Children of Earth are these; and those The spirits of intense repose— Death radiant o’er all human woes. For both by nature are akin;— Sorrow, the ashen fruit of sin, And joy, the juice of life within. O, make thy sorrows holy—wise— So shall their buried memories rise, Celestial, e’en in mortal skies. O, think what then had been their doom, If all unshriven—without a tomb— They had been left to haunt the gloom! O, think again what they will be Beneath God’s bright serenity, When thou art in eternity! For they, in their salvation, know No vestige of their former woe, While thro’ them all the Heavens do flow. Thus art thou wedded to the skies, And watched by ever-loving eyes, And warned by yearning sympathies. THE HOME OF WOODRUFFE THE GARDENER. IN EIGHT CHAPTERS.—CHAPTER I. “How pleased the boy looks, to be sure!” observed Woodruffe to his wife, as his son Allan caught up little Moss (as Maurice had chosen to call himself before he could speak plain) and made him jump from the top of the drawers upon the chair, and then from the chair to the ground. “He is making all that racket just because he is so pleased he does not know what to do with himself.” “I suppose he will forgive Fleming now for carrying off Abby,” said the mother. “I say, Allan, what do you think now of Abby marrying away from us?” “Why, I think it’s a very good thing. You know she never told me that we should go and live where she lived, and in such a pretty place, too, where I may have a garden of my own, and see what I can make of it—all fresh from the beginning, as father says.” “You are to try your hand at the business, I know,” replied the mother, “but I never heard your father, nor any one else, say that the place was a pretty one. I did not think new railway stations had been pretty places at all.” “It sounds so to him, naturally,” interposed Woodruffe. “He hears of a south aspect, and a slope to the north for shelter, and the town seen far off; and that sounds all very pleasant. And then, there is the thought of the journey, and the change, and the fun of getting the ground all into nice order, and, best of all, the seeing his sister so soon again. Youth is the time for hope and joy, you know, love.” And Woodruffe began to whistle, and stepped forward to take his turn at jumping Moss, whom he carried in one flight from the top of the drawers to the floor. Mrs. Woodruffe smiled, as she thought that youth was not the only season, with some people, for hope and joy.