SANTA CROCE.
BY J. U. U.
I stood and saw the pictured gloom unfold
Grey Santa Croce, crossed by dusky rays
That dimmed its columned aisle; as from of old
Its ancient air lay slumbering o’er the cold
Dark dwellers underneath. When to my gaze,
Shade-like, ’mid that grey gloom of distant day.
She stood, whom Petrarch looked on there and caught
That love too strong for death! A tender gleam
Like moonlight fell around her, baffling thought;
Strange! ’twas remembrance thither stole, and brought
That smile of sweetness from my breast’s deep stream
More strong than fancy, and transformed the dream
To thee—from her, whom a less hallowed fire
Hath made immortal with the love-devoted lyre.
Sensible Advice.—Avoid condolence with those who are mourning the loss of friends. Condolences, as well as mournings, are bad things. Men, and more especially women, give actual increase to their grief while, under the notion of duty, and even of merit, they make display of it. If mournings were altogether out of use, a vast mass of suffering would be prevented from coming into existence. Some savage or barbarous nations make merry at funerals: they are wiser, in this respect, than polished ones.—Bowring’s Deontology.
When a native of Java has a child born, he immediately plants a cocoa-tree, which, adding a circle every year to its bark, indicates the age of the tree, and therefore the age of the child. The child, in consequence, regards the tree with affection all the rest of its life.—Buck’s Harmonies, &c., of Nature.