radiance of the lake below: tranquil its spirit seemed, and floated slow! Even in its very motion there was rest; while every breath of eve that chanced to blow, wafted the traveller to the beauteous west....Emblem, methought, of the departed Soul! to whose white robe the gleam of bliss is given, and, by the breath of mercy, made to roll right onward to the golden gates of Heaven,-where, to the eye of faith, it peaceful lies, and tells to man his glorious destinies.

34. THE HUMAN SEASONS.-Keats.

Four Seasons fill the measure of the year: there are four seasons in the mind of man: he has his lusty Spring, when fancy clear takes in all beauty with an easy span: he has his Summer, when luxuriously Spring's honey'd cud of youthful thought he loves to ruminate, and, by such dreaming high, is nearest unto heaven: quiet coves his soul has in its Autumn, when his wings he furleth close; contented so to look on mists in idleness -to let fair things pass by, unheeded as a threshold-brook: he has his Winter, too, of pale misfeature, or else he would forego his mortal nature.

35.-COLUMBUS.-Tupper.

Thy soul was nerved with more than mortal force, bold mariner upon a chartless sea! with none to second, none to solace thee; alone, who daredst keep thy resolute course through the broad waste of waters drear and dark, 'mid wrathful skies, and howling winds; and worse-the prayer, the taunt, the threat, the muttered curse of all thy brethren in that fragile bark. For on thy brow, throbbing with hopes immense, had just Ambition set his royal mark, enriching thee with noble confidence; that, having once thy venturous sails unfurled, no danger should defeat thy recompense-the god-like gift to man of half the world.

36. THE CRUCIFIXION.-Montgomery.

I ask'd the Heavens:-"What foe to God hath done this unexampled deed?" The Heavens exclaim, "Twas Man; and we in horror snatch'd the sun from such a spectacle of guilt and shame." I ask'd the Sea;—the Sea in fury boil'd, and answer'd with his voice of storms,-""Twas Man! My waves, in panic at his crime, recoiled, disclosed the abyss, and from the centre ran." I ask'd the Earth ;-the Earth replied, aghast, "Twas Man!—and such strange pangs my bosom rent, that still I groan and shudder at the past." To Man-gay, smiling, thoughtless Man,—I went, and ask'd him next;-he turn'd a scornful eye, shook his proud head, and deign'd me no reply.

37.-LOVE IN LIFE.—Mrs. E. B. Browning.

I once thought how Theocritus had sung of the sweet Years, the dear and wish'd-for Years, who, each one, in a gracious hand appears to bear a gift for mortals, old and young: and, as I mused it in his antique tongue, I saw, in gradual vision, through my tears, the sweet, sad Years-the melancholy Years-those of my own life,—who, by turns, had flung a shadow across me. Straightway I was 'ware, so weeping, how a mystic Shape did move behind me, and drew me backward by the hair; and a voice said in mastery, while I strove :- "Guess now who holds thee!" "Death!" I said. But there the silver answer rang:-" Not Death, but Love!"

38.-COMFORT.-Mrs. E. B. Browning.

Speak low to me, my Saviour! low and sweet-from out the hallelujahs, sweet and low,-lest I should fear and fall, and miss Thee so, who art not miss'd by any that entreat. Speak to me, as to Mary at thy feet; and, if no precious gums my hands bestow, let my tears drop like amber, while I go in reach of Thy divinest voice complete in humanest affection. Thus, in sooth, to lose the sense of losing! As a child, whose song-bird seeks the wood for evermore, is sung-to in its stead by mother's mouth— till, sinking on her breast, love reconciled, he sleeps the faster that he wept before.

89.-HOPE.-Miss Williams.

O, ever skilled to wear the form we love, to bid the shapes of fear and grief depart ;-come, gentle Hope! with one gay smile remove the lasting sadness of an aching heart. Thy voice, benign enchantress! let me hear; say that for me some pleasures yet shall bloom,—that Fancy's radiance, Friendship's precious tear, shall soften, or shall chase, Misfortune's gloom. But come not glowing in the dazzling ray, which once with dear illusions charmed my eye; O, strew no more, sweet flatterer! on my way the flowers I fondly thought too bright to die:-visions less fair will soothe my pensive breast, that asks not happiness-but longs for rest!

40. THE NEGRO'S ESCAPE.-W. Drennan.

Night came the Negro strained his wistful sight, round fields where once his childhood lov'd to roam; then plunged beneath the dark wood's welcome dome, and sped on hastily; till dawning light disclos'd an humble dwelling, with a slight mark on the door-post: when his breath could come, he tapped, and asked, "Is this the Wanderer's Home?" The bolt shot

drunkard follows them, we come." The man went in. There was a cry, and hark! a table falls, the window is struck dark; forth rush the breathless women, and behind with curses comes the Fiend in desperate mind. In vain the sabres soon cut short the strife, and chop the shrieking wretch, and drink his bloody life. "Now light the light,” the Sultan cried aloud. 'Twas done; he took it in his hand, and bow'd over the corpse, and look'd upon the face; then turn'd, and knelt beside it in the place, and said a prayer; and from his lips there crept some gentle words of pleasure, and he wept !

In reverent silence the spectators wait, then bring him at his call both wine and meat; and when he had refresh'd his noble heart, he bade his host be blest, and rose up to depart.

