secure and more than mortal height, that liberates and exempts me from them all. It turns submitted to my view-turns round with all its generations; I behold the tumult, and am still. The sound of war has lost its terrors ere it reaches me; grieves, but alarms me not. I mourn the pride and avarice, that make man a wolf to man; hear the faint echo of those brazen throats, by which he speaks the language of his heart, and sigh but never tremble at the sound. He travels and expatiates, as the bee from flower to flower, so he from land to land; the manners, customs, policy of all, pay contribution to the store he gleans; he sucks intelligence in every clime, and spreads the honey of his deep research at his returna rich repast for me. He travels, and I too. I tread his deck-ascend his topmast-through his peering eyes discover countries-with a kindred heart suffer his woes, and share in his escapes; while Fancy, like the finger of a clock, runs the great circuit, and is still at home.

13. THE HAPPY MAN.-Cowper.

He is the Happy Man, whose life e'en now shows somewhat of that happier life to come; who, doom'd to an obscure but tranquil state, is pleased with it, and, were he free to choose, would make his fate his choice; whom peace, the fruit of virtue, and whom virtue, fruit of faith, prepare for happiness,-bespeak him one content indeed to sojourn while he must below the skies, but having there his home. The world o'erlooks him in her busy search of objects, more illustrious in her view; and, occupied as earnestly as she, though more sublimely, he o'erlooks the world. She scorns his pleasures, for she knows them not; he seeks not hers, for he has proved them vain. He cannot skim the ground, like summer birds pursuing gilded flies;-and such he deems her honours, her emoluments, her joys. Therefore, in Contemplation is his bliss, whose power is such, that whom she lifts from earth she makes familiar with a world unseen, and shows him glories yet to be reveal'd.

14.-ON CRUELTY TO ANIMALS.-Cowper.

I would not enter on my list of friends,

(Though graced with polish'd manners and fine sense,
Yet wanting sensibility), the man

Who needlessly sets foot upon a worm.
An inadvertent step may crush the snail
That crawls at evening in the public path;
But he that has humanity, forewarn'd,
Will step aside, and let the reptile live.

The creeping vermin, loathsome to the sight
And charged with venom, that intrudes,
A visitor unwelcome, into scenes
Sacred to neatness and repose,-the bower,
The chamber, or the hall,—may die:
A necessary act incurs no blame.

Not so, when held within their proper bounds,
And, guiltless of offence, they range the air,
Or take their pastime in the spacious field:
There they are privileged. And he that hurts
Or harms them there, is guilty of a wrong;
Disturbs the economy of Nature's realm,
Who, when she form'd, designed them an abode.
-The sum is this: If man's convenience, health,
Or safety interfere, his rights and claims
Are paramount, and must extinguish theirs.
Else they are all-the meanest things that are-
As free to live, and to enjoy that life,

As God was free to form them at the first,
Who in His sov'reign Wisdom made them all.
Ye, therefore, who love mercy, teach your sons
The spring-time of our years

To love it too.

Is soon dishonoured and defiled, in most,
By budding ills, that ask a prudent hand
To check them. But alas! none sooner shoots,
If unrestrain'd, into luxuriant growth,

Than Cruelty-most devilish of them all!
Mercy to him that shows it, is the rule

And righteous limitation of its act,

By which Heaven moves, in pardoning guilty man;
And he that shows none (being ripe in years,
And conscious of the outrage he commits),

Shall seek it and not find it in his turn.

15.-A STORM AT SEA.-Carrington.

The evening winds shrieked wildly: the dark cloud

Rested upon the horizon's hem, and grew

Mightier, and mightier, flinging its black arch

Around the troubled offing; till it grasped,

Within its terrible embrace, the all

That eye could see of Ocean. There arose,
Forth from the infinite of waters, sounds
Confused, appalling; from the dread lee-shore
There came a heavier swell,-a lengthened roar,-
Each moment deeper,-rolling on the ear
With most portentous voice. Rock howled to rock,
Headland to headland, as the Atlantic flung
Its billows shoreward; and the feathery foam
Of twice ten thousand broken surges, sailed
High o'er the dim-seen land. The startled gull,
With scream prophetic, sought his savage cliff;
And e'en the bird that loves to sail between
The ridges of the sea, with hurried wing
Flew from the blast's fierce onset.

One-far off

One hapless ship was seen upon the deep,
Breasting the western waters: nothing lived
Around her; all was desert: for the storm
Had made old Ocean's realm a solitude,
Where man might fear to roam

And there she sat,

A lonely thing amid the gathering strife,
With pinions folded-not for rest!-prepared
To struggle with the tempest!

