and burst into tears. "Whither so fast, my good lad?” asked Hope, jeeringly. "I am going to school," replied the lad, "to study, when I would rather, a thousand times, be at play; and sit on a bench with a book in my hand, while I long to be sporting in the fields. But never mind, I shall be a man soon, and then I shall be as free as the air." Saying this, he skipped away merrily in the hope of soon being a man. 'It is thus you play upon the inexperience of youth," said Memory, reproachfully. 4. Passing onward, they met a beautiful girl, pacing slowly and with a melancholy air, behind a party of gay young men and maidens, who walked arm in arm with each other, and were flirting and exchanging all those little harmless courtesies which nature prompts on such occasions. They were all gayly dressed in silks and ribbons; but the little girl had on a sim ple frock, a homely apron, and clumsy, thick-soled shoes. "Why do you not join yonder group," asked Hope, "and partake in their gayety, my pretty little girl?" "Alas!” replied she, "they take no notice of me. They call me a child. But I shall soon be a woman, and then I shall be so happy!" Inspired by this hope, she quickened her pace, and soon was seen dancing along merrily with the rest. 5. In this manner they wended their way from nation to nation, and clime to clime, until they had made the circuit of the universe. Wherever they came they found the human race, who, at this time, were all young (it being not many years since the first creation of mankind), repining at the present, and looking forward to a riper age for happiness. All anticipated some future good, and Memory had scarce any thing to do but cast looks of reproach at her young companion. 6. "Let us return home," said she, "to that delightful spot where I first drew my breath. I long to repose among its beautiful bowers; to listen to the brooks that murmured a thousand times more musically; to the birds that sung a thousand times more sweetly; and to the echoes that were softer than any I have since heard. Ah! there is nothing on earth so enchanting as the scenes of my early youth!" Hope Indulged himself in a sly, significant smile, and they proceeded on their return home. 7. As they journeyed but slowly, many years elapsed ere they approached the spot from which they had departed. It so happened one day, that they met an old man, bending un der the weight of years, and walking with trembling steps leaning on his staff. Memory at once recognized him as the youth they had seen going to school, on their first onset in the tour of the world. As they came nearer, the old man reclined on his staff, and looking at Hope, who, being immortal, was still a blithe, young boy, sighed, as if his heart was breaking. "What aileth thee, old man?" asked the youth. "What aileth me?" he replied, in a feeble, faltering voice. "What should ail me, but old age? I have outlived my health and strength; I have survived all that was near and dear; I have seen all that I loved, or that loved me, struck down to the earth like dead leaves in autumn; and now I stand like an old tree, withering, alone in the world, without roots, without branches, and without verdure. I have only just enough of sensation to know that I am miserable, and the recollection of the happiness of my youthful days, when, careless and full of blissful anticipations, I was a laughing, merry boy, only adds to the miseries I now endure." 8. "Behold!" said Memory, "the consequence of thy deceptions," and she looked reproachfully at her companion. "Behold!" replied Hope, "the deception practised by thyself. Thou persuadest him that he was happy in his youth. Dost thou remember the boy we met when we first set out together, who was weeping on his way to school, and sighed to be a man?" Memory cast down her eyes, and was silent. 9. A little way onward they came to a miserable cottage at the door of which was an aged woman, meanly clad, and shaking with palsy. She sat all alone, her head resting on her bosom, and, as the pair approached, vainly tried to raise it up to look at them. "Good-morrow, old lady, and all happiness to you," cried Hope, gayly, and the old woman thought it was a long time since she had heard such a cheering salutation. "Happiness!" said she, in a voice that quivered with weakness and infirmity. "Happiness! I have not known it since I was a little girl, without care or sorrow. Oh, I re member those delightful days, when I thought of nothing but the present moment, nor cared for the future or the past. When I laughed, and played, and sung, from morning