Gardening’. 
OIL and be strong. Some love the mauly foils: 
The tennis some; and some the gracehd dance; 
Others, mare hardy, range the purple heath 
Or naked stubble, where from field to field 
The sounding coveys urge their laboring fiight, 
Eager amid the rising cloud to pour 
The gun’s unerring thunder; and there are 
Whom still the meed of the green archer charms. 
But if through genuine tenderness of heart, 
Or secret want of relish for the game, 
You shun the glories of the chase, nor care 
To haunt the weopled stream, the garden yields 
A soft amusement, a, humane delight: 
To raise tbs insipid nature of the ground, 
Or tame its yivage genius to the grace 
Of careles / 'eet rusticity, that seems 
The ami? 1 r result of happy chance, 
Is to ciY / and give a godly joy, 
Which evdtty year improves. Yor thou disdain 
To check the lafdess riot of the trees, 
To plant the grove, or turn the barren mould. 
Drjt. Armstrong. 
'v 
Post-Mortem Love*. 
\ 
is it that so many people keep all 
vi'Ji their pleasant thoughts and kind 
words about a man bottled and sealed up 
until he is dead, when they come and break 
the bottle over his coffin and bathe his 
shroud in fragrance? Many a man goes 
through life with scarcely one bright, cheer¬ 
ing, encouraging, hopeful word. He toils 
hard, and in lowly obscurity. He gives out 
his life freely and unstintedly for others. 
I remember such a man. He was not brill¬ 
iant—he was not great; but he was faithful. 
He had many things to discourage him. 
Troubles thickened about his life. He was 
misrepresented and mi uderstood. Every¬ 
body believed that lie was a good man, but 
no one ever said a kind word or a pleasant 
thing to him. He never heard a compli¬ 
ment, and scarcely ever a good wish. No 
one ever took any pains to encourage him, 
to strengthen his feeble knees, to lighten 
his burdens or to lift up his heart by a gen¬ 
tle deed of love or by a cheerful word. He 
was neglected. Unkind things were often 
said of him. I stood at his coffin, and then 
there were many tongues to speak his praise. 
There was not a breath of aspersion in the 
air; men spoke of his self-denials, of his 
work among the poor, of his good qualities, 
of liis quietness, his modesty, his humility, 
his pureness of heart, his faith and prayer. 
There were many who spoke indignantly of 
the charges that falsehood had forg’d against 
him in past years, and of the treatment he 
had received. There were enough kind 
things said during the two or three days he 
lay in his coffin, and while the company 
stood around his open grave, to have blessed 
and made him happy all his fifty years, and 
to have thrown sweetness and joy about his 
soul during his painful and weary journey. 
There was enough sunshine wasted about 
the black coffin and the dark grave to have 
made his whole life-path as bright as the 
clearest day. But his ears were closed then 
and could not hear a word that was spoken; 
his heart was still then, and could not be 
thrilled with the grateful sounds. He cared 
nothing for the sweet flowers that were 
piled upon his coffin. The love blossomed 
out too late; the kindness came when the 
life could not receive the blessings; and I 
said then that I would not keep all my kind 
words and all my pleasant thoughts and 
feelings about my neighbor locked up in my 
breast till he is dead. They will do him no 
good then. His dead hand cannot feel the 
warm pressure. Gentle words will not 
make iiis pale, cold face glow. It will be 
too late when he lies in his coffin to seek to 
make him happy—to lift the shadows off his 
life or to brighten his path. 
It costs but little to give men a great 
deal of joy and help. One brought a bunch 
of flowers to my table, and for a whole 
week they filled my room with fragrance. 
One wrote me a cheering letter, breathing 
a spirit of gratitude and love. It came 
when I was weary and depressed, and was 
like the meal prepared by the angel for the 
old prophet. I went on its blessed strength 
for many days. One met me on the street 
and spoke an encouraging word and grasp¬ 
ed me warmly by the hand, and for hours 
I felt that warm grasp and heard that word 
echoing through my soul. A little child 
may brighten scores of lives every day. 
There is not one of us who may not glad¬ 
den and strengthen many a heart between 
every rising and setting sun. Why should 
we not live to bless the living, to cheer the 
disheartened, to sweeten cups that are bit- 