And it came,

As night abruptly closed. Nor moon nor star
Looked from the sky; but darkness, deep as that
Which reigned over the primeval chaos, wrapped
That fated bark,—save when the lightning hissed
Along the bursting billow. Ocean howled
To the high thunder; and the thunder spoke
To the rebellious Ocean, with a voice

So terrible, that all the rush and roar

Of waves were but as the meek lapse of rills,
To that deep, everlasting peal, which comes
From thee, Niagara,—wild flinging o'er
Thy steep the waters of a world. Anon,

The lightnings glared more fiercely, burning round
The glowing offing, with unwonted stay;
As if they lingered o'er the dark abyss,

And raised its veil of horror, but to show

Its wild and tortured face. And then, the winds

Held oft a momentary pause,

As spent with their own fury; but they came
Again with added power; with shriek and cry,
Almost unearthly, as if on their wings
Passed-by the Spirit of the Storm.

They heard,

Who rode the midnight mountain-wave! The voice
Of Death was in that cry unearthly. Oft,
In the red battle had they seen him stride
The glowing deck, scattering his burning hail,
And breathing liquid flame; until the winds,
The very winds grew faint, and on the waves
Rested the columned smokes: but on that night
He came with tenfold terrors; with a power
That shook at once heaven, earth; his ministers
Of vengeance round him—the great wind, the sea,
The thunder, and the fatal flash! Alas!
Day dawned not on the mariner !...ere morn
The lightning lit the seaman to his grave,
And the fierce sea-dog feasted on the dead!

16.-TRUE HAPPINESS.-Pollock.

True Happiness hath no localities,
No tones provincial, no peculiar garb.
Where duty goes, she goes; with justice goes;
And goes with meekness, charity, and love.
Where'er a tear is dried; a wounded heart
Bound up; a bruised spirit with the dew
Of sympathy anointed; or a pang
Of honest suffering soothed; or injury,
Repeated oft, as oft by love forgiven :
Where'er an evil passion is subdued,
Or virtue's feeble embers found; where'er
A sin is heartily abjured and left—
There is a high and holy place-a spot
Of sacred light-a most religious fane,-
Where Happiness, descending, sits and smiles!

17.-FRIENDS.-Pollock.

Some I remember, and will ne'er forget; friends in my mirth, friends in my misery too, friends given by God in mercy and in love; my counsellors, my comforters, and guides, my joy in grief, my second bliss in joy; companions of my young desires; in doubt my oracles, my wings in high pursuit. O, I remember, and will ne'er forget, our meeting spots, our chosen sacred hours, our burning words that utter'd all the soul, our faces beaming with unearthly love; sorrow with sorrow sighing, hope with hope exulting, heart embracing, heart entire ! As birds of social feather helping each his fellow's flight, we soar'd into the skies, and cast the clouds beneath our feet,—and earth, with all her tardy leaden-footed cares; and talk'd the speech, and ate the food of heaven! These I remember, these selectest men, and would their names record; but what avails my mention of their names? Before the Throne they stand illustrious 'mong the loudest harps, and will receive thee glad, my friend and theirs ;-for all are friends in Heaven, all faithful friends; and many friendships in the days of Time begun, are lasting there, and growing still; so grows ours evermore, both theirs and mine.

18.-JEPHTHAH'S DAUGHTER.-Willis.

His

She stood before her father's gorgeous tent, to listen for his coming.... The wind bore-on the leaden tramp of thousands. Clarion-notes rang sharply on the ear at intervals; and the low mingled din of mighty hosts returning from the battle, poured from far-like the deep murmur of a restless sea. Jephthah led his warriors on through Mizpeh's streets. helm was proudly set; and his stern lip curled slightly, as if praise were for the hero's scorn. His step was firm, but free as India's leopard; and his mail, whose shekels none in Israel might bear, was lighter than a tassel on his frame. His crest was Judah's kingliest, and the look of his dark lofty eye might quell a lion. He led on; but thoughts seemed gathering round which troubled him. The veins upon his forehead were distinctly seen; and his proud lip was painfully compressed. He trod less firmly; and his restless eye glanced forward frequently, as if some ill he dared no meet were there. His home was near; and men were thronging, with that strange delight they have in human passions, to observe the struggle of his feelings with his pride. He gazed intensely forward!

-A moment more, and he had reached his home; when lo! there sprang one with a bounding footstep, and a brow like light, to meet him. Oh! how beautiful! her dark eye flashing like a sun-lit gem; and her luxuriant hair-'twas like the sweep of a swift wing in visions! He stood