till night, and envied no one, and wished to be no other than I was. But those happy times are passed, never to return. Oh, could I but once more return to the days of my childhood!" The old woman sunk back on her seat, and the tears flowed from her hollow eyes. Memory again reproached her companion, but he only asked her if she recollected the little girl they had met a long time ago, who was so miserable because she was so young? Memory knew it well enough, and said not another word. 10. They now approached their home, and Memory was on tiptoe with the thought of once more enjoying the unequalled beauties of those scenes from which she had been so long separated. But, some how or other, it seemed that they were sadly changed. Neither the grass was so green, the flowers so sweet and lovely, nor did the brooks murmur, the echoes answer, nor the birds sing half so enchantingly, as she remembered them in time past. "Alas!" she exclaimed, "how changed is every thing! I alone am the same!" "Every thing is the same, and thou alone art changed," answered Hope. "Thou hast deceived thyself in the past, just as much as I deceive others in the future." 11. “What are you disputing about?" asked an old man, whom they had not observed before, though he was standing close by them. "I have lived almost fourscore and ten years, and my experience may, perhaps, enable me to decide between you." They told him the occasion of their disagreement, and related the history of their journey round the earth. The old man smiled, and, for a few moments, sat buried in thought. He then said to them: "I, too, have lived to see all the hopes of my youth turn into shadows, clouds, and darkness, and vanish into nothing. I, too, have survived my fortune, ny friends, my children; the hilarity of youth, and the blessing of health." "And dost thou not despair?" said Memory. "No, I have still one hcpe left me." "And what is that ?" "The hope of heaven!" 12 Memory turned towards Hope, threw herself into his arms, which opened to receive her, and, bursting into tears, exclaimed: "Forgive me, I have done thee injustice. Let us lever again separate from each other." "With all my heart,' aid Hope, and they continued forever after to travel to gether, hand in hand, through the world. 144. LOVE OF COUNTRY. SCOTT. 1 BREATHES there the man, with soul so dead, "This is my own, my native land !" From wandering on a foreign strand? 2. High though his titles, proud his name, O Caledonia! stern and wild, Meet nurse for a poetic child Land of brown heath and shaggy wood Land of the mountain and the flood. Land of my sires; what mortal hand That knits me to thy rigged strand ! 145. THE CHARMED SERPENT. OHATEAUBRIAND. FRANCOS AUGUSTE, VICOMTE DE CHATEAUBRIAND, born at St. Malo, France, in 1768; died in 1848. The name of Chateaubriand is one of those of which France will ever be justly proud. His writings are among the first of the modern French classics, and belong to a period which may be called the Christian Revival in France. His greatest works are the "Genius of Christianity," and "The Martyrs." Among his other literary achievements, Chateaubriand translated Milton's "Paradise Lost," into French. 1. ONE day, while we were encamped in a spacious plain on the bank of the Genesee River, we saw a rattlesnake. There was a Canadian in our party who could play on the flute, and to divert us he advanced toward the serpent with his new specics of weapon. On the approach of his enemy, the haughty reptile curls himself into a spiral line, flattens his head, inflates his cheeks, contracts his lips, displays his enveuomed fangs and his bloody throat. His double tongue glows like two flames of fire; his eyes are burning coals; his body, swollen with rage, rises and falls like the bellows of a forge; his dilated skin assumes a dull and scaly appearance; and his tail, which sends forth an ominous sound, vibrates with such rapidity as to resemble a light vapor. 2. The Canadian now begins to play on his flute. The serpent starts with surprise and draws back his head. In proportion as he is struck with the magic sound, his eyes lose their fierceness, the oscillations of his tail diminish, and the noise which it emits grows weaker, and gradually dies away. The spiral folds of the charmed serpent, diverging from the perpendicular, expand, and one after the other sink to the ground in concentric circles. The tints of azure, green, white, and gold, recover their brilliancy on his quivering skin, and, slightly turning his head, he remains motionless in the attitude of attention and pleasure |