We have so many good walks to take,
And so few bad things to bear;
So much that gladdens and recreates,
So little of wear and tear.

Sometimes it blows and rains,
But still the six feet ply;

No care at all to the following four
If the leading two knows why,
"T is a pleasure to have six feet we think,
My little rough dog and I.

And we travel all one way;

'Tis a thing we should never do,
To reckon the two without the four,
Or the four without the two;
It would not be right if any one tried,
Because it would not be true.

And who shall look up and say,

That it ought not so to be,

Though the earth that is heaven enough for him,

Is less than that to me,

For a little rough dog can wake a joy

That enters eternity.

Humane Journal.

THERE'S ROOM ENOUGH FOR ALL.

Ah, Rover, by those lustrous eyes

That follow me with longing gaze, Which sometimes seem so human-wise, I look for human speech and ways. By your quick instinct, matchless love,

Your eager welcome, mute caress,
That all my heart's emotions move,
And loneliest moods and hours bless,
I do believe, my dog, that you
Have some beyond, some future new.

Why not? In heaven's inheritance
Space must be cheap where worldly light
In boundless, limitless expanse

Rolls grandly far from human sight.
He who has given such patient care,
Such constancy, such tender trust,
Such ardent zeal, such instincts rare,

And made you something more than dust, May yet release the speechless thrall

HIS FAITHFUL DOG.

Lo, the poor Indian! whose untutored mind
Sees God in clouds, or hears him in the wind;
His soul proud science never taught to stray
Far as the solar walk, or milky way;

Yet simple nature to his hope has given,

Behind the cloud-topped hill, an humbler heaven;
Some safer world in depth of woods embraced,
Some happier island in the watery waste,
Where slaves once more their native land behold,
No fiends torment, no Christians thirst for gold.
To be, contents his natural desire,

He asks no angel's wing, no seraph's fire;
But thinks, admitted to that equal sky,
His faithful dog shall bear him company.

POPE.

THE FAITHFUL HOUND.

A traveller, by the faithful hound,
Half-buried in the snow was found,
Still grasping in his hand of ice
That banner with the strange device,
Excelsior!

H. W. LONGFELLOW.

MISCELLANEOUS.

THE SPIDER'S LESSON.

Robert, the Bruce, in his dungeon stood,
Waiting the hour of doom;

Behind him the palace of Holyrood,

Before him - a nameless tomb.

And the foam on his lip was flecked with red,
As away to the past his memory sped,
Upcalling the day of his past renown,

When he won and he wore the Scottish crown:

Yet come there shadow or come there shine,
The spider is spinning his thread so fine.

"Time and again I have fronted the tide Of the tyrant's vast array,

But only to see on the crimson tide

My hopes swept far away;

Now a landless chief and a crownless king,
On the broad, broad earth not a living thing
To keep me court, save this insect small,
Striving to reach from wall to wall : "

For come there shadow or come there shine,
The spider is spinning his thread so fine.

"Work! work like a fool, to the certain loss, Like myself, of your time and pain;

The

space

is too wide to be bridged across, You but waste your strength in vain! And Bruce for the moment forgot his grief, His soul now filled with the sure belief That, howsoever the issue went,

For evil or good was the omen sent:

And come there shadow or come there shine,
The spider is spinning his thread so fine.

As a gambler watches the turning card

On which his all is staked,

As a mother waits for the hopeful word

For which her soul has ached,

It was thus Bruce watched, with every sense
Centred alone in that look intense;

All rigid he stood, with scattered breath
Now white, now red, but as still as death:

Yet come there shadow or come there shine,
The spider is spinning his thread so fine.

Six several times the creature tried,
When at the seventh, "See, see!

He has spanned it over!" the captive cried;
"Lo! a bridge of hope to me;

Thee, God, I thank, for this lesson here
Has tutored
my soul to PERSEVERE !
And it served him well, for erelong he wore
In freedom the Scottish crown once more:

And come there shadow or come there shine,
The spider is spinning his thread so fine.

JOHN BROUGHAM.

THE SPIDER AND STORK.

Who taught the natives of the field and flood
To shun their poison and to choose their food?
Prescient, the tides or tempests to withstand,
Build on the wave, or arch beneath the sand?
Who made the spider parallels design

Sure as De Moivre, without rule or line?
Who bid the stork Columbus-like explore

Heavens not his own, and worlds unknown before?
WHO CALLS THE COUNCIL, STATES THE CERTAIN DAY,
WHO FORMS THE PHALANX, AND WHO POINTS THE WAY?

POPE.

THE HOMESTEAD AT EVENING. - EVANGELINE'S BEAUTIFUL HEIFER.

Now recommenced the reign of rest and affection and stillness.

Day with its burden and heat had departed, and twilight descending

Brought back the evening star to the sky, and the herds to the homestead.

Pawing the ground they came, and resting their necks on each other,

And with their nostrils distended inhaling the freshness of evening.

Foremost, bearing the bell, Evangeline's beautiful heifer, ← Proud of her snow-white hide, and the ribbon that waved from her collar,

Quietly paced and slow, as if conscious of human affec

tion.

Then came the shepherd back with his bleating flocks from the seaside,