eer.
If our Pilot be Caution, we've little to fear!

Oh! Extravagance saileth 'mid glitter and show,
As if fortune's rich tide never ebbed in its flow;
But see her at night when her gold-light is spent,
When her anchor is lost, and her silken sails rent;
When the wave of destruction her shatter'd side drinks,
And the billows--ha! ha!--laugh and shout as she sinks.
No! give us _Content_, as life's channel we steer.
While our Pilot is _Caution_, there's little to fear.

--Charles Swain.

* * * * *

LAUGHING IN THE SLEEVE.--A writer in _Notes and Queries_ gives an
instance of Curry's wit, introduced after a defeat in a conversational
contest with Lady Morgan. "It was the fashion then for ladies to
wear very short sleeves; and Lady Morgan, albeit not a young woman,
with true provincial exaggeration, wore none--a mere strap over her
shoulders. Curry was walking away from her little coterie, when she
called out, 'Ah! come back, Mr. Curry, and acknowledge that you are
fairly beaten.' 'At any rate,' said he, turning round, 'I have this
consolation, you can't laugh at me in your sleeve!"

* * * * *

An antiquarian discovery has just been made in Kremusch, near
Treplitz, in Bohemia. Some twelve feet below the surface of the earth,
a tomb, with six bodies in it, was found. It contained, besides, a
gold chain about a yard and a half long, three gold ear-rings, two
gold balls of the size of a walnut, a gold medallion with a cameo
representing a Roman Emperor, and an iron plate, thickly silvered,
on each side of which is engraved a reindeer, with a hawk on its hind
quarters. The workmanship of the different objects, which evidently
belong to the ante-Christian era, is remarkable for its neatness.

* * * * *

DEATH.

"Death is a road our dearest friends have gone;
Why, with such leaders, fear to say 'Lead on?'
Its gate repels, lest it too soon be tried;
But turns in balm on the immortal side.
Mothers have pass'd it; fathers; children: men,
Whose like we look not to behold again;
Women, that smiled away their loving breath.--
Soft is the traveling on the road of Death.
But guilt has passed it? Men not fit to die?
Oh, hush--for He that made us all, is by.
Human were all; all men; all born of mothers;
All our own selves, in the worn-out shape of ot