e evil,
And only free in part,
Have need of things with Heaven co-eval,
Of Faith's unbounded heart.

God grant the times approaching
Be full of glad events,
No unheroic aims reproaching
Our line of Presidents.

* * * * *

V.

TWO NEIGHBOURS.

WHAT THEY GOT OUT OF LIFE.

It was just two o'clock of one of the warmest of the July afternoons.
Mrs. Hill had her dinner all over, had put on her clean cap and apron,
and was sitting on the north porch, making an unbleached cotton shirt
for Mr. Peter Hill, who always wore unbleached shirts at harvest-time.
Mrs. Hill was a thrifty housewife. She had pursued this economical
avocation for some little time, interrupting herself only at times to
"_shu_!" away the flocks of half-grown chickens that came noisily about
the door for the crumbs from the table-cloth, when the sudden shutting
down of a great blue cotton umbrella caused her to drop her work, and
exclaim:

"Well, now, Mrs. Troost! who would have thought you ever _would_ come to
see me!"

"Why, I have thought a great many times I would come," said the visitor,
stamping her little feet--for she was a little woman--briskly on the
blue flag-stones, and then dusting them nicely with her white cambric
handkerchief, before venturing on the snowy floor of Mrs. Hill. And,
shaking hands, she added, "It _has_ been a good while, for I remember
when I was here last I had my Jane with me--quite a baby then, if you
mind--and she is three years old now."

"Is it possible?" said Mrs. Hill, untying the bonnet-strings of her
neighbor, who sighed as she continued, "Yes, she was three along in
February;" and she sighed again, more heavily than before, though there
was no earthly reason that I know of why she should sigh, unless,
perhaps, the flight of time, thus brought to mind, suggested the
transitory nature of human things.

Mrs. Hill laid the bonnet of Mrs. Troost on her "spare bed," and covered
it with a little pale-blue crape shawl, kept especially for such
occasions; and, taking from the drawer of the bureau a large fan of
turkey feathers, she presented it to her guest, saying, "A very warm
day, isn't it?"

"O, dreadful, dreadful! It seems as hot as a bake oven; and I suffer
with the heat all Summer, more or less. But it's a world of suffering;"
and Mrs. Troost half closed her eyes, as if to shut out the terrible
reality.

"Hay-making require