in the centre of a mountain, in the midst of a void, wnere the regularity of the walls looks like some vast rotunda; when you think of a river as flowing across the bottom of this cavern, and falling abruptly into a profound abyss, with the stunning noise of a cataract; when you imagine, that, by the light of a firework of gunpowder, played off on purpose to render this darkness visible, the foam of the cataract is illuminated even down to the surface of the water in the abyss, and the rays, emitted by the livid blaze of this preparation, are reflected along the dripping walls of the cavern, till they are lost in the darker regions above, you will not wonder that such a scene should seize on my whole soul, and fill me with awe and astonishment, causing me to exclaim, as I involuntarily did, 'Marvellous are thy works, Lord God Almighty!'

LESSON CXXXII.

To Tranquillity.—COLERIDGE.

TRANQUILLITY! thou better name
Than all the family of Fame!
Thou ne'er wilt leave my riper age
To low intrigue or factious rage:

For oh! dear child of thoughtful Truth,

To thee I gave my early youth,

And left the bark, and blessed the steadfast shore,

Ere yet the tempest rose, and scared me with its roar.

Who late and lingering seeks thy shrine,

On him but seldom, power divine,

Thy spirit rests. Satiety

And Sloth, poor counterfeits of thee,
Mock the tired worldling. Idle Hope

And dire Remembrance interlope

To vex the feverish slumbers of the mind:
The bubble floats before, the spectre stalks behind.

But me thy gentle hand will lead

At morning through th' accustomed mead;
And in the sultry summer's heat

Will build me up a mossy seat!

And when the gust of Autumn crowds,
And breaks the busy moonlight clouds,

Thou best the thought canst raise, the heart attune, Light as the busy clouds, calm as the gliding moon.

The feeling heart, the searching soul,
To thee I dedicate the whole!

And while within myself I trace
The greatness of some future race,
Aloof with hermit eye, I scan

The present works of present man

A wild and dreamlike trade of blood and guile, Too foolish for a tear, too wicked for a smile!

LESSON CXXXIII.

To A Cloud.-BRYANT.

BEAUTIFUL cloud! with folds so soft and fair,
Swimming in the pure quiet air!

Thy fleeces bathed in sunlight, while below
Thy shadow o'er the vale moves slow:
Where, 'midst their labor, pause the reaper train
As cool it comes along the grain.
Beautiful cloud! I would I were with thee
In thy calm way o'er land and sea:

To rest on thy unrolling skirts, and look

On Earth as on an open book;

On streams that tie her realms with silver bands,

And the long ways that seam her lands;

And hear her humming cities, and the sound
Of the great ocean breaking round.
Ay-I would sail upon thy air-borne car
To blooming regions distant far,

To where the sun of Andalusia shines
On his own olive groves and vines,
Or the soft lights of Italy's bright sky
In smiles upon her ruins lie.

But I would woo the winds to let us rest

O'er Greece long fettered and opprest,

Whose sons at length have heard the call that comes From the old battle fields and tombs,

And risen, and drawn the sword, and, on the foe
Have dealt the swift and desperate blow,
And the Othman power is cloven, and the stroke
Has touched its chains, and they are broke.
Ay, we would linger till the sunset there
Should come, to purple all the air,
And thou reflect upon the sacred ground,
The ruddy radiance streaming round.

Bright meteor! for the summer noontide made!
Thy peerless beauty yet shall fade.

The sun, that fills with light each glistening fold,
Shall set, and leave thee dark and cold:

The blast shall rend thy skirts, or thou mayst frown
In the dark heaven when storms come down,
And weep in rain, till man's inquiring eye
Miss thee, forever, from the sky.

LESSON CXXXIV.

The Vulture of the Alps.-ANONYMOUS.

I've been among the mighty Alps, and wandered through their vales,

And heard the honest mountaineers relate their dismal tales, As round the cottage blazing hearth, when their daily work

was o'er,

They spake of those who disappeared, and ne'er were heard of more.

And there I from a shepherd heard a narrative of fear,

A tale to rend a mortal heart, which mothers might not hear: The tears were standing in his eyes, his voice was tremulous;

But, wiping all those tears away, he told his story thus:

It is among these barren cliffs the ravenous vulture dwells, Who never fattens on the prey which from afar he smells; But, patient, watching hour on hour upon a lofty rock, He singles out some truant lamb, a victim, from the flock. 'One cloudless Sabbath summer morn, the sun was rising high,

When, from my children on the green, I heard a fearful cry, As if some awful deed were done, a shriek of grief and pain, cry, I humbly trust in God, I ne'er may hear again.

A

'I hurried out to learn the cause; but, overwhelmed with fright,

The children never ceased to shriek, and from

sight

my frenzied I missed the youngest of my babes, the darling of my care; But something caught my searching eyes, slow sailing through the air.

'Oh! what an awful spectacle to meet a father's eye,His infant made a vulture's prey, with terror to descry; And know, with agonizing breast, and with a maniac rave, That earthly power could not avail, that innocent to save!

My infant stretched his little hands imploringly to me, And struggled with the ravenous bird, all vainly, to get free; At intervals, I heard his cries, as loud he shrieked and screamed!

Until, upon the azure sky, a lessening spot he seemed.

The vulture flapped his sail-like wings, though heavily he

flew;

A mote upon the sun's broad face he seemed unto my view; But once I thought I saw him stoop, as if he would alight,'T was only a delusive thought, for all had vanished quite.

'All search was vain, and years had passed; that child was ne'er forgot,

When once a daring hunter climbed unto a lofty spot,
From whence, upon a rugged crag the chamois never

reached,

He saw an infant's fleshless bones the elements had bleach

ed!

I clambered up that rugged cliff,-I could not stay away,I knew they were my infant's bones thus hastening to decay; A tattered garment yet remained, though torn to many a shred;

The crimson cap he wore that morn was still upon the head.

'That dreary spot is pointed out to travellers passing by,

23

Who often stand, and, musing, gaze, nor go without a sigh.' And as I journeyed, the next morn, along my sunny way, The precipice was shown to me, whereon the infant lay.

LESSON CXXXV.

The Transport.-ANONYMOUS.

THE great eye of day was wide open, and a joyful light filled air, heaven, and ocean. The marbled clouds lay motionless far and wide over the deep blue sky, and all memory of storm and hurricane had vanished from the magnificense of that immense calm. There was but a gentle fluctuation on the bosom of the deep, and the sea-birds floated steadily there, or dipped their wings for a moment in the wreathed foam, and again wheeled sportively away into the sunshine.

One ship, only one single ship, was within the encircling horizon, and she had lain there as if at anchor since the morning light; for, although all her sails were set, scarcely a wandering breeze touched her canvass, and her flags hung dead on staff and at peak, or lifted themselves uncertainly up at intervals, and then sunk again into motionless repose The crew paced not her deck, for they knew that no breeze would come till after meridian,-and it was the Sabbath day.

A small congregation were singing praises to God in that chapel, which rested almost as quietly on the sea, as the house of worship in which they had been used to pray then rested, far off on a foundation of rock,in a green valley of their forsaken Scotland. They were emigrants-nor hoped ever again to see the mists of their native mountains.

But as they heard the voice of their psalm, each singer half forgot that it blended with the sound of the sea, and almost believed himself sitting in the kirk of his own beloved parish. But hundreds of billowy leagues intervened between them and the little tinkling bell, that was now tolling their happier friends to the quiet house of God.

And now an old gray headed man rose to pray, and held up his withered hand in fervent supplication for all around, whom, in good truth, he called his children-for three generations were with the patriarch in that tabernacle.

There in one group were husbands and wives standing