The man who has learned to live alone feels his spirits enlivened whenever he enters into company, and takes his leave without regret; another, who has long been accustomed to a crowd, or continual succession of company, experiences in company no elevation of spirits, nor any greater satisfaction than what the man of retired life finds in his chimney corner. So far their conditions are equal; but let a change of place, fortune, or situation separate the companion from his circle, his visitors, his club, or coffee house, and the difference of advantage in the choice and constitution of the two habits I will show itself. Solitude comes to the one, clothed with melancholy; to the other it brings liberty and quiet. You will see the one fretful and restless, at a loss how to dispose of his time, till the hour come round when he may forget himself in bed; the other, easy and satisfied, taking up his book as soon as he finds himself alone; ready to admit any little amusement that casts up, or to turn his hands and attention to the first business that presents itself; or content, without either, to sit still, and let his train of thought glide indolently through his brain, without much use, perhaps, or pleasure, but without hankering after any thing better, and without irritation.

A reader, who has inured himself to books of science and argumentation, if a novel, a well-written pamphlet, an article of news, a narrative of a curious voyage, or a journal of a traveller, fall in his way, sits down to the repast with relish, enjoys his entertainment while it lasts, and can return, when it is over, to his grave reading without distaste. Another, with whom nothing will go down but works of humor and pleasantry, or whose curiosity must be interested by perpetual novelty, will consume a bookseller's window in half a forenoon, during which time he is rather in search of diversion than diverted; and as books to his taste are few, and short, and rapidly read over, the stock is soon exhausted, when he is left without resource from this principal supply of harmless

amusement.

So far as circumstances of fortune conduce to happiness, it is not the income which any man possesses, but the increase of income, that affords the pleasure. Two persons, of whom one begins with a hundred, and advances his income to a thousand pounds a year, and the other sets off with a thousand, and dwindles down to a hundred, may, in the course of their time, have the receipt and spending of the same sum of money; yet their satisfaction, so far as fortune is concerned in it, will be very different; the series and sum total of their incomes being the same, it makes a wide difference at which end they begin.

LXII.—THE PARTING OF MARMION AND DOUGLAS.

SIR WALTER SCOTT.

[The scene of Marmion, from which the following extract is taken, is laid in the be ginning of the sixteenth century, concluding with the battle of Flodden, fought in 1513. Marmion, an English nobleman, a man of bad character, who had forged a paper, is sent as envoy to James IV. of Scotland. Douglas, by his sovereign's orders, receives him at his castle, and treats him with cold hospitality; and at last takes leave of him as follows:-]

NOT far advanced was morning day,
When Marmion did his troop array,

To Surrey's camp to ride;
He had safe conduct for his band,
Beneath the royal seal and hand,
And Douglas gave a guide;
The ancient earl, with stately grace,
Would Clara* on her palfrey place,
And whispered in an under tone,

"Let the hawk stoop; his prey is flown."

The train from out the castle drew,

But Marmion stopped to bid adieu:

• Clara was an English heiress, for whose hand Marmion had been an unsuccessful suitor, and whose lover he had attempted to ruin, but had failed in his purpose.

"Though something I might plain," he said,
"Of cold respect to stranger guest,
Sent hither by your king's behest,
While in Tantallon's* towers I staid,
Part we in friendship from your land,
And, noble earl, receive my hand."

But Douglas round him drew his cloak,
Folded his arms, and thus he spoke:
"My manors, halls, and bowers shall still
Be open, at my sovereign's will,

To each one whom he lists, howe'er
Unmeet to be the owner's peer.

My castles are my king's alone,
From turret to foundation stone;
The hand of Douglas is his own,
And never shall in friendly grasp
The hand of such as Marmion clasp."

Burned Marmion's swarthy cheek like fire And shook his very frame for ire.

"And this to me!" he said;
"An 'twere not for thy hoary beard,
Such hand as Marmion's had not spared
To cleave the Douglas' head.

And first I tell thee, haughty peer,
He, who does England's message here,
Although the meanest in her state,
May well, proud Angus, † be thy mate:
And, Douglas, now I tell thee here,
Even in thy pitch of pride,
Here in thy hold, thy vassals near,
(Nay, never look upon your lord,
And lay your hands upon your swords,)

* Tantallon was the name of Douglas's castle. + Lord Angus was one of Douglas's titles.

I tell thee thou'rt defied!
And if thou saidst I am not peer
To any lord in Scotland here,
Lowland or Highland, far or near,
Lord Angus, thou hast lied."

On the earl's cheek the flush of rage
O'ercame the ashen hue of age.

Fierce he broke forth: "And dar'st thou then
To beard the lion in his den,

The Douglas in his hall?

And hop'st thou hence unscathed to go?
No! by St. Bride of Bothwell, no!

Up draw-bridge, grooms! what, warder, ho!
Let the portcullis fall."

Lord Marmion turned, well was his need, -
And dashed the rowels in his steed,
Like arrow through the archway sprung;
The ponderous grate behind him rung,
Το pass there was such scanty room,
The bars, descending, razed his plume.

The steed along the drawbridge flies,
Just as it trembled on the rise;
Nor lighter does the swallow skim
Along the smooth lake's level brim :

And when Lord Marmion reached his band,
He halts, and turns with clinchéd hand,

And shout of loud defiance pours,

And shook his gauntlet at the towers.

"Horse! horse!" the Douglas cried, “and chase But soon he reined his fury's pace:

"A royal messenger he came,
Though most unworthy of the name;
A letter forged! St. Jude to speed!
Did ever knight so foul a deed!

[CHARLES FOLLEN was born at Romrod, in Hesse-Darmstadt, Germany, September 4, 1796, emigrated to this country in 1824, on account of the danger to which he was exposed from his liberal opinions, and died in January, 1840, a victim of that fearful tragedy the burning of the Lexington, in Long Island Sound. At the time of his death, he was pastor of a church in East Lexington, Massachusetts, and he had previously been for some years professor of the language and literature of Germany in the university at Cambridge.

He was a man of admirable qualities of mind and character. His courage was of the highest temper, and graced by Christian gentleness and forbearance. He had a generous and wide-embracing philanthropy, and yet was never neglectful of the daily charities and kindnesses of life. The duties of his sacred calling he discharged with great fidelity. His sermons were of a high order, and his devotional exercises were most fervid and impressive.

Dr. Follen had also an excellent understanding and considerable cultivation. While in Germany, he had been a teacher of jurisprudence, and his lectures had attracted much attention. He had a taste and a capacity for metaphysical and psychological investigations, and at the time of his death had made some progress in a work on the nature and functions of the soul. His English style is very remarkable. Not only is there no trace of foreign idiom in it, but his writings might be put into the Lands of students of our language as models of accuracy, neatness, and precision.

Dr. Follen's works were published, after his death, by his widow, in five volumes; the first volume containing a memoir. They consist of sermons, lectures, and occa sional discourses The following extract is taken from one of his sermons.]

Is there a parent, or a friend of children, that has not felt the pure delight of beholding in them the artless, unpremeditated, and unconscious expressions of tenderness, confidence, and love, or whose heart has not kindled with prophetic joy, while watching the dawn of reason, and marking the first rays of intellectual light, darting forth from the unconscious bosom of childhood? Who has not hailed the holy light of pure intelligence that sometimes shines through the twilight of