in its advancing years at once of rising to such unparalleled power, and of making existence so rich a boon to its multitudinous members.

3. For this very reason, debasement would stand in appalling contrast with its early promises; and if, through immorality, it inflicts upon itself suicidal wounds, the pangs of its death-struggle will be terrible in proportion to the vigor of its frame and the tenacity of its young life. It has been well said that it took Rome three hundred years to die. Her giant heart still beat, though corruption festered through all her members. Fiercer will be the throes, and deeper the shame of this young republic, if, in the bright morning of its days, and enriched with all the beneficence of Heaven, it grows wanton in its strength, and maddening itself with the cup of vice, it perishes basely in sight of its high destiny.

4. There is every thing in our institutions to give, (if that were possible,) even an artificial and extraneous value to upright conduct, to nobleness and elevation of character. Our institutions demand men, in whose hearts, great thoughts and deeds are native, spontaneous, irrepressible. And if we do not have a generation of men whose virtues will save us, we shall have a generation whose false pretensions to virtue will ruin us.

5. In a state and country like ours, a thousand selfish considerations tempt men to become hypocrites, and to put on the outward guises of morality. Ambition may counsel that honors are most easily won through honest seemings. Avarice may covet a fair reputation for its pecuniary value. Pride. and vanity may look for regard without the worth which alone can challenge it. But all such supports will fail in the hour of temptation. They have no depth of root in the moral sentiments.

6. The germs of morality must be planted in the moral nature, in youth,-at an early period of life. In that genial soil they will flourish and gather strength from surer and deeper sources than those of time-serving policy; like those pasture oaks, we see scattered about the fields of the farmers, which, striking their roots downward into the earth as far as

their topmost branches ascend into the air, draw nourishment from perennial fountains, and thereby preserve their foliage fresh and green, through seasons of fiery drouth, when all surrounding vegetation is scorched and withered.

1. TO THE YOUNG,-" The innocent in heart and soul," for whom life still blooms in all the freshness and beauty of hope and truth,-who bask in the bright sunshine of moral purity and peace, little dreaming of the countless perils which surround them, breathing the ethereal odors of a Paradise which they have not as yet forfeited,--to them how earnest should be the constant and most impressive admonition,-Avoid the first approaches of the tempter; heed not for a wavering moment his subtle and fatal voice; wrap yourselves in the sacred mantle of your innocence, and repose in trustful assurance upon the promises of the Author of your being, the Dispenser of the rich blessings, by which you are surrounded.

2. The conditions of present enjoyment and continued happiness, are clearly unfolded to your mental and moral perception by HIM who called you into existence, and curiously. molded the constitution of your being. While those conditions are faithfully observed, that existence will prove a constant source of pleasure,--an unfailing well-spring of improvement, a perpetual concord of sweet and harmonious influences. Around and about you; on every hand, are withered hopes, blasted expectations, irremediable sorrow, fruitless remorse, pain, anguish, disease, premature decay, and death.

3. Hope not to disobey the voice of God within your souls, and to escape these dire and bitter conséquences of transgression. The records of human experience, from the creation of the world to the present hour, furnish not a solitary instance of such an exemption from the penalty denounced by the voice of the Almighty. Venture not, then, upon the fearful and most presumptuous experiment. Walk while you may, in the placid shades of innocence and virtue; commune with the Being whose presence will surround you at all times, and

whose blessing, "even length of days and life for evermore," will consecrate and reward your obedience to His perfect laws.

"So live, that when the summons comes to join

The innumerable caravan that moves

To the pale realms of shade, where each shall take
His chamber in the silent halls of death,

Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night,

Chained, to his dungeon; but, sustained and soothed
By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave

Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch
About him, and lies down to pleasing dreams."

S. S. RANDALL.

LESSON CXXXII.

THE RUINS OF POMPEII.

