And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."

I can see the shadowy lines of its trees,
And catch, in sudden gleams,

The sheen of far surrounding seas,
And islands that were the Hesperides
Of all my boyish dreams.

And the burden of that old song,
It murmurs and whispers still:

"A boy's will is the wind's will,

And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."

I remember the black wharves and the slips,
And the sea tides tossing free,

And Spanish sailors with bearded lips,
And the beauty and mystery of the ships,

And the magic of the sea.

And the voice of that wayward song

Is singing and saying still,

"A boy's will is the wind's will,

And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."

I remember the bulwarks by the shore,

And the fort upon the hill,

The sunrise gun, with its hollow roar,
The drum-beat repeated o'er and o'er,
And the bugle wild and shrill.

And the music of that old song
Throbs in my memory still:

"A boy's will is the wind's will,

And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."

I remember the sea fight far away,
How it thundered over the tide,
And the dead captains as they lay

In their graves o'erlooking the tranquil bay,

Where they in battle died.

And the sound of that mournful song

Goes through me with a thrill:

"A boy's will is the wind's will,

And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."

I can see the breezy dome of groves,
The shadows of Deering's Woods;

And the friendships old and the early loves
Come back with a Sabbath sound, as of doves
In quiet neighborhoods.

And the verse of that sweet old song

It flutters and murmurs still:

"A boy's will is the wind's will,

And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."

I remember the gleams and glooms that dart
Across the schoolboy's brain,

The song and the silence in the heart,
That in part are prophecies, and in part
Are longings wild and vain.

And the voice of that fitful song
Sings on and is never still:

"A boy's will is the wind's will,

And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."

There are things of which I may not speak;
There are dreams that cannot die;

There are thoughts that make the strong heart weak,
And bring a pallor into the cheek,

And a mist before the eye.

And the words of that fatal song,
Come over me like a chill:

"A boy's will is the wind's will,

And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."

Strange to me now are the forms I meet,

When I visit the dear old town;

But the native air is pure and sweet,

And the trees that o'ershadow the well-known street,
As they balance up and down,
Are singing the beautiful song,

And sighing and whispering still,

"A boy's will is the wind's will,

And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."

And Deering's Woods are fresh and fair,

And with joy that is almost pain

My heart goes back to wander there,

And among the dreams of the days that were

I find my lost youth again.

And the strange and beautiful song,
The groves are repeating it still:

"A boy's will is the wind's will,

And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."

A FRIEND.

How many lovely things we find
In earth, and air, and sea!
The distant bells upon the wind,
The blossom on the tree;

But lovelier far than chime or flower,
A valued friend in sorrow's hour.

Sweet is the carol of a bird,

When warbling on the spray,

And beautiful the moon's pale beam
That lights us on our way;

Yet lovelier friendship's look and word.
Than moonlight, or than warbling bird.

How prized the coral and the shell,
And valued, too, the pearl!
Who can the hidden treasures tell

O'er which the soft waves curl?

Yet dearer still a friend to me
Than all in earth, or air, or sea.

GOOD NATURE.

MEN are disposed to view sobriety as a necessary ingredient of religion, and to regard mirthfulness as needless, or at least to be sparingly indulged in. It is thus compelled to be a vagabond-a companion of idleness begging its bread from door to door. It must not sit with scholars, lest its quips should disconcert their teachers; it must not be found in the counting-room; it must not do military duty. The judges of the bench regard it as an intruder, and drive it down among the lawyers. Its appearance at church shocks devotion, and awakens whole drowsy rows to indignation. Driven from all places, it is obliged to consort with men who will take it, and it repays them.

Refined or intellectual wit is the combination of mirthfulness with the reflective faculties of the intellect. Mirthfulness also unites with combativeness, and sometimes displays itself even in the sneering, biting sarcasm. It becomes dry wit, akin to sobri