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air with variations. Take up a new publication, and she is equally at home there; for, though she knows little of books, she has, in the course of an up-and-down life, met with a good many authors, and teases and provokes you by telling of them precisely what you do not care to hear, the maiden names of their wives, and the Christian names of their daughters, and into what families their sisters and cousins married, and in what towns they have lived, what streets, and what numbers. Boswell himself never drew up the table of Dr. Johnson's Fleet-street courts with greater care, than she made out to me the successive residences of P. P. Esq., author of a tract on the French Revolution, and a pamphlet on the Poor Laws.

7. The very weather is not a safe subject. Her memory is a perpetual register of hard frosts, and long drouths, and high winds, and terrible storms, with all the evils that followed in their train, and all the personal events connected with them, so that, if you happen to remark that clouds are come up, and you fear it may rain, she replies: "Aye, it is just such a morning as three-and-thirty years ago, when my poor cousin was married, you remember my cousin Barbara; she married so and so, the son of so and so;" and then comes the whole pedigree of the bridegroom; the amount of the settlements, and the reading and signing them over night; a description of the wedding-dresses, in the style of Sir Charles Grandison, and how much the bride's gown cost per yard; the names, residences, and a short subsequent history of the bridemaids and men, the gentleman who gave the bride away, and the clergyman who performed the ceremony, with a learned antiquarian digression relative to the church; then the setting out in procession; the marriage; the kissing; the crying; the breakfasting; the drawing the cake through the ring; and, finally, the bridal excursion, which brings us back again, at an hour's end, to the starting-post, the weather, and the whole story of the sopping, the drying, the clothes-spoiling, the cold-catching, and all the small evils of a summer shower.

8. By this time it rains, and she sits down to a pathetic see-saw of conjectures on the chance of Mrs. Smith's having set out for her daily walk, or the possibility, that Dr. Brown may have ventured to visit his patients in his gig, and the certainty that Lady Green's new housemaid would come from London on the outside of the coach.

9. With all this intolerable prosing, she is actually reckoned a pleasant woman! Her acquaintance in the great manufacturing town where she usually resides, is very large, which may partly account for the misnomer. Her conversation is of a sort to bear dividing. Besides, there is, in all large societies, an instinctive sympathy which directs each individual to the companion most congenial to his humor. Doubtless, her associates deserve the old French compliment, "Ils ont tous un grand talent 71% le silence." pour Parceled out among some seventy or eighty, there may even be some savor in her talk.

10. She has the eye of a hawk, and detects a wandering glance, an incipient yawn, the slightest movement of impatience. The very needle must be quiet. If a pair of scissors do but wag, she is affronted, draws herself up, breaks off in the middle of a story, of a sentence, of a word, and the unlucky culprit must, for civility's sake, summon a more than Spartan fortitude, and beg the torturer to resume her torments-"That, that is the unkindest cut of all !”

11. I wonder, if she had happened to have married, how many husbands she would have talked to death. It is certain, that none of her relations are long-lived after she comes to reside with them. Father, mother, uncle, sister, brother, two nephews, and one niece,-all these have successively passed away, though a healthy race, and with no visible disorder,— except-but we must not be uncharitable. They might have died, though she had been born dumb:-"It is an accident that happens every day." Since the decease of her last nephew, she attempted to form an establishment with a widow

* They all have a great talent for silence.

lady, for the sake, as they both said, of the comfort of society. But-strange miscalculation! she was a talker, too! They parted in a week.

EXERCISE CXVII.

THE UNBIDDEN GUEST.

1. I come! Ye have lighted your festal hall, And music is sounding its joyous call,

LUELLA J. CASE

And the guests are gathering-the young, the fair,
With the flower-wreathed brow, and the braided hair.
I come, but so noiseless shall be my way
Through the smiling crowds of the young and gay,
Not a thought shall rise in a careless breast
Of me, the Unseen, the Unbidden Guest;
Not an under-tone on the ear shall swell,
Smiting your hearts like a funeral knell.

2. I come! Let the music's echoing note
Still through the air of your ball-room float;
Let the starry lamps soft radiance throw
On the rose-touched cheek, and the brow of snow,
Not a freezing pulse, not a thrill of fear,
Shall tell that the King of the Grave is near;
Not a pallid face, not a rayless eye,
Shall whisper of me as I hurry by,
Marking the doomed I shall summon away
To their low, dark cells, in the house of clay.

3. We have met before! Aye, I wandered here
In the festal hours of the parted year,

And many a beautiful form has bowed

To the sleep that dwells in the damp white shroud!
They died when the first spring blossom was seen,
They faded away when the groves were green,

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When the suns of autumn were faint and brief,
On the withered grass, and the changing leaf;
And here there is many a pulse shall fail,

Ere the suns of the passing year grow pale.

4. Then swell the proud strains of your music high,
As the measured hours of your life flit by;
Let the foot of the thoughtless dancer be
As fleet as it will, it eludes not me!

I shall come when life's morning ray is bright,
I shall come in the hush of its waning light,
I shall come when the ties of earth cling fast,

When love's sweet voice is a voice of the Past!
To your homes, and pray ;-for ye wait your doom,
The shroud, the coffin, the lonely tomb!

5. Ye would quail, ye tremblers, to see me here;
Yet the mission I hold is of love, not fear.
A healing I bear to the couch of pain,
I fling from the spirit its cumbering chain,
And weary old age to my rest shall hie
With a smiling lip, and a grateful eye.
When life, like a sorrowful mourner, weeps
O'er the grave where its early promise sleeps,
Oh, earth has no balm like the cup I bring!
Why say ye I come with the dart and sting?

6. My voice shall be sweet in the maiden's ear,
As the voice of her lover whispering near;
And my footstep so soft by the infant's bed,
He will deem it his mother's anxious tread,
And his innocent eyes will gently close,

As I kiss from his bright young lips the rose.
Oh, the good and the pure have naught to fear,
When my voice in the gathering gloom they hear!
Away from the dance, ye revelers gay,

Fling off the wreath,-to your homes, and pray!

EXERCISE CXVIII.

ASPIRE!

1 (<) Higher, higher, ever higher,— Let the watchword be, "Aspire!" Noble Christian youth;

2.

3.

4.

5.

Whatsoe'er be God's behest,
Try to do that duty best,

In the strength of Truth.

Let a just Ambition fire
Every motive and desire

God and Man to serve;

Man, with zeal and honor due,
God, with gratitude most true,
And all the spirit's nerve!

Let not Doubt thine efforts tire,
God will give what all require,
Ràiment, home, and foòd;
And with these, contented well,
Bid thine aspirations swell

To the Highest Good!

From the perils, deep and dire,
Of Temptation's sensual mire,

Keep thy chastened feet;
Dread, and hate, and turn away
From the lure that leads astray,
Satan's pleasure-cheat!

And, while thus a self-denier,
Stand the stalworth self-relier,-
Bravely battling on,

Though alone, no soul alive
Ever stoutly dared to strive,

But saw the battle won!

M. F. TUPPER

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