His plighted maiden, when she fears The memory of her buried joys,— Talk of thy doom without a sigh; That were not born to die. "Marco Bozzaris was the Epaminondas of Modern Greece. He fell in a night attack upon the Turkish camp at Laspi, the site of the ancient Platea, August 20, 18-3 and expired in the moment of victory. His last words were, 'To die for liberty is a pleasure, not a pain."" Literary Rambler. SPEAK GENTLY. DAVID BATES. FROM AN OLD NEWSPAPER, SPEAK gently-it is better far To rule by love than fear; Speak gently-love doth whisper low Speak gently to the little child, Its love be sure to gain; Speak gently to the young, for they Pass through this life as best they may, 'Tis full of anxious care. Speak gently to the aged one, Grieve not the care-worn heart, The sands of life are nearly run, Let such in peace depart. Speak gently, kindly, to the poor- Speak gently to the erring ones— They must have toil'd in vain; Perchance unkindness made them so, Oh, win them back again. Speak gently!-He who gave his life Speak gently!-'tis a little thing Dropp'd in the heart's deep well; The good, the joy that it may bring, Eternity shall tell. THE ENGLISH HEARTH. GEORGE TWEDDELL. FROM "THE YORKSHIRE MISCELLANY," 1845. "O pleasant hour! O moment ever sweet! When once again we reach the calm retreat, Where looks of iove and tones of joy abide, That heaven on earth--our dear, our own fireside!" Heavisides' Pleasures of Home. WHEN Autumn's fruits are gather'd in, And trees and fields are bare; When merry birds no more are heard To warble in the air; When sweetest flowers have droop'd and died, And snow is on the ground; How cheerful is an English hearth, With friends all seated round. Then is the time for festive mirth, And when the wild storm howls without With deep and hollow sound, I love the cheerful English hearth With friends all seated round. And when those touching strains are sung, How swift the evening seems to fly- What though the snow-flakes thickly fall, I have a cheerful English hearth For friends to sit around. And when the clouds of worldly care With friends all seated round. Though slander's foul, envenom'd shafts Should pierce my spirit through, There is one smile, one sunlit eye, To beam upon me now; And though my fate should be to roam I'll think upon my English hearth, |