9. Or a swallow that flieth the sunny world over, The true home of spring and spring-flowers to discover; Who, go where he will, takes away on his wings Good words from mankind for the bright thoughts he brings? 19. But what! can these pictures of strange winged mirth Make the child to forget that she walks on the earth? 11. Then love the green things in thy first simple youth, 35. NOVEL READING. ANON. 1. It is argued in favor of novel reading, that works of fiction of the present day are, in their general character, so correct in principle, so unexceptionable in narrative, sometimes even so high-toned in morality, and, in the case of some particular authors, so finished in style, and rich in the varied beauties of good compositions, that they may be perused not only without injury, but actually, under some aspects, with positive advantage. As clever delineations of character, too, they are said to afford so deep an insight into human nature, and so profit able a knowledge of the world and its ways, as to be in those respects a useful study for, the inexperienced. 2. There can be no doubt of the vast improvement of the present period in that description of literary production emphatically called light. We know by hearsay that the ro mances of former days were not calculated to promote the health either of mind or heart; ard that they should have been superseded by fictitious works of a more refining tendency, and a more enlightened character, canno. but be deemed an advantage. Yet, according to all the merit they can possibly claim, and viewing them under their very best and most favor able aspect, they are in many ways, to say the least, extremely dlangerous." 3. Novels are in general pictures, and usually very highly vrought pictures, of human passions; and it has been renarked, that although the conclusion of the tale frequently awards signal punishment and degradation to some very gross offender, yet that in a far greater number of instances passion is represented as working out its ends successfully, and attaining its object even by the sacrifice of duty-an evil lesson for the heart yet unacquainted with vice, and uncontaminated by the world. It may indeed be safely questioned whether the knowledge of human nature thus acquired is of a profitable kind, and whether experience of life might not, for all practical purposes, be derived from other and purer sources than the teachings of romances. 4. Again, novels, as a class, present false views of life; and as it is the error of the young to mistake those for realities, they become the dupes of their own ardent and enthusiastic imaginations, which, instead of trying to control and regulate, they actually strengthen and nourish with the poisonous food of phantoms and chimeras. When the thirst for novel reading has become insatiable, as with indulgence it is sure to do, they come at last to live in an unreal fairy-land, amid heroes and heroines of their own creation. The taste for serious reading and profitable occupation is destroyed-all relish for prayer is lost. In addition to their other disadvantages, many of these books unfortunately teem with maxims subversive of simple faith, and in cordial irreverence for the truths of reigion; and so it but frequently happens, as the climax of evil, that faith suffers to a greater or lesser extent from their habitual, indiscriminate perusal. 5. As a recreation, light works may, of course, be occasionally resorted to; but so many and so great are their attendant dangers, that extreme care should be taken to neutralize their poison by infallible antidotes The selection of such works should always be left to a religious parent, or a pious and intelligent friend. They should never be made an occupation, but merely serve as a pastime, and that occasionally. They should never be perused in the early part of the day, but only in the evening hour, specially laid aside for relaxation. They should never be continued beyond the moderate length of time to which, under prudent and pious direction, you have limited yourself-never resumel after night prayers, and never read on Sundays. 6. They should not be allowed to engross the mind to the exclusion of all other thoughts; but more especially during their perusal should the sweet, refreshing, invigorating thought of God's presence be often recalled, and our aspirations ascend to His Throne, that He who is the Author of all the happiness we enjoy may bless and sanctify even our amusements. 7. The observance of these conditions no doubt requires some self-control; but if you cannot exercise that control, neither can you expect to peruse works of fiction without material, perhaps fatal, injury to your precious soul. If you cannot exercise that control, you should never read novels. If there be one more than another of these conditions to which your are recommended strict fidelity, it is to the first. By referring, for directions in your reading, to a pious, experienced guide, you will be secured against making selections among that class of fictitious works impregnated with the venom of anti-catholic maxims. 8. And, as the spirit of impiety and infidelity so prevalent in the literary world, seeks a medium for its venom no less in works of science than in works of fiction, you will find the advantage of applying the foregoing rule in the one case as in the other, never reading a suspected author without having ascertained how far your doubts are well founded. 36. DEATH OF FATHER MARQUETTE. J. G. SHEA. JOHN GILMARY SHEA is a native of New York. He has made many valuable contributions to American Catholic literature. His writings ara chiefly on historical and archæological subjects. His original "History of the Catholic Missions in America," and his translation (with additions) of De Courcy's "History of the Church in the United States," are works of great value to the student of ecclesiastical history. Mr. Shea, has also written "The First Book of History," and a short "History of the United States," for the use of schools. 1. CALMLY and cheerfully he saw the approach of death, for which he prepared by assidious prayer; his office he regularly recited to the last day of his life; a meditation on death, which he had long since prepared for this hour, he now made the subject of his thoughts; and as his kind but simple companions seemed overwhelmed at the prospect of their approaching loss, he blessed some water with the usual ceremonies, gave his companions directions how to act in his last moments, how to arrange his body when dead, and to commit it to the earth with the ceremonies he prescribed. 2. He now seemed but to seek a grave;-at last perceiving the mouth of a river which still bears his name, he pointed to an eminence as the place of his burial. . . . . His companions then erected a little bark cabin, and stretched the dying missionary beneath it as comfortably as their wants permitted them. Still a priest, rather than a man, he thought of his ministry, and, for the last time, heard the confessions of his companions and encouraged them to rely with confidence on the protection of God—then sent them to take the repose they 30 much needed. 3. When he felt his agony approaching, he called them, and taking his crucifix from around his neck he placed it in thei hands, thanking the Almighty for the favor of permitting hin to die a Jesuit, a missionary, and alone. Then he relapse. into silence, interrupted only by his pious aspirations, till at last, with the names of Jesus and Mary on his lips, with his eyes raised as if in an ecstasy above his crucifix, with his face radiant with joy, he passed from the scene of his labor to God who was to be his reward. 4. Obedient to his directions, his companions, when the first outbursts of grief were over, laid out the body for burial, and to the sound of his little chapel bell, bore it slowly to the spot which he had pointed out. Here they committed his body to the earth, and, raising a cross above it, returned to their now desolate cabin. Such was the edifying and holy death of th illustrious explorer of the Mississippi, on Saturday, 18th of May, 1675. 37. THE CROSS IN THE WILDERNESS. MRS. HEMANS. FELICIA D. HEMANS was born in England in 1794; died in 1885. He poetry has an elevated tone, with a fine appreciation of the beauty of nature ind expresses the domestic affections with tenderness and truth. 1. SILENT and mournful sat an Indian chief, In the red sunset, by a grassy tomb; His eyes, that might not weep, were dark with grier, 2. For a pale cross above its greensward rose, Telling the cedars and the pines, that there 3. There came a lonely traveller o'er the wild, And he, too, paused in reverence by that grave, Between the forest and the lake's bright wave; 4. And the gray chieftain, slowly rising, said— |