Second Voice. How lovely, how sweet the repose of the tomb; First Voice. The ravens of night flap their wings o'er the grave: "T is the vulture's abode ;-'t is the wolf's dreary cave, Where they tear up the earth with their fangs. Second Voice. There the cony at evening disports with his love, First Voice. There darkness and dampness with poisonous breath, Second Voice. O, soft are the breezes that play round the tomb, First Voice. The pilgrim who reaches this valley of tears, Second Voice. The traveler, outworn with life's pilgrimage dreary, * Pron. kŭn'ny. LESSON CXLI. The Rich Man and the Poor Man. — KHEMNITZER. This, friend, that, brother; — friends and brothers all; Though you are worthless witless never mind it; But if you are poor, Heaven help you! though your sire Possess the intellect of angels too, "T is all in vain ; On such a score: the world will ne'er inquire Why should it take the pains? "T is easier to weigh purses, sure, than brains. I once saw a poor fellow, keen and clever, Strange," cried I, "whence is it?" He walked on this side, then on that, He tried to introduce a social chat; Now here, now there, in vain he tried ; Some formally and freezingly replied, Said by their silence And some "Better stay at home. A rich man burst the door, As Croesus rich, I'm sure He could not pride himself upon his wit, What a confusion ! all stand up erect And these arrange a sofa or a chair, And these conduct him there. Then a bow Down to the earth-Is 't possible to show The poor man hung his head, And to himself he said, "This is indeed beyond my comprehension : " One friendly face he found, And said 66 Pray tell me why is wealth preferred Of gold or silver ore, But wisdom none can borrow, none can lend ?" And it must follow, as the night the day, Thou canst not then be false to any man." "MOTHER! mother!" exclaimed a sweet, eager voice; and the speaker, a child of thirteen years, burst into the room, where Mrs. Carlton sat at work; "don't you think there is to be a prize given on exhibition-day, for the best composition! And I mean to try for it, shan't I?" She was a little harum-scarum looking thing. I suppose she had run all the way home from school, for her straw bonnet hung on her neck instead of her head, and a profusion of soft dark hair was streaming in such disorder about her glowing face, that you could not tell whether she were pretty or not; but you could see a pair of brilliant gray, or blue, or black eyes, they certainly changed their color with every new emotion, but I think they were really gray,— full of laughter, and love beaming through the truant tresses, and all eloquent with the beauty of a fresh, warm soul. This change in the child's eye is no freak of a foolish fancy; for every one noticed it; and her school crony, Kate Sumner, used to declare, that when Harriet was angry, they were black; gray when she was thoughtful; violet when sad; and when happy and loving, they changed to the tenderest blue. Mrs. Carlton drew the little girl towards her, and smoothed back the rebellious curls, at the same time exclaiming, with a long-drawn sigh, "My dear Harriet! how you do look!" "O mother! it's not the least matter how I look! If I were only a beauty, now, like Angelina Burton, I would keep my hair as smooth as, as anything; but I would n't rub my cheeks, though, as she does always, just before she goes into a room where there is company, - would you ?" The mother gazed at the child's expressive face, as she spoke, with its irregular, yet lovely features, the strange bright eyes, the changing cheek, the full and sweet, but spirited mouth, and said to herself, "Whatever you may think, my darling, I would not change your simple, childlike unconsciousness for all Angelina's beauty, spoiled as it is by vanity and affectation." "But, mother, do give me a subject for composition; for I want to write it now, this minute." "Harriet," said Mrs. Carlton, quietly, "go and brush your hair, and change your shoes, and mend that rent in your dress as neatly as you can." Harriet half pouted: but she met her mother's tranquil eye; the pout changed to a good-humored smile, and, kissing her affectionately, she bounded off to do her bidding. While she was gone, you would like,—would you not, `dear reader? — to ask a few questions about her. I can guess what they are, and will answer them to the best of my knowledge. Mrs. Carlton is a widow, with a moderate fortune, and a handsome house in Tremont-street, Boston. She has been a star in fashionable life, but since the loss of her husband, whom she tenderly loved, she has retired from the gay world. and devoted herself to her child—a wild, frank, happy, generous, and impetuous creature, with half a dozen glaring faults, and one rare virtue, which nobly redeemed them all. That virtue, patient reader, you must find out for yourself. Perhaps you will catch a glimpse of it as we proceed Harriet was busy with her composition, when her aunt, who was on a visit to Mrs. Carlton, entered the room. Aunt Eloise was a weak-minded and weak-hearted lady of a very uncertain age, unhappily gifted with more sensibility than sense. She really had a deal of feeling for herself, and an almost inexhaustible shower of tears, varied occasionally by hysterics and fainting-fits, whenever any pressing exigency, in the fate of her friends, demanded self-possession, energy, or immediate assistance. If, too, there happened, as there will, sometimes, in all households, to be an urgent necessity for instant exertion by any member of the family, such as sewing, watching with an invalid, or shopping with a country cousin, poor Aunt Eloise was invariably and most unfortunately seized with a sudden toothache, headache, pain in the side, strange feelings, dreadful nervousness, or some trouble of the kind, which quite precluded the propriety of asking her aid. Every morning, at breakfast, Aunt Eloise edified the family with a wonderful dream, which the breakfast-bell had interrupted, and every evening she grew sentimental over the reminiscences which the twilight hour awakened. It was then that innumerable shades of former admirers arose. Some |