Wishing the reader to participate in our meditations', we were in the very act of committing to paper some sage considerations on the departure of another summer-but a very small and elegant moth, attracted by the candles, has this moment descended on the sheet', within an inch of our pen', and with the light stroke of his wing has broken our thread of thought-will the reader excuse it', if it break hîs alsó?

The delicacy and perfection of its form', and exquisite lace-work of its airy wing', its swift and noiseless movements', a body nearly as ethereal and unincumbered as if it were a soul', its independence', its innocence', awaken admiration-and', (contrasted with the inertness and languor with which our cumbrous frames are often oppressed',) might excite envy' too.

Who can guess what are its imaginings concerning the extensive plain on which it has just arrived'? Is it a field of dazzling light', an enchanted region of pleasure and brightness? He flutters his wings as though his dreams of joy were at length realized. From the dun shades of the evening without, he has suddenly launched into a new world of magic splendor', illumined with radiant suns. How little does he think', (of this at least we may be sure',) that this shining plain is no other than a sheet of foolscap`!—that those glorious suns' are inglorious candles'!-such are the illusions of moths!

It would be very desirable, some young reader may think`, if it were possible, to undeceive him'; and', supposing him capable of understanding it', to rectify all his mistakes, by addressing him in some such language as this:-" You are only a moth', and you have no idea what insignificant things môths are you know nothing at all: you can't imagine what an astonishing number of things there are that you have not even heard of. We think nothing of you; we are really of importancé; but you are of no importance-you are only an insect. You sometimes do us mischief by eating holes in our clothes; and very tiresome it is that such little creatures as you should be able to do us' mischief: having this opportunity, I must desire you not to do so any moré, for what you eat is not at all nicè; it is cloth, not food'; why should you eat clôth? I wish that you would mention this to all your relations': and as to the place that you are now on', it is nothing in the world but a sheet of

paper on which a person is writing': but you don't know what writing means", I dare say'; indeed, it is of no use to talk to you, you are so extremely ignorant, moth'." With a few variations, how suitable would be such an address to sôme things that are not moths! And to beings a little higher than ourselves in the scale of reason, how similar to those of the moth must appear the illusions of men? How many of the objects of our ardent pursuit are as destitute of intrinsic excellencé, as empty of happiness', as we know the glare of the light to bé, in which an insect so joyously flutters it wings! It does not, indeed, require the intellect of an angel to know this-experience teaches it, at last', even to dull scholars. Children can laugh at the folly of an insect': youths soon learn to ridicule the toys and sports of children'; men smile at the vanities of youth'; wise men at the pleasures of weak men'-and, not seldom', at their own'; while angels look down with surprise and pity on all -smiling mōst at the mistakes of the man', and least at those of the moth!

Fortunately enough for our moral', the little hero of the piece has this moment expired in the flame of the candlè, and that', in spite of the most praiseworthy exertions on our part to deter him from the rash adventure. In vain we whisked our quill in every dissuasive attitudè; (an employment', by the way', to which we are but too much accustomed';) he was resolved-and could he have given utterance to his feelings', no doubt he would have expressed his certain persuasiōn that it must be a desirable and a delightful thing to sport in that elegant flame. Who can witness this common catastrophe without observing the analogy', and reading the oft-told moral'? Even if it had not scorched a single feather', if he could have lived theré, still, we could assure him, he could not find happiness in a candle. He would have been a thousand times more comfortable, as well as more safé, hid in the dark folds of the curtain', or fixed within the protection of some broad shadow on the wall', or in any of the natural and customary haunts of his species. So it is with all unsanctioned pleasures'; even if they were not dangerous they would be disappointing-but, we know, they are both the one and the other.

How quickly was that most complete and delicate machine destroyed'! an engine, which the united sagacity and ingenuity of man' could not restorè! No wonder that so

fine and fragile a creature should be liable to swift destruction:-but let not the strong glory in their strength', for behold' "we are crushed before the moth."

THE MOTH'S SONG.

Ah! what shall I dó,
To express unto you

What I think, what I feel', what I know', and pursue!

With my elegant face,

And my wing of lacé,

How lightly the motes of the evening I chase!

Though I am but a moth',

And feed upon cloth',

To me it is pleasant and nourishing both.

And this region of light,

So broad and so bright',

It makes my heart dance with a strange delight!

