The dissipated taste I acquired upon my first introduction to society, had, long since, subsided; and the quiet, sombre life I led, gave me a grave, meditative turn. The change, which I witnessed in all things around me, caused me to reflect much on their vanity; and when, upon the occasions before-mentioned, I used to see the gay, blooming faces of the young saluting me with so much complacency, I would fain have admonished them of the alteration they must soon undergo, and have told them how certainly their bloom, also, must fade away as a flower. But, alas! you know, sir, looking-glasses can only reflect. LESSON LX. The Silent Expression of Nature.-ANONYMOUS.* "There is no speech nor language- -their voice is not heard."-Ps. xix. 3 WHEN, thoughtful, to the vault of heaven I lift my wondering eyes, To night resign the skies,- Unheard, the dews around me fall, Night reigns, in silence, o'er the pole, Yet borrow not a word. * From "Musæ Biblica," published, London, 1819. Noiseless the sun emits his fire, The hand that moves, and regulates, Their amaranthine bowers; Sick of the vanity of man,— His noise, and pomp, and show,— LESSON LXI. A Thought.-BLACKWOOD'S MAgazine. O COULD we step into the grave, And look upon the greedy worms It well might change the reddest cheek And freeze the warmest blood, to look Upon so sad a sight! Yet still it were a sadder sight, If, in that lump of clay, There were a sense, to feel the worms So busy with their prey. O pity, then, the living heart,- On which the canker-worms of guilt LESSON LXII. Fidelity.-WORDSWORTH. À BARKING sound the shepherd hears, The dog is not of mountain breed; Nor is there any one in sight, All round, in hollow, or on height; Nor shout, nor whistle, strikes his ear: What is the creature doing here? It was a cove, a huge recess, That keeps, till June, December's snow; A lofty precipice in front, A silent tarn* below! Far in the bosom of Helvellyn, Remote from public road or dwelling, Pathway or cultivated land, From trace of human foot or hand. There, sometimes, does a leaping fish Send through the tarn a lonely cheer: crags repeat the raven's croak, The In symphony austere, * Tarn is a small mere or lake, mostly high up in the mountains. Thither the rainbow comes; the cloud; Not knowing what to think, a while may; Nor far had gone, before he found From those abrupt and perilous rocks, He instantly recalled the name, And who he was, and whence he came; On which the traveller passed this way. But hear a wonder now, for sake Of which this mournful tale I tell! A lasting monument of words This wonder merits well :— The dog, which still was hovering* nigh, This dog had been, through three months' space, Yes,† proof was plain, that, since the day On which the traveller thus had died, The dog had watched about the spot, Or by his master's side : How nourished here, through such long time, He knows, who gave that love sublime, LESSON LXIII. Solitude.-HENRY K. WHITE. It is not that my lot is low, In woods and glens I love to roam, Yet, when the silent evening sighs, The autumn leaf is sear and dead: The woods and winds, with sudden wail, I've none to smile when I am free, Yet, in my dreams, a form I view, I LESSON LXIV. Necessity of Industry, even to Genius.-V. KNOX. FROM the revival of learning to the present day, every thing that labour and ingenuity can invent, has been produced to facilitate the acquisition of knowledge. But, not |