Therefore, to husband thine ideas, and give them stability and sub

stance,

Write often for thy secret eye; so shalt thou grow wiser.

The commonest mind is full of thoughts; some worthy of the

rarest;

And could it see them fairly writ, would wonder at its wealth.

O, PRECIOUS compensation to the dumb, to write his wants and wishes:

O, dear amends to the stammering tongue, to pen his burning thoughts!

To be of the college of Eloquence, through these silent symbols;
To pour out all the flowing mind without the toil of speech;
To show the babbling world how it might discourse more sweetly;
To prove that merchandise of words bringeth no monopoly of
wisdom;

To take sweet vengeance on a prating crew, for the tongue's dishonor,
By the large triumph of the pen, the homage rendered to a writing.
With such, that telegraph of mind is dearer than wealth or wisdom,
Enabling to please without pain, to impart without humiliation.

FAIR girl, whose eye hath caught the rustic penmanship of love, Let thy bright brow and blushing cheek confess in this sweet hour,

Let thy full heart, poor guilty one, whom the scroll of pardon hath

Thy wet, glad face, O mother, with news of a far-off child,

Thy strong and manly delight, pilgrim of other shores,

When the dear voice of thy betrothed speaketh in the letter of af

Let the young poet exulting in his lay, and hope (how false!) of fame, While, watching at deep midnight, he buildeth up the verse,

Let the calm child of genius, whose name shall never die,

For that the transcript of his mind hath made his thoughts im

mortal,

Let these, let all, with no faint praise, with no light gratitude,

confess

The blessings poured upon the earth from the pen of a ready writer.

MOREOVER, their preciousness in absence is proved by the desire of their presence;

When the despairing lover waiteth day after day,

Looking for a word in reply, one word writ by that hand,

And cursing bitterly the morn ushered in by blank disappointment;
Or when the long-looked-for answer argueth a cooling friend,
And the mind is plied suspiciously with dark, inexplicable doubts,
While thy wounded heart counteth its imaginary scars,

And thou art the innocent and injured, that friend the capricious and in fault;

Or when the earnest petition, that craveth for thy needs

Unheeded, yea, unopened, tortureth with starving delay

Or when the silence of a son, who would have written of his wel

fare,

Racketh a father's bosom with sharp-cutting fears,

For a letter, timely writ, is a rivet to the chain of affection,
And a letter, untimely delayed, is as rust to the solder.

The pen, flowing with love, or dipped black in hate,

Or tipped with delicate courtesies, or harshly edged with censure, Hath quickened more good than the sun, more evil than the sword, More joy than woman's smile, more woe than frowning fortune; And shouldst thou ask my judgment of that which hath most profit in the world,

For answer take thou this, The prudent penning of a letter.

THOU hast not lost an hour, whereof there is a record;

A written thought at midnight shall redeem the livelong day.
Idea is a shadow that departeth, speech is fleeting as the wind,
Reading is an unremembered pastime; but a writing is eternal:
For therein the dead heart liveth, the clay-cold tongue is eloquent,
And the quick eye of the reader is cleared by the reed of the scribe.
As a fossil in the rock, or a coin in the mortar of a ruin,
So the symbolled thoughts tell of a departed soul;

The plastic hand hath its witness in a statue, and exactitude of vision in a picture,

And so, the mind, that was among us, in its writings is embalmed.

OF WEALTH.

PRODIGALITY hath a sister Meanness, his fixed antagonist heartfellow,

Who often outliveth the short career of the brother she despiseth : She hath lean lips and a sharp look, and her eyes are red and

hungry:

But she sloucheth at his gait, and his mouth speaketh loosely and maudlin.

Let a spendthrift grow to be old, he will set his heart on saving, And labor to build up by penury that which extravagance threw down:

Even so, with most men, do riches earn themselves a double curse; They are ill-got by tight dealing; they are ill-spent by loose squan

dering.

