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He fell into discourse with him; and thus ... The dialogue they held come down to us : : St. P. N. Tell me what brings you, gentle youth,

to Rome ? Youth. To make myself a scholar, Sir, I come. St. P. N. And, when you are one what do you

intend ? Youth. To be a priest, I hope, Sir, in the end. St. P. N. Suppose it so—what have you next in

view ? Youth. That I may get to be a canon, too. St. P. N. Well; and how then ?

Youth. Why then, for aught I know, I may be made a bishop.

St. P. N. Be it so— What then?

Youth. Why, cardinal's a high degree, And yet my lot it possibly may be. St. P. N. Suppose it was—what then?

Youth. Why, who can say But I've a chance of being pope one day? St. P. N. Well, having worn the mitre and red

bat, And triple crown, what follows after that? Youth. Nay, there is nothing further, to be sure,

Upon this earth, that wishing can procure :
When I've enjoy'd a dignity so high

As long as God shall please, then I must die. St. P. N. What! must you die? fond youth! and

at the best
But wish, and hope, and may be all the rest ?
Take my advice—whatever may betide,
For that which must be, first of all provide,

Then think of that which may be; and, indeed, When well prepar’d, who knows what may

succeed? But you may be, as you are pleas'd to hope, Priest, canon, bishop, cardinal, and pope.


102.—THE REVEILLE. [1]

Up! quit thy bower, late wears the hour,
Long have the rooks caw'd round the tower;
O'er flower and tree loud hums the bee,
And the wild kid sports merrily-
The sun is bright, the skies are clear;
Wake, lady! wake, and hasten here.
Up! maiden fair, and bind thy hair,
And rouse thee in the breezy air ;
The lulling stream that soothed thy dream
Is dancing in the sunny beam.
Waste not these hours, so fresh, so gay,
Leave thy soft couch and haste away.
Up! time will tell, the morning bell
Its service-sound [2] has chimed well:
The aged crone [3] keeps house alone,
The reapers to the fields are gone.
Lose not these hours, so cool, so gay,
Lo! while thou sleep'st, they haste away.

Miss Baillie. [1] Reveillé-the notice that it is time to rise ; properly used as a military term.

[2] Service-sound - sound for matins, or morning prayers.

[X] Crone-an old woman.


The sun is down, the day gone by,
The stars are twinkling in the sky,
Nor torch nor taper longer may
Eke out [1] a blithe but stinted [2] day;
The hours have passed with stealthy flight,
We needs must part; good night, good night!

The lady in her curtain'd bed,
The herdsman in his wattled shed, [8]
The clansman [4] in the heather'd hall, [5]
Sweet sleep be with you, one and all!
We part, in hopes of days as bright
As this gone by ; good night, good night!

Sweet sleep be with us, one and all!
And if upon its stillness fall
The visions of a busy brain,
We'll have our pleasure o'er again,
To warm the heart, to charm the sight;
Gay dreams to all! good night, good night!

Miss Baillie.

[1] Eke out—lengthen.
[2] Stinted—Jimited—too short.

[8] Wattled shed a shed, the walls of which are made of twigs and sticks interwoven together.

[4] Clansman-a member of a clan, or family-here a dependent member, whose place is in the hall.

[5] Heathered hall-strewn with heath to lie on.


How pleasant the life of a bird must be,
Flitting about in each leafy tree;
In the leafy trees, so broad and tall,
Like a green and beautiful palace-hall,
With its airy chambers, light and boon, [1]
That open to sun, and stars, and moon,
That open unto the bright blue sky,
And the frolicsome winds as they wander by.
They have left their nests in the forest bough,
Those homes of delight they need not now;
And the young and the old they wander out,
And traverse their green world round about :
And hark! at the top of this leafy hall,
How one to the other they lovingly call ;
Come up, come up !” they seem to say,
“Where the topmost twigs in the breezes sway!”
“ Come up, come up, for the world is fair,
Where the merry leaves dance in the summer air !”
And the birds below give back the cry,
“ We come, we come, to the branches high!”
How pleasant the life of a bird must be,
Flitting about in a leafy tree,
And away through the air what joy to go,
And to look on the green bright earth below.
How pleasant the life of a bird must be,
Skimming about on the breezy sea,
Cresting the billows like silvery foam,
And then wheeling away to its cliff-built home!

[1] Boon--gay, cheerful.

What joy it must be to sail, upborne
By a strong free wing, through the rosy morn,
To meet the young sun face to face,
And pierce like a shaft the boundless space!

How pleasant the life of a bird must be,
Wherever it listeth [1] there to flee ;
To go when a joyful fancy calls
Dashing adown 'mong the waterfalls,
Then wheeling about with its mates at play,
Above and below, and among the spray,
Hither and hither, with screams as wild
As the laughing mirth of a rosy child!

What joy it must be, like a living breeze,
To flutter about 'mong the flowering trees ;
Lightly to soar, and to see beneath
The wastes of the blossoming purple heath,
And the yellow furze, like fields of gold,
That gladden some fairy region old!
On mountain tops, on the billowy sea,
On the leafy stems of the forest tree,
How pleasant the life of a bird must be !

Mary Howitt.

105.—MORAL AXIOMS. Duty by habit is to pleasure turn’d; He is content who to obey has learn’d.

[1] Listeth-chooses, pleases.

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