Knowledge, a rude unprofitable mass, the mere materials with which wisdom builds, till smoothed and squared and fitted to its place, does but encumber whom it seems to enrich. Knowledge is proud that he has learned so much; wisdom is humble that he knows no more.

This cabin, Mary, in my sight appears,_x000D_ _x000D_ Built as it has been in our waning years,_x000D_ _x000D_ A rest afforded to our weary feet,_x000D_ _x000D_ Preliminary to - the last retreat.

Strength may wield the ponderous spade, May turn the clod, and wheel the compost home; But elegance, chief grace the garden shows, And most attractive, is the fair result Of thought, the creature of a polished mind.

No wisdom that she may gain by experience and reflection hereafter, will compensate the loss of her present hilarity.

Even in the stifling bosom of the town,_x000D_ _x000D_ A garden, in which nothing thrives, has charms_x000D_ _x000D_ That soothes the rich possessor; much consol'd,_x000D_ _x000D_ That here and there some sprigs of mournful mint,_x000D_ _x000D_ Or nightshade, or valerian, grace the well_x000D_ _x000D_ He cultivates.

Now stir the fire, and close the shutters fast, Let fall the curtains, wheel the sofa around, And while the bubbling and loud-hissing urn Throws up a steamy column, and the cups That cheer but not inebriate, wait on each, So let us welcome peaceful evening in