Give me enough, saith Wisdom; for he feareth to ask for more; And that by the sweat of my brow, addeth stout-hearted Inde

pendence;

Give me enough, and not less, for want is leagued with the tempter; Poverty shall make a man desperate, and hurry him ruthless into

crime;

Give me enough, and not more, saving for the children of distress; Wealth ofttimes killeth, where want but hindereth the budding: There is green, glad summer near the pole, though brief, and after long winter,

But the burnt breasts of the torrid zone yield never kindly nourish

ment.

Wouldst thou be poor, scatter to the rich, and reap the tares of ingratitude;

Wouldst thou be rich, give unto the poor; -thou shalt have thine own with usury;

For the secret hand of Providence prospereth the charitable all

ways,

Good luck shall he have in his pursuits, and his heart shall be glad within him;

Yet perchance he never shall perceive, that even as to earthly gains, The cause of his weal, as of his joy, hath been small givings to the

poor.

IN the plain of Benares is there found a root that fathereth a forest, Where round the parent banian-tree drop its living scions; Thirstily they strain to the earth, like stalactites in a grotto,

And strike broad roots, and branch again, lengthening their cool arcades;

And the dervish madly danceth there, and the faquir is torturing his flesh,

And the calm brahmin worshippeth the sleek and pampered bull;
At the base lean jackals coil, while, from above depending,
With dull, malignant stare, watcheth the branch-like boa.
Even so, in man's heart is a sin that is the root of all evil;
Whose fibres strangle the affections, whose branches overgrow the
mind:

And oftenest beneath its shadow thou shalt meet distorted piety, The clinched and rigid fist, with the eyes upturned to heaven, Fanatic zeal with miserly severity, a mixture of gain with godliness, And him, against whom passion hath no power, kneeling to a golden

calf:

The hungry hounds of extortion are there, the bond, and the mortgage, and the writ,

While the appetite for gold, unslumbering, watcheth to glut its

maw:

And the heart, so tenanted and shaded, is cold to all things else: It seeth not the sunshine of heaven, nor is warmed by the light of charity.

FOR Covetousness disbelieveth God, and laugheth at the rights of

men;

Spurring unto theft and lying, and tempting to the poison and the

knife;

It sundereth the bonds of love, and quickeneth the flames of hate;
A curse that shall wither the brain, and case the heart with iron.
Content is the true riches, for without it there is no satisfying,
But a ravenous, all-devouring hunger gnaweth the vitals of the soul,
The wise man knoweth where to stop, as he runneth in the race of
fortune,

For experience of old hath taught him that happiness lingereth mid

way;

And many in hot pursuit have hasted to the goal of wealth,

But have lost, as they ran, those apples of gold,

the power to enjoy it.

THERE is no greater evil among men than a testament framed with

injustice,

Where caprice hath guided the boon, or dishonesty refused what

was due.

Generous is the robber on the highway, in the open daring of his

guilt,

To the secret coward, whose malice liveth and harmeth after him, Who smoothly sank into the tomb with the smile of fraud upon his

face,

And the last black deed of his existence was injury without redress; For deaf is the ear of the dead, and can hear no palliating reasons; The smiter is not among the living, and Right pleadeth but in vain. Yet shall the curse of the oppressed be as blight upon the grave of

the unjust;

Yea, bitterly shall that handwriting testify against him at the judgment.

I saw the humble relation that tended the peevishness of wealth, And ministered with kind hand to the wailings of disease and dis

content;

I noted how watchfulness and care were feeding on the marrow of

her youth,

How heavy was the yoke of dependence, loaded by petty tyranny; Yet I heard the frequent suggestion, -It can be but a little

longer;

Patience and mute submission shall one day reap a rich reward.

So, tacitly enduring much, waited that humble friend,

Putting off the lover of her youth until the dawn of wealth:

And it came, that day of release, and the freed heart could not sor

row,

For now were the years of promise to yield their golden harvest: Hope, so long deferred, sickly sparkled in her eye,

The miserable past was forgotten, as she looked for the happier

future,

And she checked, as unworthy and ungrateful, the dark, suspicious thought

That perchance her right had been the safer, if not left alone with

honor:

But, alas! the sad knowledge soon came, that her stern task-mas

ter's will

Hath rewarded her toil with a gibe, her patience with utter destitution!-