As then he saw, he sees again The heavy-loaded harvest wain, Hanging tokens of its pride In the trees on either side; Daisies, coming out at dawn, In constellations, on the lawn; The glory of the daffodil; The three black windmills on the hill, Whose magic arms fling wildly by, With magic shadows on the rye: In the leafy coppice, lo, More wealth than miser's dreams can show, The blackbird's warm and woolly brood, With golden beaks agape for food! Gipsies, all the summer seen, Native as poppies to the green; Winter, with its frosts and thaws, And opulence of hips and haws; The mighty marvel of the snow; The happy, happy ships that go, Sailing up and sailing down, Through the fields and by the town;-- All the thousand dear events That fell when days were incidents. And, then, his meek and loving mother-- Oh, what speechless feelings smother In his heart at thought of her! What sacred, piercing sorrow mounts, From new or unremembered founts, While to thought her ways recur. He hears the songs she used to sing; His tears in scalding torrents spring; Oh, might he hope that 'twould be given. Either in this world, or in heaven, To hear such songs as those again! --But life is deep and words are vain. Mark yonder hedgerow, here and there Sprinkled with Spring, but mainly bare; The wither'd bank beneath, where blows, In yellow crowds, the fresh primrose: What skill of color thus could smite The troubled heart-strings thro' the sight What magic of sweet speech express Their primeval tenderness? Can these not utter'd be, and can The day-spring of immortal man? "GIVE WISELY!" AN ANECDOTE. One evening, a short time since, the curate of B., a small village in the north of France, returned much fatigued to his humble dwelling. He had been visiting a poor family who were suffering from both want and sickness; and the worthy old man, besides administering the consolations of religion, had given them a few small coins, saved by rigid self-denial from his scanty income. He walked homewards, leaning on his stick, and thinking, with sorrow, how very small were the means he possessed of doing good and relieving misery. As he entered the door, he heard an unwonted clamor of tongues, taking the form of a by no means harmonious duet--an unknown male voice growling forth a hoarse bass, which was completely overscreeched by a remarkably high and thin treble, easily recognized by the placid curate as proceeding from the well-practiced throat of his housekeeper, the shrewish Perpetua of a gentle Don Abbondio.