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He was so old, he seems not older now.

He travels on a solitary man:
2 So helpless in appearance, that for him

The sauntering horseman-traveller does not throw
With careless hand his alms upon the ground,
But stops, that he may safely lodge the coin
Within the old man's hat. . . .
He travels on a solitary man;
His age has no companion. On the ground
His eyes are turned, and as he moves along
They move along the ground : and evermore,

Instead of common and habitual sight
3 Of fields with rural works, of hill and dale,

And the blue sky, one little span of earth
Is all his prospect. Thus from day to day,
Bow-bent, his eyes for ever on the ground,
He plies his weary journey, seeing still,
And seldom knowing that he sees—some straw,
Some scattered leaf, or marks, which, in one track,
'The nails of cart or chariot wheel have left'
Impressed on the white road, in the same line,

At distance still the same. Poor traveller!
4 His staff trails with him-scarcely do his feet

Disturb the summer dust; he is so still
In look and motion, that the cottage curs
Ere he have passed the door, will turn away,
Weary of barking at him. Boys and girls,
The vacant and the busy maids and youths,
And urchins newly breeched-all pass him by ;
Him even the slow-paced wagon leaves behind

Then let him pass, a blessing on his head!

And—while in that vast solitude to which
5 The tide of things has borne him, he appears

To breathe and live, but for himself alone-
Unblamed, uninjured, let him bear about
The good which the benignant law of Heaven
Has hung around him ; and while life is his,
Still let him prompt the unlettered villagers
To tender offices and pensive thoughts.
Then let him pass-a blessing on his head!
And long as he can wander, let him breathe

The freshness of the valleys ; let his blood
6 Struggle with frosty air and winter snows;

And let the chartered wind that sweeps the heath
Beat his gray locks against his withered face.
Reverence the hope whose vital anxiousness
Gives the last human interest to his heart.
May never House, misnamed of INDUSTRY,
Make him a captive ; for that pent up din,
Those life-consuming sounds that clog the air,
Be his the natural silence of old age.

Let him be free of mountain solitudes,
7 And have around him, whether heard or not,

The pleasant melody of woodland birds.
Few are his pleasures ; if his eyes have now
Been doomed so long to settle on the earth,
That not without some effort they behold
The countenance of the horizontal sun,
Rising or setting, let the light at least
Find a free entrance to those languid orbs;
And let him, where and when he will, sit down

Beneath the trees, or by the grassy bank 8 Of highway side, and with the little birds

Share his chance-gathered meal ; and, finally,
As in the eye of Nature he has lived,
So in the eye of Nature let him die!

LESSON XLI. The Moneyed Mun.--New MONTHLY MAGAZINE. 1 Old Jacob Stock! The chimes of the clock were not more punctual in proclaiming the progress of time, than in marking the regularity of his visits at the temples of Plutus in Threadneedle-street, and Bartholomew-lane. His devolion to them was exemplary. In vain the wind and the rain, the hail and the sleet, battled against his rugged front. Not the slippery ice, nor the thick-falling snow, nor the whole artillery of elemental warfare, could check the plodding perseverance of the man of the world, or tempt him to lose the chance which the morning, however unpro2 pitious it seened, in its external aspect, might yield him

of proliting by the turn of a fraction.

Ile was a stout-built, round-shouldered, squab-looking man, of a bearish aspect. His features were hard, and his heart was harder. You could read the interest-table in the wrinkles of his brow; trace the rise and fall of stocks by the look of his countenance ; while avarice, selfishness, and money-getting, glared from his gray, glassy eye. Nature had poured no balm into his breast: nor was his

“gross and earthly mould” susceptible of pity. A single 3 look of his, would daunt the most importunate petitioner

that ever attempted to extract hard coin by the soft rhetorick of a heart-moving tale. "

The wife of one whom he had known in better days, pleaded before him for her sick husband, and famishing infants. Jacob, on occasions like these, was a man of few words. He was as chary of them as of his money, and : he let her come to the end of her tale without interruption. She paused for a reply; but he gave none. “Indeed, hei

is very ill, sir.”—“Can't help it.”—“ We are very dis4 tressed.”—“Can't help it.”—“Our poor children, too--

"Can't help that neither.”

