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fame hand that fell'd them. Her breath is her own, which fcents all the yeare long of June, like a new made hay cocke. She makes. her hand hard with labour, and her heart soft with pity; and when winter evenings fall early (fitting at her merrie wheele), fhe fings a defiance to the giddy wheele of fortune. She doth all things with so sweet a grace, it seems ignorance will not fuffer her to do ill, feeing her mind is to doe well. The garden and bee hive are all her phyfick and chyrurgerye, and fhe lives the longer for't. She dares goe alone, and unfold sheepe i' the night, and feares no manner of ill because she means none; yet, to say truth, she is never alone, for she is still accompanied with old fongs, honeft thoughts, and prayers, but short ones, yet they have their efficacy in that they are not pauled with enfuing idle cogitations. Thus lives she, and all her care is that she may die in the Spring-time, to have store of flowers ftucke upon her winding sheete."

England has fhepherds now, and her hills and dales afford pasture for countless flocks; but it is not "merrie England," as in the days of yore: it is a land of exports and imports, a huge trading nation, the battle-ground of competition; the arena of peaceful-or, as it is the fashion to term it, "industrial strife.” Dyer's prophecy, in his poem of "The Fleece," now a century old, is rapidly being fulfilled.

Shall we burst strong Darien's chain,

Steer our bold fleets between the cloven rocks,

And through the great Pacific every joy

Of civil life diffuse?

Are not her isles

Numerous and large?

Have they not harbours calm,

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A day will come, if not too deep we drink
The cup which luxury on careless wealth,
Pernicious gift, bestows: a day will come

When through new channels sailing, we shall clothe
The Californian coast, and all the realms

That stretch from Anian's Straits to proud Japan.

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HARVEST HOME.

UT there was joy in the village homes of England, not alone at the dawn of Spring, and the advent of

The flow'ry May, who from her green lap throws,
The yellow cowslip and the pale primrose;

but when Autumn had dyed the foliage of the forest trees with its many hues, and tinged the fields of waving grain with a golden tint; when "the appointed weeks of harvest" arrived, and the husbandman reaped where he had fown, then there went up again the merrie fhouts from the broad lands of Old England. Aye! when reaping-machines were unknown; when steam-ploughs had not even been the fubject of dreams; when tall factory-like chimneys were not feen rearing their graceless

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