sleeping in thy grave! I loved thee, mother! but I wou.d not have thee living now, to view the worldly sorrows of thy ungrateful boy! My first step toward vice was the oath which the deformed child heard me utter."

10. But you, who rest here as quietly as you lived, shall receive the homage of the unworthy. I will protect this hillock from the steps of the heedless wanderer, and from the trampling of the village herd. I will raise up a tabernacle to purity and love. I will do it in secret; and I look not to be rewarded openly. C. EDWARDS.

22. SCENES OF CHILDHOOD.

"I came to the place of my birth, and said, 'The friends of my youth, where are they?' and echo answered, "Where are they?'

1.

ONG years had elapsed' since I gazed on the scene, Which my fancy still rõbed in its freshness of greenThe spot where, a school-boy, all thoughtless, I stray'd, By the side of the stream, in the gloom of the shade. 2. I thought of the friends who had roam'd with me there, When the sky was so blue, and the flowers were so fair— All scatter'd!-all sunder'd' by mountain and wave, And some in the silent embrace of the grave!

3. I thought of the green banks, that circled around,

With wild-flowers, and sweet-brier, and ĕglantine3 crown'd;
I thought of the river, all quiet and bright

As the face of the sky on a blue summer night.

4. And I thought of the trees, under which we had stray'd,
Of the broad leafy boughs, with their coolness of shade;
And I hoped, though disfigured, some token to find
Of the names and the carvings impress'd on the rind.

5. All eager, I hasten'd the scene to behold,

Render'd sacred and dear by the feelings of old;

'E låpsed', passed away.—3 Sůn' dered, separated.—3 Eg' lan tine, a species of rose; the sweet-briet; according to Milton, the honeysuckle.

And I deem'd that, unalter'd, my eye should explore
This refuge, this haunt, this Elysium of yōre.

6. 'Twas a dream!—not a token or trace could I view
Of the names that I loved, of the trees that I knew:
Like the shadows of night at the dawning of day,

Like a tale that is told," they had vanish'd away.

7. And methought the lone river, that murmur'd along,
Was more dull in its motion, more sad in its song,
Since the birds that had nestled and warbled above,
Had all fled from its banks, at the fall of the grove.

2. I paused; and the moral came home to my heart:
Behold how of earth all the glories depart!
Our visions are baseless; our hopes but a gleam;
Our staff but a reed; and our life but a dream.

?. Then, oh, let us look-let our prospects allure2—
To scenes that can fade not, to realms3 that endure,
To glories, to blessings, that triumph sublime
O'er the blightings of change, and the ruins of time.
BLACKWOOD'S MAGAZINE.

A

23. ANECDOTE OF A DOG.

MAN on horseback, with a fine dog, was joined by another horseman; they entered into conversation, and the owner of the dog began to boast of the cleverness of his animal. By way of proof he dismounted, took a shilling from his purse, marked it, and put it under a stone, mounted again, and rode away with his companion. When they had gone four or five miles, he told the dog to go back and fetch the shilling.

2. He was perfectly understood by the sensible and willing creature, and in a very short time the dog had found the stone, and endeavored to obtain the shilling. But the stone was large

'Elysium (e liz' e um), place of delight for happy souls after death, as the ancients thought; abode of the happy.—a Allure', draw, or entice. Realms, regions; countries.

and heavy, and after trying in vain to turn it over, or to scratch away the hard soil underneath it, he gave up the attempt, sat down beside it, and waited patiently. He had not waited long before two horsemen came up, traveling in the opposite direction to that by which his master had gone. When the dog saw the travelers approach, he began to scratch and howl, and show the plainest signs of anxiety to overturn the stone.

3. The horsemen very naturally thought that underneath the stone there was a rat, or weasel, or some other creature, and one of them dismounted and overturned it; to his great surprise he found a shilling, and never imagining for a moment that this could be the object of the dog's anxiety, he put it into his purse, and that into his trowsers' pocket. The dog had now quite recovered his composure; he paid no more attention to the stone, but followed the two strangers on their journey. In vain they tried to drive him away, and at length, supposing he had lost his master, they allowed him to have his own way.

4. In the evening, when they reached the inn, the dog was still with them, lay quietly under the table, and took readily the food they gave him. But when they prepared to go to bed, nothing' would satisfy the dog but he must sleep in the same room with the man he seemed to have chosen for his new master, the man who had taken the shilling; he had his own way again, and a mat was provided for him at the foot of the bed.