The petitioner's eye looked a mournful reproach, which would have interpreted itself to any other heart but his, “ Indeed, you can;" but she was silent. Jacob felt more s awkwardly than he had ever done in his life. His hand involuntary scrambled about his breeches' pocket. There was something like the weakness of human nature stirring within him. Some coin had unconsciously worked its way

into his hand-his fingers insensibly closed; but, the effort 5 to draw them forth, and the impossibility of effecting it without unclosing them, roused the dormant selfishness of his nature, and restored his self-possession.

He has been very extravagant."-"Ah, sir, he has been very unfortunate, not extravagant.”__“ Unfortunate! Ah! it's the same thing. Little odds, I fancy. For my part, I wonder how folks can be unfortunate. I was never unfortunate. Nobody need be unfortunate, if they look after the main chance.I always looked after the main

chance." "He has had a large family to maintain.”_ 66 Ah! married foolishly; no offence to you, ma'am. But

when poor folks marry poor folks, what are they to look for? you know. Besides, he was so foolishly fond of assisting others. If a friend was sick, or in gaol, out came his

purse, and then his creditors might go whistle. Now if he had married a woman with money, you know, why then ...."

The supplicant turned pale, and would have fainted. Jacob was alarmed; not that he sympathized, but a woman's fainting was a scene that he had not been used to ; 7 besides there was an awkwardness about it; for Jacob was a bachelor.

Sixty summers had passed over his head without impartine ing a ray of warmth to his heart; without exciting one

tender feeling for the sex, deprived of whose cheering presence, the paradise of the world were a wilderness of weeds. So he desperately extracted a crown piece from the depth profound, and thrust it hastily into her hand. The action recalled her wandering senses. She blushed:-it

was the honest blush of pride at the meanness of the gist. "-3 She curt'sied; staggered towards the door; opened it; w closed it; raised her hand to her forehead, and burst into

tears.

Here* the lank-sided miser, worst of felons,
Who meanly stole,-discreditable thrift-
From back and belly too their proper cheer,
Eased of a tax it irked the wretch to pay
To his own carcass, now lies cheaply lodged ;
By clamorous appetites no longer teased,
Nor tedious bills of charges and repairs.
But ah! where are his rents-his comings-in?
Ay, now you've made the rich man poor indeed :
Robbed of his gods, what has he left besides !
0! cursed lust of gold! when for thy sake,
The fool throws up his interest in both worlds :
First starved in this, then damned in that to come .-

Blair.

LESSON XLII.
The Worm.—Missouri PAPER.
"Outvenoms all the worms of Nile.”- Shakspeare.
Who has not heard of the rattle-snake or copper-head ?

* In the grave. ·

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An unexpected sight of either of these reptiles will make even the lords of creation recoil : but there is a species of worm, found in various parts of this state, which conveys a poison of a nature so deadly, that, compared with it, even the venom of the rattle-snake is harmless. To guard our readers against this foe of human kind, is the object of this communication.

This worm varies much in size. It is frequenily in inch through, but, as it is rarely seen, except when coiled, 2 its length can hardly be conjectured. It is of a dull leadcolor, and generally lives near a spring or small stream of water, and bites the unfortunate people, who are in the habit. of going there to drink. The brute creation it never moTests. They avoid it with the same instinct that teaches the animals of Peru to shan the deadly coya.

Several of these reptiles have long infested our settle- ments, to the misery and destruction of many of our fellow citizens. I have, therefore, had frequent opportunities of being the melancholy spectator of the effects produced by 3 the subtle poison which this worm infuses.

The symptoms of its bite are terrible. The eyes of the patient become red and fiery, his tongue swells to an immoderate size, and obstructs his utterance; and delirium, of the most horrid character, quickly follows. Sometimes, in this madness, he attempts the destruction of his nearest friends.

If the sufferer has a family, his weeping wife and helpless infants are not unfrequently the objects of his frantic

fury. In a word, he exhibits, to the life, all the detestable 4 passions that rankle in the bosom of a savage ; and such

is the spell in which his senses are locked, that, no sooner has the unhappy patient recovered from the paroxysm of insanity, occasioned by the bite, than he seeks out the destroyer, for the sole purpose of being bitten again.

I have seen a good old father, his locks as white as snow, his steps slow and trembling, beg in vain of his only son to quit the lurking place of the worm. My heart bled when he turned away ; for I knew the fond hope, that his

son would be the “ staff of his declining years," had sup5 ported him through many a sorrow.

Youths of Missouri, would you know the name of this reptile ? It is called the Worm of the Still

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