_Louisa A. Twamley._ * * * * * I trust the frown thy features wear, Ere long into a smile will turn; I would not that a face as fair As thine, beloved, should look so stern. The chain of ice that winter binds, Holds not for aye the sparkling rill; It melts away when summer shines, And leaves the waters sparkling still: Thus let thy cheek resume the smile That shed such sunny light before; And though I left thee for a while, I’ll vow to leave thee, love, no more. _Wm. Leggett._ * * * * * Come, while the morning of thy life is glowing, Ere the dim phantoms thou art chasing die-- Ere the gay spell, which earth is round thee throwing, Fades like the crimson from a sunset sky. Life is but shadows, save a promise given, Which lights up sorrow with a fadeless ray. Oh, touch the sceptre!--with a hope in heaven, Come, turn thy spirit from the world away. _Anon._ OAK.... _Nobility_. The form of the Oak tree, when grown fairly and naturally, is a perfect emblem of its qualities, so firm set, so massive, and strong. You may always know it instantly, whether as a wintry skeleton form, bare, and gnarled, and angular, or in its summer garb of rich and finely massed foliage, always the monarch of the woods. * * * * * True is, that whilome that good poet said, The gentle mind by gentle deeds is known, For man by nothing is so well bewrayed As by his manners, in which plain is shown Of what degree and what race he is grown. _Spenser._ * * * * * How vain are all hereditary honours, Those poor possessions from another’s deeds, Unless our own just virtues form our title, And give a sanction to our fond assumption! _Shirley._ * * * * * Whoe’er amidst the sons Of reason, valour, liberty, and virtue, Displays distinguished merit, is a noble Of nature’s own creating. Such have risen, Sprung from the dust; or where had been our honours? _Thomson._ * * * * * LIFE OF AN OAK TREE. Long centuries have come and passed Since, in a stormy wind, An acorn fell one autumn day, Like thousands of his kind. The wild swine fed in the forests then, And hungry beasts were they; They crunched the mast where’er it fell, And they feasted well that day. But as they trampled all about With heavy hoofs, they trod That acorn--perchance hundreds more-- Deep in the yielding sod. Years came and went.--The acorn grew And became a young Oak tree; With a slender, straight, and flexile stem, Dressed in rich greenery.