If dismal to yoũ,

"Tis the best of the twò;

For Oh! it is pleasant', this wide-shining view!

There are lights afar',

More bright than a star';

You say there are candles'-I'll see if they are.

I gó, and I fly';
And so, good-by!--

Ah me! what is it' ?—I diè! Ï diè !

LESSON XXXII.

SLIDING ON THE BROOK.

"GRANDMOTHER', grandmother'!" said two boys in the same breath', as they rushed into the parlor with great coats on', and fur caps', and red tippets round their necks`,-" we

want to go down to the brook and slide. May wé? All the boys are going."

She

Their grandmother was a pleasant looking old lady, sitting by the corner of the fire', mending stockings. lifted up her spectacles from her nose', and told the little boys that she could not let them go. The ice was not very strong, and she was afraid they would break through', and get wet, and, perhaps', be drowned'; for the water was very deep in some places. They would not know where the deep places were.

The boys were sadly disappointed. John fidgeted with his tippet'; took if off'; tied it on again'; bit his lip'; but tears would come in spite of all he could do to keep them away

Edward, the oldest', looked angry'; but he was too manly to cry. "Come, Jolin'," said hè, "if grandmother won't let us go to the brook', let's have some fun in snow-balling Oh! we'll build a fort`;-that will be just the thing. Come', let us be at it."

"That you may do, my boys'," said their grandmother "Put on your thick mittens', and when you get cold', come in and warm you. I shall have two little pies ready for your luncheon."

John loved good things to eat, rather more than a good boy ought to'; and the promise of one of his grandmother's sweet pies did more toward making up for his disappointment than the proposal of the snow fort.

The boys ran to the barn, where the wind, as it whistled round the corner', had gathered the snow into a pure white drift in one placé, and swept the ground quite free from it in another. They thought this a grand place for their fort', and, with a light snow-shovel and two short poles', commenced operations.

Edward was the master-workman. He had helped to build a fort before. They worked very diligently for a time', and were quite gratified with what they accomplished. Several blocks of snow were soon dug out, and arranged on the ground. But it was hard work to dig into the drift, and get them out after they were shaped.

Edward was famous for beginning new things with a great deal of spirit', but not remarkable for perseverance and industry in finishing them. It was not surprising to hear him exclaim, in a short time, as he shook the snow from his mittens', "Oh, I'm tired. We can't finish this. It's of no use to try."

John was rather unwilling to leave the fort.

"Let us go

into the house and get our pies', if you are tired; and then we can come back again'," said he.

Just at that moment, they heard loud shouting and laughing from the boys on the brook. Edward started and ran to the fence, a little way from the barn', where the brook could be seen. John followed. The brook had overflowed its banks, and there was quite a field of ice in the meadow. A dozen boys, or more, were scattered over it', and seemed in high glee. Some were sliding, some were looking on. One had learned to skate', and was trying to teach the art to two clumsy boys', who, for the first time, had put skates on. It was their awkward movements and falls, that caused the merriment which John and Edward heard.

They were much interested in watching the movements of the boys', and, almost unconsciously', every few minutes they would walk on a few steps', that they might see more distinctly what was going on. They were now so near, that Edward saw a boy, whom he knew very well', slide on the ice a long way. "That's a real good slidè," he exclaimed'; "I will gó;" and away he ran', leaving his brother to follow or not', as he chose. John hesitated. He knew that it was wrong to go, but still he looked.

It is very easy to think of some kind of excuse for doing wrong', when we want to do it. John thought, "Well', it isn't worse for me to go than it was for Edward." In a few minutes, both boys were sliding on the brook.

The ice was not very strong, and it was not long before it began to crack and bend' beneath the weight of the boys. The elder ones would venture on the most dangerous places', proud of their courage; and the younger and more timid soon followed. Presently, the ice gave way. All the boys escaped but John. He, poor little fellow', was up to his neck in water', and sadly frightened. Edward seemed in agony, lest he should be drowned. It was some minutes before he got out. His feet just touched the bottom'; and several times, as he got almost out', the ice would break', and hẽ fall back again. At last, two boys tied their tippets together, and threw him one end, while they held the other. In this way, he was rescued. But there he stood on the bank', crying bitterly, and shivering with the cold', while the water was dripping from his clothes.