and who never omitted to turn her head to look at me as she went by; so that, at last, we became well acquainted with each other. I must confess, that, at this period of my life, I was in great danger of becoming insufferably vain, from the regards that were then paid me; and, perhaps, I am not the only individual, who has formed mistaken notions of the attentions he receives in society.

My vanity, however, received a considerable check from one circumstance: nearly all the goods by which I was surrounded, in the shop window, though, many of them, much more homely in their structure, and humble in their destinations, were disposed of sooner than myself. I had the mortification of seeing one after another bargained for and sent away, while I remained, month after month, without a purchaser.

At last, however, a gentleman and lady, from the country who had been standing some time in the street, inspecting and, as I perceived, conversing about me, walked into the shop; and, after some altercation with my master, agreed to purchase me; upon which, I was packed up, and sent off.

was very curious, you may suppose, upon arriving at my new quarters, to see what kind of life I was likely to lead. I remained, however, some time, unmolested in my packingcase, and very flat I felt there.

Upon being, at last, unpacked, I found myself in the hall of a large, lone house in the country. My master and mistress, I soon learned, were new-married people, just setting up house-keeping; and I was intended to decorate their best parlour, to which I was presently conveyed, and, after some little discussion between them, in fixing my longitude and latitude, I was hung up opposite the fire-place, in an angle of ten degrees from the wall, according to the fashion of those times.

And there I hung, year after year, almost in perpetual solitude. My master and mistress were sober, regular, oldfashioned people; they saw no company, except at fair time and Christmas-day; on which occasions, only, they occupied the best parlour. My countenance used to brighten up, when I saw the annual fire kindled in that ample grate, and when a cheerful circle of country cousins assembled round it. At those times I always got a little notice from the young folks; but, those festivities over, I was condemned to another half year of complete loneliness.

How familiar to my recollection, at this hour, is that large,

old-fashioned parleur! I can remember, as well as if I had seen them but yesterday, the noble flowers on the crimson damask chair-covers and window-curtains; and those curiously carved tables and chairs. I could describe every one of the stories on the Dutch tiles that surrounded the grate, the rich China ornaments on the wide mantel-piece, and the pattern of the paper hangings, which consisted alternately of a parrot, a poppy, and a shepherdess, a parrot, a poppy, and a shepherdess.

The room being so little used, the window-shutters were rarely opened; but there were three holes cut in each, in the shape of a heart, through which, day after day, and year after year, I used to watch the long, dim, dusty sunbeams, streaming across the dark parlour. I should mention, however, that I seldom missed a short visit from my master and mistress on a Sunday morning, when they came down stairs ready dressed for church. I can remember how my mistress used to trot in upon her high-heeled shoes; unfold a leaf of one of the shutters; then come and stand straight before me; then turn half round to the right and left; never failing to see if the corner of her well-starched handkerchief was pinned exactly in the middle. I think I can see her now, in her favourite dove-coloured lustring, (which she wore every Sunday in every summer for seven years at the least,) and her long, full ruffles, and worked apron. Then followed my good master, who, though his visit was somewhat shorter, never failed to come and settle his Sunday wig before me.

Time rolled away, and my master and mistress, with all that appertained to them, insensibly suffered from its influence. When I first knew them, they were a young, blooming couple as you would wish to see; but I gradually perceived an alteration. My mistress began to stoop a little; and my master got a cough, which troubled him, more.or less, to the end of his days. At first, and for many years, my mistress' foot upon the stairs was light and nimble, and she would come in as blithe and as brisk as a lark; but, at last, it was a slow, heavy step; and even my master's began to totter. And, in these respects, every thing else kept pace with them: the crimson damask, that I remembered so fresh and bright, was now faded and worn; the dark polished mahogany was, in some places, worm eaten; the parrot's gay plumage on the walls grew dull; and I myself, though long unconscious of it, partook of the universal decay.

The dissipated taste I acquired upon my first introduction to society, had, long since, subsided; and the quiet, sombre life I led, gave me a grave, meditative turn. The change, which I witnessed in all things around me, caused me to reflect much on their vanity; and when, upon the occasions before-mentioned, I used to see the gay, blooming faces of the young saluting me with so much complacency, I would fain have admonished them of the alteration they must soon undergo, and have told them how certainly their bloom, also, must fade away as a flower. But, alas! you know, sir, looking-glasses can only reflect.

LESSON LX.

The Silent Expression of Nature.-ANONYMOUS.*

"There is no speech nor language their voice is not heard."-Ps xia, 3.

WHEN, thoughtful, to the vault of heaven

I lift my wondering eyes,
And see the clear and quiet even

To night resign the skies,-
The moon, in silence, rear her crest,

The stars, in silence, shine,

A secret rapture fills my breast,
That speaks its birth divine.

Unheard, the dews around me fall,
And heavenly influence shed,
And, silent, on this earthly ball,
Celestial footsteps tread.
Aërial music wakes the spheres,
Touched by harmonious powers:
With sounds, unheard by mortal ears,
They charm the lingering hours.

Night reigns, in silence, o'er the pole,
And spreads her gems unheard:
Her lessons penetrate the soul,
Yet borrow not a word.

* From "Musæ Biblicæ," published, London 1819.

Noiseless the sun emits his fire,
And pours his golden streams;
And silently the shades retire
Before his rising beams.

The hand that moves, and regulates,
And guides the vast machine,-
That governs wills, and times, and fates,---
Retires, and works unseen.
Angelic visitants forsake

Their amaranthine bowers;
On silent wing their stations take,
And watch the allotted hours.

Sick of the vanity of man,

His noise, and pomp, and show,-
I'll move upon great Nature's plan,
And, silent, work below.
With inward harmony of soul,
I'll wait the upper sphere;
Shining, I'll mount above the pole,
And break my silence there.

LESSON LXI.

A Thought.-BLACKWOOD'S MAGAZINE.

O COULD we step into the grave,
And lift the coffin lid,

And look upon the greedy worms
That eat away the dead,-

It well might change the reddest cheek
Into a lily white,

And freeze the warmest blood, to look

Upon so sad a sight!

Yet still it were a sadder sight,

If, in that lump of clay,

There were a sense, to feel the worms

So busy with their prey.

O pity, then, the living heart,-
The lump of living clay,-

On which the canker-worms of guilt
Forever, ever prey.

LESSON LXII.

Fidelity.-WORDSWORTH.

A BARKING Sound the shepherd hears,
A cry as of a dog or fox;-
He halts, and searches with his eyes
Among the scattered rocks:
And now, at distance, can discern
A stirring in a brake of fern,
From which immediately leaps out
A dog, and, yelping, runs about.

The dog is not of mountain breed;
Its motions, too, are wild and shy;
With something as the shepherd thinks
Unusual in its cry:

Nor is there any one in sight,

All round, in hollow, or on height;
Nor shout, nor whistle, strikes his ear :-

What is the creature doing here ?

It was a cove, a huge recess,

That keeps, till June, December's snow;

A lofty precipice in front,

A silent tarn* below!

Far in the bosom of Helvellyn,

Remote from public road or dwelling,
Pathway or cultivated land,

From trace of human foot or hand.

There, sometimes, does a leaping fish
Send through the tarn a lonely cheer:

The crags repeat the raven's croak,

In symphony austere.

Tarn is a small mere or lake, mostly high up in the mountains.