5. Meantime the other two horsemen had reached their jour ney's end, and put up for the night. The master of the dog had boasted all the way that Peto would soon join them again, and certainly bring the shilling; but as time passed he grew uneasy, and when bedtime arrived he retired with a heavy heart, feeling certain that his dog was killed; for nothing else, he said, could have prevented his return, and he was sure that no one could ever take him alive by force, or entice him away.

6. But Peto, far from being dead, was sleeping very comfort ably on his mat at the foot of a stranger's bed; the moment, however, that daylight appeared he was stirring. Whether "boots" opened the door, or whether he made his way through the window, which the traveler had opened for air in the hot

'Nothing (nůth' ing).

summer night, certain it is, that when the unfortunate man arose, the dog was gone-and his trowsers were gone, too!

7. And now for Peto's master again. He arose disconsolate, met his friend at the breakfast, and sighed while he confessed that his dog had not appeared. But in the middle of breakfast, Peto rushed into the room, and with great demonstrations1 of joy, and evidently' in perfect health and high good humor, laid down a pair of trowsers at his master's feet.

8. The whole proceeding was at first perfectly incomprehensible, but a light soon broke in upon the gentleman's mind, and turning to his companion, he exclaimed, "In these trowsers we shall find the lost shilling." He drew forth a purse as he spoke, and there indeed he found, among other coins, the very shilling he had marked the day before. Some months passed away before an explanation took place, and the unfortunate owner of the trowsers received his property.

24. A HUMAN BEING WITH NOTHING TO Do.

MOST

[OST miserable, worthy of most profound pity, is such a being! The most insignificant object in nature becomes a source of envy; the birds warble on every tree in ecstasy of joy; the tiny flower, hidden from all eyes, sends fōrth its fragrance of full happiness; the mountain stream dashes along with a sparkle and murmur of pure delight. The object of their creation is accomplished, and their life gushes forth in harmonic work.

2. O plant! O stream! worthy of admiration, of worship, to the wretched idler! Here are powers ye never dreamed offaculties divine, eternal;' a head to think, but nothing to con centrate the thoughts; a heart to love, but no object to bathe with the living tide of affection; a hand to do, but no work to

'Dem on strå' tions, marks; proofs.-2 Ev'i dent ly, easily seen; clearly. In com pre hên' si ble, not understood. In sig nif' i cant, small; mean; contemptible.- Ec' sta sy, highest degree of joy; rapture. — 'Di vine', heavenly; belonging to God.-' E ter'nal, without beginning or end; endless. Con cên' tråte, to fix; to bring into a commou center

be done; talents unexercised, capacities' undeveloped," a human life thrown away-wasted as water poured forth in the desert. Birds and flowers, ye are gods to such a mockery of life!

3. Who can describe the fearful void3 of such an existence, the yearnings for object, the self-reproach for wasted powers, the weariness of daily life, the loathing of pleasure, of frivolity,' and the fearful consciousness of deadening life-of a spiritual paralysis which hinders all response' to human interest-when enthusiasm ceases to arouse, and noble deeds no longer call forth the tear of joy; when the world becomes a blank, humanity a far sound, and no life is left but the heavy, benumbing weight of personal hopelessness and desolation.

4. Happier far is the toiling drudge who coins body and soul into the few poor shillings that can only keep his family in a long starvation; he has hope unceasingly to lighten him, a duty to perform, a spark of love within that can not die; and wretched, weary, and unhuman as his life may be, it is of royal worth-it is separated by the immeasurable distance of life and death from the poor wretch who is cursed for having no work to do.

1Ca påc'i ties, those powers by which we are enabled to receive instru tions; talents; ability to do or to receive.- Un de vêl' oped, not brought out; hidden. Void, emptiness. Yearn' ings, strong desires.— Frivol' i ty, lightness; fondness for vain and foolish pursuits.- Pa rål' ysis, loss of power; palsy; inability to move the limbs. Response', answer; interest in a thing.-En thủ' si asm, an ardent zeal with respect to some object or pursuit.- Drůdge, one who labors hard without thought." Fleet, swift.-"Ca rèer', course; way." Gål' lant, noble; brave; generous.