And left him with his dead. The King stood still
Till the last echo died; then, throwing off
The sackcloth from his brow, and laying back
The pall from the still features of his child,
He bowed his head upon him, and broke forth
In the resistless eloquence of woe:

4. "Alas, my noble boy, that thou shouldst die!

Thou, who wert made so beautifully fair! That Death should settle in thy glorious eye,

And leave his stillness in this clustering hair! How could he mark thee for the silent tomb, My proud boy, Absalom?

5. "Cold is thy brow, my son, and I am chill
As to my bosom I have tried to press thee!
How I was wont to feel my pulses thrill,

Like a rich harp-string, yearning to caress thee, And hear thy sweet 'My father!' from these dumb And cold lips, Absalom!

6. "But death is on thee. I shall hear the gush Of music, and the voices of the young; And life will pass me in the mantling blush,

And the dark tresses to the soft winds flungBut thou no more, with thy sweet voice, shalt come To meet me, Absalom!

7. "And oh! when I am stricken, and my heart, Like a bruised reed, is waiting to be broken,

How will its love for thee, as I depart,

Yearn for thine ear to drink its last deep token!
It were so sweet, amid death's gathering gloom,
To see thee, Absalom!

8. "And now, farewell! 'Tis hard to give thee up, With death so like a gentle slumber on thee; And thy dark sin! Oh, I could drink the cup,

If from this woe its bitterness had won thee. May God have called thee, like a wanderer, home, My lost boy, Absalom!"

9. He covered up his face, and bowed himself
A moment on his child; then, giving him
A look of melting tenderness, he clasped
His hands convulsively, as if in prayer;
And, as if strength were given him of God,
He rose up calmly, and composed the pall
Firmly and decently, and left him there,
As if his rest had been a breathing sleep.

N. P. WILLIS.

LXXI. THE GREENHOUSE PHILOSOPHER.

1. OLD ISRAEL GOODMAN, living alone among his flowers, was one of those strange characters sometimes found in a new community, concerning whose antecedents and history curiosity does not often make inquiry. For a number of years "Uncle Israel," as he was generally called, had carried on a small business as a florist, and since he contracted no debts and otherwise demeaned

himself as a law-abiding citizen should, he was not disturbed, save as people came to him to buy of his flowers.

2. Years of seclusion had resulted in producing in him an unruffled tranquillity, a taciturnity not easily penetrated by strangers, and a philosophy which generally found expression in apothegms, if it found expression at all.

Though Madge and Agnes had been often to old Israel's for flowers, they had never succeeded in getting him to talk much with them. This time Madge was bent on satisfying her curiosity. So, when the flowers had been selected and cut, and the little old man in blue overalls had been told for whom they were getting them, they were astonished to find that he would take no pay for them; and this gave Madge a chance to engage him in conversation.

3. "You might as well take the money," she persisted.

"No, no; money is good pay for flowers for rich men's parties, but not for a poor widow's cheer," said he, shaking his head.

"But you're not rich, and you work so hard," insisted Madge, holding out a bill toward him.

"It's no temptation, Miss. Put it up, and take it along with the flowers to Mrs. Harris. No; I'm not rich, thank the Lord. Riches are dangerous. They're like the arc light that attracts by its dazzling brightness the poor little bugs, only to bring destruction."

4. "But, isn't poverty to be equally avoided?" suggested Madge, seeking to draw him out.

"Poverty is the training-school of all the virtues,” he answered, again shaking his head.

"One can't well be contented with poverty, though," urged Madge, still seeking to draw him further into argument.

5. "Contentment, young woman, is the knowing how to coin adversity into a fair counterfeit of prosperity and making it pass current with one's self," he replied, clipping the dead leaves from a plant, and still declining to accept the money. Then, musing to himself for a moment, he said:

"No, I don't like that definition; it sounds like a cheat, as counterfeiting usually is; say, rather, that contentment is being at peace with God: that's better peace with God.” "What is happiness, then?" inquired Madge.

6. "Some think it is whatever is the greatest pleasure with the least trouble to themselves. But pleasure is like the perfume of this rose, very grateful to our senses while it lasts; yet are we not sad even while smelling it to think it's so soon to be gone? No; don't live for mere pleasure alone."

"What, then, should one live for?"

"Live for the good of others. Such a life is like a beautiful plant: its seed is love; its soil is the Kingdom of God; its flower, charity; its fruit, eternal life."

7. "That's very beautiful; but should we not seek our own tranquillity first?"

"No, except as it comes through doing good for others. That was the mistake of my life, and I realize it now. Self-sacrifice is the Divine law. We can't withdraw from the world and at the same time give to it what God requires of every human being."

WILLIAM CAREY CAMPBELL.

The heart resembles the ocean;
Has storm, and ebb and flow;
And many a beautiful pearl lies
Hid in its depths below.

HEINE.

LXXII. PORTRAIT OF WALTER VAN TWILLER.

1. THE renowned Walter van Twiller was descended from a long line of Dutch burgomasters, who had successively dozed away their lives and grown fat upon the bench of magistracy in Rotterdam, and who had comported themselves with such singular wisdom and propriety that they were never either heard or talked of, which, next to being universally applauded, should be the object of ambition of all magistrates and rulers.

2. There are two opposite ways by which some men make a figure in the world: one by talking faster than they think, and the other by holding their tongues and not thinking at all. By the first, many a smatterer acquires the reputation of a man of quick parts; by the other, many a dunderpate, like the owl, the stupidest of birds, comes to be considered the very type of wisdom.

3. This, by the way, is a casual remark, which I would not for the universe have it thought I apply to Governor van Twiller. It is true he was a man shut up within himself, like an oyster, and rarely spoke except in monosyllables; but then it was allowed he seldom said a foolish thing. So invincible was his gravity, that he was never known to laugh, or even to smile, through the whole course of a long and prosperous life.

4. Nay, if a joke was uttered in his presence that set lightminded hearers in a roar, it was observed to throw him into a state of perplexity. Sometimes he would deign to inquire into the matter, and when, after much explanation, the joke was made as plain as a pikestaff, he would continue to smoke his pipe in silence, and at length, knocking out the ashes, would exclaim, "Well! I see nothing in all that to laugh about!"