was of the number of those | good natured | creatures! that are said to | do no | harm to any but them

selves.

misery,

by a chairman,

per,

ing | life." | 1| If his head was | broke or his | pocket | picked by a | sharhe comforted | himself | by | imitating || the Hibernian | dialect of the one, or the more | fashionable | cant of the | other. |1| Nothing | came a- | miss to him. |11|77| His inattention to | money matters censed his father |to| such a de- | gree, all inter- cession of | friends,

in

that

in his | favor, |

The old gentleman | was on his | death bed. | 11|17|1 The | whole | family, and Dick | Ma-| mong the number, gathered a- | round him. | | | 9714717" I leave my second son | Andrew,"| said the ex- piring | miser," my whole es- tate; and de- sire him to be | frugal." | I

to

Andrew, in a | sorrowful | tone, (as is ❘ usual | on those occasions,) || prayed | heaven pro- | long his life and health to en- | joy it himself!|77|77|

"I recommend | Simon, my third | son,

to the care of his | elder | brother;

and

leave him be- | side, | four | thousand | pounds.” "Ah! | father," | cried | Simon,

(in | great af-|

"may | heaven | give you |

to en- | joy it your- | self!" |

At | last | turning to | poor | Dick, |17| "as for

| you'll | never be |

you, you have always been a | sad | dog; |11| you'll never come to | good; | rich; I leave you

buy a halter." |11|17|

a shilling,

to |

"Ah! | father," cries | Dick, without any emotion, "may | heaven | give you | life and | health | to enjoy it yourself!"

A SUMMER EVENING'S MEDITATION.

Mrs. Barbauld.

Tis past; the sultry | tyrant of the | south || Has spent his | short-lived | rage.1| 1| More | grateful hours |

Move | silent

pel

on.The skies no | more re

|

The dazzled sight; But with | mild | maiden | beams

Of temper'd | light,| in- | vite the | cherish'd |

eye

To wander o'er their | sphere: where hung a

loft,

Dian's | bright | crescent, | like a | silver | bow

New | strung in heaven, | lifts | high |its | beamy | horns,

Im-patient for the night, and seems to | push

Her brother | down the | sky. Fair Venus | shines

Even in the eye of | day; with sweetest | beam 11

Pro- pitious | shines, and | shakes a trembling flood

Of soften'd radiance from her | dewy | locks. | 771971

The shadows | spread a- | pace;1|11| pace; while |

meeken'd | eve,|

Her cheek yet warm with | blushes, | slow re- | tires |

Through the Hes- | perian | gardens of the west,

And | shuts the | gates of | day.1 |11| 1 'Tis | now the hour

When contem- | plation | (from her | sunless! haunts,

The cool damp | grotto, or the lonely | depth

Of | unpierced | woods, where, wrapt in | silent shade,

Shemused a- | way the guady | hours of noon,

And fed on | thoughts | un- | ripen'd by the | sun,)

Moves forward; and with | radiant | finger | points

To yon blue | concave, | swell'd by breath di- |

vine;

Where, one by one, the living | eyes of |

heaven |

A-wake, quick | kindling o'er the face of

ether

One | boundless | blaze; || ten | thousand | trembling fires,

And dancing | lustres, | where the un- | steady | eye,◄| Restless and | dazzled, | wanders | uncon- | fined | O'er all this field of | glories: | spacious | field,| And worthy of the | Master! | he | hewhose

hand,

|With | hiero- | glyphics | elder than the | Nile,| In- | scrib'd the | mystic | tablet, | hung on | high || To public | gaze; | and | said,~|~A- | dore O |

man,

|

The finger of thy | God! From what | pure wells |

Of milky light | what | soft o'er- | flowing |

urn,

Are | all these | lamps | so | fill'd? | these | friendly |

lamps,

For-ever streaming | o'er the | azure | deep, |

To point our | path,

home.1|77|

and light us to our |

How soft they | slide a- | long their | lucid |

spheres ! |

And silent as the | foot of time,

ful- | fil|

Their destin'd | courses. || Nature's | self |

ishush'd |

And | (but a | scatter'd | leaf which | rustles |

through

The thick-wove | foliage,) | not a | sound | is | heard

To break the | midnight | air :| though the raised | ear,

In- tensely listening, | drinks in | every | breath.

771771

How deep the silence, | yet how | loud the | praise! | 771771

But are they | silent | all?or | is there not | A tongue in every | star that talks with

man,

And woos him to be | wise?nor | woos in | vain

This dead of | midnight | is the noon of! thought,

And wisdom | mounts her | zenith with the | stars. 1971

At this still | hour the self-col- | lected |

soul

Turns inward, | and | be- | holds a | stranger | there

Of high de- | scent, and | more than | mortal |

rank;

An embryo | God; | a | spark of | fire di- |

vine,

Which must burn | on for | ages, when the |

sun

(Fair | transitory | creature of a day?)|

Has closed his | wonted | journey | through the | east. 191

Ye citadels of light,

and | seats of bliss!

Perhaps my | future | home, the soul,

from whence |