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7. The functions of man, with regard to the world in which he is now placed, are all included in his action upon the sphere of animals and vegetables, and in their re-action upon him. If we survey all nature, wherever we turn our eyes, or wherever we direct our thoughts, we see the action of antagonist powers, a flux and reflux, by which the Great Builder of the universe supports the vast machine, and maintains all the motions that he has generated in it. The same principle is at work in every description of beings in our own planet; every action of man upon any object of the world without him, produces a re-action from that object, attended often by impcrtant results.

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8. The action of man upon the world without him, is threefold. His first action upon them is, that of the mind to contemplate them, so as to gain a knowledge of their forms and structure of their habits and instincts-of their meaning and His second action upon them, having studied their na tures, and discovered how they may be made profitable to him, is to collect and multiply such species as he finds will, in any way, answer his purpose. His third action upon them is to diminish, and keep within due limits those species that experience teaches him, are noxious and prejudicial, either to himself or those animals that he has taken into alliance with him, which are principal sources of wealth to him, and minis. ter to his daily use, comfort and enjoyment,

9. The highest view that we can take of man, is that which looks upon him as belonging to a spiritual as well as a material world. The end of the creation of the earth, says the father and founder of natural history, is the glory of God, from the works of nature, by man only. And, as the same pious author observes: "How contemptible is man, if he does not aim at this end of his creation-if he does not strive to raise himself above the low pursuits that usually occupy his mind!"

10. The heavens, indeed, declare the glory of God, and the firmament showeth the work of his hands. Day unto

* Linnæus.

day uttereth speech, and night unto night showeth knowledge. The beasts of the field honor him, and all creatures that he hath made glorify him. But man must study the book open before him; and the more he studies it, the more audible to him will be the general voice to his spiritual ear, and he will clearly perceive, that every created thing glorifies God in its place, by fulfilling his will, and the great purpose of his provi dence; but that he himself alone can give a tongue to every creature, and pronounce for all a general doxology.

EXERCISE XCVI.

THE MODERN NAVIGATOR.

EDWARD EVERETT.

1. You behold a majestic vessel, bounding over the billows, from the other side of the globe; easily fashioned to float, in safety, over the boundless sea; to spread out her broad wings, and catch the midnight breeze, guided by a single drowsy sailor at the helm, with two or three companions reclining listlessly on the deck, gazing into the depths of the starry heavens. The commander of this vessel, not surpassing thousands of his brethren in intelligence and skill, knows how, by pointing his glass at the heavens, and taking an observation of the stars, and turning over the leaves of his "Practical Navigator," and making a few figures on his slate, to tell the spot which his vessel has reached on the trackless sea; and he can, also, tell by means of a steel spring and a few brass wheels, put together in the shape of a chronometer.

2. The glass, with which he brings the heavens down to the earth, and by which he measures the twenty-one thousand six hundredth part of their circuit, is made of a quantity of flint, sand, and alkali,-coarse opaque substances, which he has melted together into the beautiful medium which excludes the air and the rain and admits the light; by means of which

he can count the orders of animated nature in a dew-drop, and measure the depth of the valleys in the moon. He has, running up and down his main-mast, an iron chain, fabricated at home, by a wonderful succession of mechanical contrivances, out of a rock brought from the deep caverns of the earth, and which has the power of conducting the lightning harmlessly down the sides of the vessel into the deep.

3. He does not creep timidly along, from headland to headland, nor guide his course across a narrow sea by the north star; but he launches bravely on the pathless and bottomless deep, and carries about with him, in a box, a faithful little pilot, who watches when the eye of man droops with fatigue, a small and patient steersman, whom darkness does not blind, nor the storm drive from his post, and who points from the other side of the globe-through the convex earth— to the steady pole.

4. If he falls in with a pirate, he does not wait to repel him hand to hand; but he puts into a mighty engine a handful of dark powder, into which he has condensed an immense quantity of elastic air, and which, when touched by a spark of fire, will instantly expand into its original volume, and drive an artificial thunderbolt before it against the distant enemy.

5. When he meets another similar vessel on the sea, homeward bound from a like excursion to his own, he makes a few black marks on a piece of paper, and sends it home, a distance of ten thousand miles, and thereby speaks to his employer, to his family, and his friends, as distinctly and significantly, as if they were seated by his side.

6. At the cost of half the labor, with which the savage procures himself the skin of a wild beast to cover his nakedness, this child of civilized life has provided himself with the most substantial, curious, and convenient clothing,-textures and tissues of wool, cotton, linen, and silk,—the contributions of the four quarters of the globe, and of every kingdom of nature.

7. To fill a vacant hour, or dispel a gathering cloud from his spirits, he has curious instruments of music, which speak another language of new and strange significance to his heart, which makes his veins thrill and his eyes overflow with tears, without the utterance of a word, and, with one sweet succession of harmonious sounds, sends his heart back, over the waste of waters, to the distant home, where his wife and his children are gathered around the fireside, trembling at the thought, that the storm which beats upon the windows may, perhaps, overtake their beloved voyager on the distant seas.

8. And in his cabin he has a library of volumes,-the strange production of a machine of almost magical powers,which, as he turns over their leaves, enable him to converse with the great and good of every clime and age, and which even repeat to him, in audible notes, the laws of his God and the promises of his Savior, and point out to him that happy land which he hopes to reach when his flag is struck, and his sails are furled, and the voyage of life is over.

MRS. HEMANS.

EXERCISE XCVII.

XIMENA AND ELMINA.

Ximena. For me, my part is done!

The flame which dimly might have lingered yet
A little while, hath gathered all its rays
Brightly to sink at once; and it is well!

The shadows are around me; to thy heart
Fold me, that I may die.

Elmina. My child! what dream

Is on thy soul? Even now thine aspect wears
Life's brightest inspiration!

Ximena. Death's!

Elmina. Awày!

Thine eye hath starry clearness, and thy cheek

Doth glow beneath it with a richer hue
Than tinged its earliest flower!

Ximena. It well may be!

There are far deeper and far warmer hues

Than those which draw their coloring from tae founts
Of youth, or health, or hope.

Why should not He, whose touch dissolves our chain,
Put on His robes of beauty, when He comes
As a Deliverer? He hath many forms;
They should not all be fearful! If His call
Be but our gathering to that distant land,

For whose sweet waters we have pined with thirst,
Why should not its prophetic sense be borne
Into the heart's deep stillness, with a breath
Of summer winds, a voice of melody,
Solemn, yet lovely? Mother, I depart !-
Be it thy comfort, in thy after days,
That thou hast seen me thus !

Elmina. Can I bear on with life

When thou art gone?

Thy voice, thy step, thy smile,

Passed from my path! Alas, even now thine eye

Is changed-thy cheek is fading!

Ximena. Aye, the clouds

Of the dim hour are gathering o'er my sight.
Oh, weep thou not, save with a gentle sorrow!
Elmina. Must it be? Art thou, indeed, to leave me !
Ximena (exultingly). Be thou glad!

I say, rejoice above thy favored child!
Joy, for the soldier when his field is fought,
Joy, for the peasant when his vintage task

Is closed at eve! But, most of all, for her
Who, when her life changed its glittering robes
For the dull garb of sorrow, which doth cling
So heavily around the journeyers on,
Cast down its weight-and slept!

[She dies.

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