1. THE ancient city of POMPEII in the province of Campania in Italy, together with that of HERCULANEUM, was buried by a shower of ashes, thrown up from the crater of Mount Vesuvius, in the famous eruption of 79. The ruins of Pompeii were accidentally discovered in the year 1748, and they have been, to a great extent, disclosed by the extensive excavations which have been made. Streets and houses in almost a perfect state, have been brought to view. A forum, two theaters, temples, fountains, and other structures, richly ornamented, have been discovered, and from them have been taken statues, manuscripts, paintings, and various utensils, which contribute extensively to enlarge our notions of the ancients, and develop many classical obscurities.

2. Numerous skeletons have been discovered, though it is probable that many of the inhabitants escaped. In one cellar the skeletons of twenty-seven females were found, with costly ornaments for the neck and arms scattered around. In another apartment, the skeletons of a master and slave, were discovered, the former holding a key in one hand, and a bag of coins and precious stones in the other, while near them were valuable silver and bronze vessels.

3. In other times and in other places, one single edifice, a temple, a theater, a tomb, that had escaped the wreck of ages, would have enchanted us; nay, an arch, the remnant of a wall, even one solitary column, was beheld with veneration; but to discover a single ancient house, the abode of a Roman in his privacy, the scene of his domestic hours, was an object of fond, but hopeless longing. Here, not a temple, not a theater, nor a column, nor a house, but a whole city rises before us, untouched, unaltered, the very same as it was eighteen hundred years ago, when inhabited by Romans.

4. We range through the same streets, tread the very same pavement, behold the same walls, enter the same doors, and repose in the same apartments. We are surrounded by the same objects, and out. of the same windows we contemplate the same scenery. While you are wandering through the abandoned rooms, you may, without any great effort of imagination, expect to meet some of the former inhabitants, or perhaps the master of the house himself, and almost feel like intruders who dread the appearance of any of the family.

5. In the streets you are afraid of turning a corner, lest you should jostle a passenger; and on entering a house, the least sound startles, as if the proprietor was coming out of the back apartments. The traveler may long indulge the illusion; for not a voice is heard, not even the sound of a foot to disturb the loneliness of the place, or to interrupt his reflections.

LESSON CXXXIII.

NOTE.-The following is an extract from a poem which obtained the Chancellor's medal, at a commencement of the University at Cambridge, England.

DESTRUCTION OF POMPEII.

1. SAD City, gayly dawned thy latest day,
And poured its radiance on a scene as gay.
Then mirth and music through Pompeii rung
Then verdant wreaths on all her portals hung;

MACAULAY.

Her sons with solemn rite and jocund lay,
Hailed the glad splendors of that festal day.
With fillets bound the hoary priests advance,
And rosy virgins braid the choral dance.
The rugged warrior here unbends awhile
His iron front, and deigns a transient smile;
There, frantic with delight, the ruddy boy
Scarce treads on earth, and bounds and laughs with joy.

2. From every crowded altar perfumes rise
In billowy clouds of fragrance to the skies.
The milk-white monarch of the herd they lead,
With gilded horns, at yonder shrine to bleed;
And while the victim crops the broidered plain,
And frisks, and gambols toward the destined fane,
They little deem that like himself they stray
To death, unconscious, o'er a flowery way;
Heedless, like him, the impending stroke await,
And sport and wanton on the brink of fate.

3. What 'vails it that where yonder hights aspire,
With ashes piled, and scathed with rills of fire,
Gigantic phantoms dimly seem to glide,*
In misty files, along the mountain's side,

To view with threatening scowl your fated lands,
And toward your city point their shadowy hands?
In vain through many a night ye view from far
The meteor flag of elemental war

Unroll its blazing folds from yonder hight,
In fearful sign of earth's intestine fight.

4. In vain Vesuvius groaned with wrath suppressed,
And muttered thunder in his burning breast.
Long since the Eagle from that flaming peak,

* It is related that gigantic figures appeared on the summit of Vesuvius, previous to the destruction of POMPEII. This was caused doubtless by the fantastic forms which the smoke assumed, assisted by a lively imagination.