounds for grain or coffee, were it not for the smoke that issues from the conical mud chimneys. These serve not only as apertures for the smoke, but also as means of verbal communication with the interior of the houses. On a dark night an equestrian might easily mistake his way, and, riding straight over one of these roofs, make his appearance at the front door in a manner too abrupt to be altogether consistent with good breeding.

"NUGGET."

This word has been claimed for Perthshire, as well known there. "It is twenty years," says a Perthshire man, "since I received a culloch of cheese and a nugget of paisy from my grandmother; i. e. a small piece of cheese and a large piece of pea-bread."

DIFFICULTIES ATTENDING THE TRANSFER OF LABOUR

IN RUSSIA.

It is startling to learn that in some parts of this vast empire, containing a population of fifty millions, commercial prosperity is checked for want of labour; yet such is really the case, particularly in the vicinity of the sea-coast. Excellent wages, comparatively, may be earned in these districts, but the thousands, half starving in the interior,

who are not absolutely bound down as serfs to a particular spot, are unable to migrate to this land of plenty, on account of the system which obliges them to invest their all in a passport to bring them here, and, when they have made a little money, to spend their savings in bribes to government officials, for more passports to take them back again to their own district, from which they may not be absent above a limited time; while the journey there and back would most probably occupy a considerable period, if it were not altogether impracticable for persons in their condition.

HOW TO MAKE YOURSELF REMEMBERED.

“A VENERABLE and successful merchant," says an American minister, "had for many years before his death left off accumulating, and made it his inflexible rule to give away the whole of his large surplus income. Now he was endowing a college professorship; now founding an academy; now bestowing a princely benefaction upon some judicious charity; and now another upon some noble religious enterprise. One of his favourite methods of doing good, was to purchase, and put in circulation, hundreds of copies, or perhaps whole editions, of any useful book which happened to commend itself to his taste and judgment. And after his death, a memorandum among his papers was found to contain the names of a large number of village pastors, whose scanty stipends he had been in the habit of increasing from year to year. These are but hints and samples of his life: but they may suffice to show that he was not a man to be forgotten. It is something for a private citizen so to live that when he dies, the whole community to which he belonged, and other distant communities vying with them, shall take up his name and breathe a blessing upon it. It is for yourselves, under Providence, to decide (I speak especially to the wealthy among you), whether your memories shall be thus embalmed, or handed over to a speedy oblivion. And in making this observation, I am far from commending it to you as a becoming object of your ambition, to purchase a posthumous fame by your charities. I have in view simply the ordinance of heaven, that 'the

righteous shall be held in everlasting remembrance.' The memory of the just' (and this epithet includes the idea of benevolence) is blessed.' Whether you take the case of a secluded female, who employs her leisure hours, like Dorcas, in making coats and garments for the poor, or the faithful missionary who wears himself out in distributing the bread of life along the lanes and alleys of a city, it is alike the ordering of Providence that their memories shall be bleseed." EPITAPH.-MY FIRST TRIAL.

From the brief passing day of human life,
With its few April hours of calm and strife,
One must go first-and thou hast sought the sky,
Too fair to live, but not too young to die.

With hope to meet thee in the blessed spheres,
• We cease our murmurs, and restrain our tears;
For though we hear thee, and behold thee not,
Faith re-assures us of thy happier lot,

And list'ning ever to that inward voice,
Our hearts are thankful, and our souls rejoice!

H.

SELECTED POETRY.

WAR AND PEACE.

Were half the power that fills the world with terror,
Were half the wealth bestowed on camps and courts,
Given to redeem the human mind from error,
There were no need of arsenals nor forts.

The warrior's name will be abhorred;
And every nation that should lift again
Its hand against its brother, on its forehead
Would wear for evermore the curse of Cain.

Down the dark future, through long generations,
The echoing grow familiar, then cease!
And like a bell with solemn sweet vibrations,
I hear once more the voice of Christ say "peace"!
Peace and no longer from its brazen portals,
The blast of war's great organ shakes the skies!
But beautiful as songs of the immortals,
The holiest melodies of love arise.

London.

LONGFELLOW.