28 JANUARY 1882, Page 14



WE walked among the woods in spring,

When earth was fair to see, With bluebell and with cherry bloom And white anemone.

Then one of us, I think, forgot

The truth, so often told,—

That speech is only silver, dear, But silence often gold.

You talked to me of tint and tone, Of subtle green and grey, Of light and shade, and glint and gleam, And sunbeam's tender play. You made me strain my ears to hear Each tinkling phrase unfold ; Your speech, maybe, was silver-gilt,- But yet it was not gold.

Ah me ! you thought me savage, then, A Philistinic boy ; I know full well, that sweet spring day You robbed me of my joy.

The false, resthetic brass, 'tis true,

Your purse could never hold ; -Would it had held less silver, then,

And greater store of gold !

The eyes to see, the ears to hear, The every sight and sound ; But speak not, for the place whereon You stand is holy ground !

Yes, look and think, if think you can, But silence purest gold. S. B..