That is not a very easy question to answer, but I will tell you, reader, where you can find some poetry. There is a little book just published by Little & Brown, Boston, and written by J. B. Lowell, which is full of pure and pleasing poetry--full of beautiful thoughts, expressed in musical words, and so artfully managed as to excite deep emotions in the heart. Here is a brief passage which describes one that died in early childhood. As the airy gossamere, Floating in the sunlight clear, Where’er it toucheth, clinging tightly, Round glossy leaf or stump unsightly, So from his spirit wandered out Tendrils spreading all about, Knitting all things to its thrall With a perfect love of all. * * * * * He did but float a little way Adown the stream of time, With dreamy eyes watching the ripples play, Or listening their fairy chime; His slender sail Ne’er felt the gale; He did but float a little way, And, putting to the shore While yet ’twas early day, Went calmly on his way, To dwell with us no more! No jarring did he feel, No grating on his vessel’s keel; A strip of silver sand Mingled the waters with the land Where he was seen no more. * * * * * Full short his journey was; no dust Of earth unto his sandals clave; The weary weight that old men must, He bore not to the grave. He seemed a cherub who had lost his way And wandered hither, so his stay With us was short, and ’twas most meet That he should be no delver in earth’s clod, Nor need to pause and cleanse his feet To stand before his God. THE RIVER, A SONG. THE WORDS AND MUSIC COMPOSED FOR MERRY’S MUSEUM. _Allegro._ [Illustration: Music] 1 Oh tell me pretty river, Whence do thy waters flow? And whither art thou roam-ing, So pensive and so slow? 2 “My birthplace was the mountain, My nurse the April showers; My cradle was the fountain O’er-curtained by wild flowers. 3 “One morn I ran away, A madcap hoyden rill-- And many a prank that day I played adown the hill. 4 “And then mid meadowy banks I flirted with the flowers, That stooped with glowing lips, To woo me to their bowers. 5 “But these bright scenes are o’er, And darkly flows my wave-- I hear the ocean’s roar, And there must be my grave.” [Illustration: ROBERT MERRY’S MUSEUM.] Story of Philip Brusque. (_Continued from page 79._) CHAPTER V. _Progress of events._--_Necessity of Government._--_A Constitution is drawn up and rejected._--_Murder._--_Anarchy._--_Emilie and her lover._