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The man, amaz'd, all mildness now and tears, fell at the Sultan's feet with many prayers, and begg'd him to vouchsafe to tell his slave, the reason first of that command he gave about the light: then, when he saw the face, why he knelt down; and, lastly, how it was that fare so poor as his detain'd him in the place. The Sultan said, with much humanity, Since first I heard thee come, and heard thy cry, I could not rid me of a dread that one by whom such daring villanies were done, must be some lord of mine, perhaps a lawless son. Whoe'er he was, I knew my task; but fear'd a father's heart, in case the worst appear'd. For this I had the light put out. But when I saw the face, and found a stranger slain, I knelt, and thank'd the Sovereign Arbiter, whose work I had perform'd through pain and fear. And then I rose, and was refresh'd with food-the first time since thou cam'st and marr'd'st my solitude."

26.-COLIN AND LUCY.-Tickell.

Three times, all in the dead of night, a bell was heard to ring;
And shrieking at the window thrice, the raven flapped his wing.
Too well the love-lorn maiden knew the solemn boding sound;
And thus, in dying words, bespoke the virgins weeping round:-
"I hear a voice you cannot hear, which says I must not stay;
I see a hand you cannot see, which beckons me away.
By a false heart and broken vows, in early youth I die :
Was I to blame, because his bride was thrice as rich as I?
"Ah, Colin, give not her thy vows, vows due to me alone:
Nor thou, fond maid, receive his kiss, nor think him all thy own.
To-morrow in the church to wed, impatient, both prepare!

But know, fond maid, and know, false man, that Lucy will be there!

"Then bear my corse, my comrades, bear-this bridegroom blithe to meet! He in his wedding trim so gay, I in my winding-sheet."

She spoke, she died; her corpse was borne the bridegroom blithe to meet-
He in his wedding trim so gay, she in her winding-sheet.

Then what were perjur'd Colin's thoughts? how were these nuptials kept?
The bridesmen flock'd round Lucy dead, and all the village wept.
Confusion, shame, remorse, despair, at once his bosom swell:
The damps of death bedew'd his brow-he shook, he groan'd, he fell.

27.-THE OLD FAMILIAR FACES.-Lamb.

I have had playmates, I have had companions

In my days of childhood, in my joyful school-days;
All, all are gone, the old familiar faces!

I have been laughing, I have been carousing,
Drinking late, sitting late, with my bosom cronies;
All, all are gone, the old familiar faces!

I loved a Love once, fairest among women:
Closed are her doors on me, I must not see her—
All, all are gone, the old familiar faces!

I have a friend, a kinder friend has no man:
Like an ingrate, I left my friend abruptly;
Left him, to muse on the old familiar faces!

Ghost-like I paced round the haunts of my childhood;
Earth seem'd a desert I was bound to traverse,
Seeking to find the old familiar faces!

Friend of my bosom, thou more than a brother,

Why wert not thou born in my father's dwelling?

So might we talk of the old familiar faces!

How some they have died, and some they have left me,
And some are taken from me; all are departed;

All, all are gone, the old familiar faces!

28.-THE ART OF BOOK-KEEPING.-Thomas Hood.

How hard, when those who do not wish to lend, thus lose, their books,
Are snared by anglers-folks that fish with literary Hooks,—
Who call and take some favourite tome, but never read it through;-
They thus complete their "set" at home, by making one at you.

I, of my "Spenser" quite bereft, last winter sore was shaken;
Of "Lamb" I've but a quarter left, nor could I save my "Bacon;"
And then I saw my "Crabbe," at last, like Hamlet, backward go;
And, as the tide was ebbing fast, of course I lost my "Rowe."

My "Mallet" served to knock me down, which makes me thus a talker·
And once, when I was out of town, my "Johnson" proved a "Walker."
While studying, o'er the fire, one day, my "Hobbes" amidst the smoke,
They bore my "Colman" clean away, and carried off my "Coke."

They picked my "Locke," to me far more than "Bramah's-patent" worth, And now my losses I deplore, without a "Home" on earth.

If once a book you let them lift, another they conceal;

For though I caught them stealing "Swift," as swiftly went my "Steele."

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Hope" is not now upon my shelf, where late he stood elated;

But what is strange, my "Pope" himself is excommunicated.

My little "Suckling" in the grave is sunk to swell the ravage;

And what was Crusoe's fate to save, 'twas mine to lose-a" Savage."
Even "Glover's" works I cannot put my frozen hands upon;
Though ever since I lost my "Foote," my "Bunyan" has been gone;
My "Hoyle" with "Cotton" went oppressed; my "Taylor," too, must fail;
To save my "Goldsmith" from arrest, in vain I offered "Bayle."

I "Prior" sought, but could not see the "Hood" so late in front:
And when I turned to hunt for "Lee," O! where was my "Leigh Hunt?"

I tried to laugh, old care to tickle, yet could not "Tickle" touch;

And then, alack! I missed my " Mickle," and surely Mickle's much.

'Tis quite enough my griefs to feed, my sorrows to excuse,

To think I cannot read my "Reid," nor even use my "Hughes;"
My classics would not quiet lie, a thing so fondly hoped;
Like Dr. Primrose, I may cry, my "Livy" has eloped.

My life is ebbing fast away; I suffer from these shocks,
And though I fixed a lock on " Gray," there's gray upon my locks;
I'm far from "Young," am growing pale, I see my "Butler" fly;
And when they ask about my ail, 'tis " Burton," I reply.

They still have made me slight returns, and thus my griefs divide;
For O! they cured me of my " Burns," and eased my "Akenside."
But all I think I shall not say, nor let my anger burn;
For, as they never found me "Gay," they have not left me

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Sterne."