prolonged from desert to desert in the calm of the night, expired at length in the endless solitude of the forest.

5. The grandeur, the surpassing melancholy of that scene, can be expressed by no human tongue-the finest nights of Europe can give no conception of it. In vain, amidst our cultivated fields does the imagnation seek to expand-it meets on all sides the habitations of men, but, in those savage regions, the soul loves to shroud itself in the ocean of forests, to hang over the gulf of cataracts, to meditate on the shores of lakes and rivers, and feel itself alone as it were with God.

EXERCISE XL.

1. THE BEAU-IDEAL is the idea, or conception of what is perfect; an image, in the mind, of beauty without blemish or deformity of any kind.

2. THE VENUS OF FLORENCE is a celebrated statue of the goddess Venus, in the imperial gallery at Florence. Though small, it is of beautiful proportions and exquisite finish, but with a face of little expression, as observed in the piece below.

PLAINNESS versus BEAUTY.

ROBERT CHAMBERS.

1. The very admiration we bestow on beauty tends to diminish its title to esteem. The possessor of the quality becomes puffed up with the homage of our gaze, and deems nothing else to be necessary to secure approbation. But though this is the usual and plain-sailing way of accounting for the inferiority of character, which too often attends good looks, there is, perhaps, another and better reason for our never attaching the idea of intellectual or moral excellence to beauty.

2. There is considerable reason for supposing that the beauideal' of beauty is also the beau-ideal of insipidity, and that it is only in certain degrees of departure from the former property, that we find certain degrees of exemption from the latter. Thus, the exquisite Venus of Florence, the wonder

and the passion of the world, is not less remarkable for the absence of every appearance of mental charm, than for the possession of every animal grace.

3. And, if we cast back upon all the faces we have most admired, we will be apt to confess, in regard to most of them, that it was not perfect beauty, but only some approach to it, that we were delighted with. There seems to be a mysteri ous sense, either the result of frequent observation, or an in nate and instinctive faculty, which leads us to attach ideas of uncertainty and emptiness to beauty, even at the moment our eye is gratified with the sight of it. It is only considered as a tincture, a rainbow in the heaven of the human face, a finery which is presently to pass away, leaving something tawdry behind. Plain looks are something in the regular course of things-a consistent, uniform peculiarity; but beauty is a mere accident.

4. It is in the female face that beauty is most advantageous and least harmful. It is natural there; we look for it; and, when we find it in a certain degree, it usually conveys a pleasing impression. Even here, however, we still allow it only the admiration due to a thing affecting the physical surface, and are apt to look with more expectation to a plain face for those inner qualities which are most entitled to esteem. We look on beauty as we look upon the rose-the fairest of flowers while it lasts, but proverbially short-lived and easily blighted.

5. Plainness, on the other hand, is the unpretending evergreen which is to adorn our garden with a certain steady amount of good looks all the year round. Beauty seems to have an unfortunate effect upon the most of females, filling them with affectation and conceit. Hence, it often happens that men retire with contempt and indignation from the tem ple of vain beauty, and unite themselves with homely good sense and true unpretending gentleness.

6. Look around both the natural and the artificial world, and it will be found that similar associations are every where

awakened. Whatever is most beautiful in the sky, on the ground, in the tribes of animated nature, carries to us the im pression of brevity of duration and insolidity of substance. I might except the heavenly bodies, if I thought it strictly proper to style those objects beautiful. The blossom passes away before the leaf, and the leaf falls, while the tree, the least beautiful of the whole, remains. The goldfinch is the creature of a few summers, while the raven lives a century.

7. The air fills in an hour with creatures that seem shed prismatically from sunbeams, but which, in another hour, sink back into their real nativity, the dust. The gay poppy is but a weed; the food of man is found in the bristling and repulsive corn. In the artificial world we habitually expect the sound and plain to go together.

8. A gaudy-colored dress is usually a thin thing of ginghain and gauze, designed only to be worn for a few sunshiny forenoons. The most valuable articles of attire are generally simple in form and hue; and so accustomed are we to judge accordingly, that to make an unsubstantial thing sober in color, would be the surest way to gain for it some share of sincere esteem.

1.

EXERCISE XLI.

THE OLD HOUSE CLOCK.

HARPER'S HA A

O! the old, old clock of the household stock,
Was the brightest thing, and neatest;
Its hands, though old, had a touch of gold,

And its chimes rang still the sweetest;
'Twas a monitor, too, though its words were few,

Yet they lived, though nations altered;
And its voice, still strong, warned old and young
When the voice of friendship faltered;
(") "Tick! tick!" it said, "quick, quick to bed;
For ten I've given warning;

2.

3.

Up! up! and go, or else you know,
You'll never rise soon in the morning!"

A friendly voice was that old, old clock,
As it stood in the corner smiling,
And blessed the time with a merry chime,

The wintry hours beguiling;

But a cross old voice was that tiresome clock,
As it called at daybreak boldly;

When the dawn blew gray o'er the misty way,

And the early air looked coldly:

"Tick! tick!" it said, "quick out of bed;

For five I've given warning;

You'll never have health, you'll never have wealth,
Unless you 're up soon in the morning !"

Still hourly the sound goes round and round,
With a tone that ceases never;

While tears are shed for bright days fled, (pl.) And the old friends lost for ever!

Its heart beats on,-though hearts are gone,
That beat like ours, though stronger;
Its hands still move,-though hands we love,
Are clasped on earth no longer!

"Tick! tick!" it said, "to the church-yard bed,
The grave hath given warning:

Up! up! and rise, and look at the skies,
And prepare for a heavenly morning!"

EXERCISE XLII.

1. PROMETHEAN, pertaining to Prometheus; who, according to the old mythology of the Greeks, was exposed to the wrath of Jupiter, on account of his having taught mortals the arts, and especially the use of fire: stealing it, for that purpose, from heaven, and conceal.' ing it in a pipe, or hollow staff.

NATURE'S GENTLEMAN.

I.

ELIZA COOK.

Whom do we dub as gèntleman? The knàve, the foòl, the brùto,
If they but own full tithe of gold, and wear a courtly suit!
The parchment scroll of titled line,—the ribbon at the knee,
Can still suffice to ratify and grant such high degree!

II.

But Nature, with a matchless hand, sends forth her nobly born,
And laughs the paltry attributes of wealth and rank to scorn;
She molds with care a spirit rare, half human, half divine,
And cries, exulting: "Who can make a gentleman like mine?

III.

She may not spend her common skill about the outward part,
But showers beauty, grace, and light, upon the brain and

heart.

She may not choose ancestral fame, his pathway to illume;

The sun that sheds the brightest day, may rise from mist and

gloom.

IV.

Should Fortune pour her welcome store, and useful gold abound, He shares it with a bounteous hand, and scatters blessings round: The treasure sent, is rightly spent, and serves the end designed, When held by Nature's gentleman,-the good,-the just, the kind.

V.

He turns not from the cheerless home, where Sorrow's odspring dwell,

He'll greet the peasant in his hut, the culprit in his cell,

He stays to hear the widow's plaint of deep and mourning love, He seeks to aid her lot below, and prompt her faith above.

VI.

The orphan child,-the friendless one, the luckless or the poor, Will never meet his spurning frown, or leave his bolted door.