If you would know of olden days, You need not only read or look On quaintest type in early book Or learn almost forgotten lays. There is a wider field; go forth: And ye who seek will surely find That which shall ever teach the mind, Go east or west, go south or north. The massive mound in days of yore, The fortress hill, the castle grey, That speaks of strife and danger’s day, Which we in quiet know no more. Here you may trace a Roman’s hand, Here the rude Saxon work, and there How Norman skill did once repair The ruined churches of the land. For many a little church can tell Of other days. The ancient glass Through which the tinted sunbeams pass Speaks to us now. You hear the bell. That told the tale of life and death, Of marriage feast, of times of prayer, When they, long dead, were gathered there, Who sleep the quiet sod beneath. And many a home of days gone by, With timber gable richly dight, And tiny panes, through which the light Comes slowly stealing from the sky. Go where you will, you still shall find Not only homes of old renown, But quaint old homes in market town, In streets that ever sway and wind. The land we live in is a book In which is written much to read, And much that to the past will lead. Go forth, and on it kindly look. H. R. W. Forecastings of Nostradamus. BY C. A. WARD. _PART III._ (_Continued from Vol. V. p. 293._) “Hunc solem, et stellas et decedentia certis Tempora momentis, sunt qui formidine nullâ Imbuti spectent.”--HOR., I. Epist. vii. 3.