which does not contain more, probably, at any one time, than falls yearly in dew alone over the whole earth.

In descending, also, this rain discharges another office: it washes the air as it passes through it, dissolving and carrying down those accidental vapours which, though unwholesome to man, are yet fitted to assist the growth of plants. It thus 'ministers in another double manner to our health and comfort, purifying the air we breathe, and feeding the plants on which we live. As soon, again, as the rain ceases to fall, and the clear sky permits the sun's rays once more to warm the surface of the earth, vapours begin to rise anew, and the sweeping winds dry up the rains and dews from its moistened surface. There are regions of the globe, also, where unending summer plays on the surface of the wide seas, and causes a perpetual evaporation to lift up unceasing supplies of water into the air. These supplies the wind wafts to other regions; and thus the water which descends in rain or dew in one spot, is replaced by that which mounts up in vapour from another. And all this to maintain unbroken that nice adjustment which fits the constitution of the atmosphere to the wants of living things!

How beautiful is the arrangement by which water is thus constantly evaporated or distilled, as it were, into the atmosphere more largely from some, more sparingly from other spots--then diffused equally through the wide and restless air, and afterwards precipitated again in refreshing showers which cleanse the tainted air, or in long mysterious dews. But how much more beautiful the contrivance-I might almost say the instinctive tendency-by which the dew selects the objects on which it delights to fall; descending first on every living plant, copiously ministering to the wants of each, and expending its superfluity only on the unproductive waste!

And equally kind and bountiful, when understood, nature is seen to be in all her operations. Neither skill nor materials are ever wasted; and yet she ungrudgingly dispenses her favours apparently without measure, and has subjected dead matter to laws which compel it to minister, and yet with a most ready willingness, to the wants and comforts of every living thing.

(Selections from Spenser, Shakespeare, Ben Jonson, and G. Herbert.)

UNA AND THE LION.

(Edmund Spenser.)

Born, 1553; died, 1599.

prease (n.), a press, a crowd

un-dight', put off

weet (v.), to know

puis'-sance, power, strength

limn (v.), to paint

Principal work, 'The Faëry Queen.'
As-træ-a, the goddess of Justice

con-serve (v.), to preserve without loss
frus'-trate, to defeat, to disappoint
com-pact'-ed, held together

I stole (n.), a robe

YET she, most faithful lady, all this while
Forsaken, woeful, solitary maid,

Far from all people's prease, as in exile,
In wilderness and wasteful deserts strayed,
To seek her knight, who subtily betrayed

Through that late vision which th' enchanter wrought,
Had her abandoned; she of nought afraid

Through woods and wastenes wide him daily sought,
Yet wished tidings none of him unto her brought.

One day, nigh weary of the irksome way,
From her unhasty beast she did alight;
And on the grass her dainty limbs did lay,
In secret shadow, far from all men's sight;
From her fair head her fillet she undight,
And laid her stole aside; her angel's face
As the great eye of Heaven shined bright,
And made a sunshine in the shady place;
Did never mortal eye behold such heavenly grace.
It fortuned, out of the thickest wood
A ramping lion rushèd suddenly,
Hunting full greedy after savage blood:
Soon as the royal virgin he did spy,
With gaping mouth at her ran greedily,
To have at once devour'd her tender corse :
But to the prey when as he drew more nigh,
His bloody rage assuagèd with remorse,

And, with the sight amazed, forgat his furious force:
Instead thereof he kissed her weary feet,
And licked her lily hands with fawning tongue;
As he her wrongèd innocence did meet.
O how can beauty master the most strong,
And simple truth subdue avenging wrong !
Whose yielded pride, and proud submission,
Still dreading death, when she had marked long,
Her heart 'gan melt in great compassion,
And drizzling tears did shed for pure affection.

'The lion, lord of every beast in field,'
Quoth she, his princely puissance doth abate,
And mighty proud to humble weak does yield,
Forgetful of the hungry rage which late
Him prick'd, in pity of my sad estate;
But he, my lion and my noble lord,
How does he find in cruel heart to hate,
Her that him loved, and ever most adored,

As the god of my life? why hath he me abhorred ? '

Redounding tears did choke the end of her plaint,
Which softly echoed from the neighbour wood;
And, sad to see her sorrowful constraint,
The kingly beast upon her gazing stood:
With pity calm'd down fell his angry mood.
At last, in close heart shutting up
her pain,
Arose the virgin, born of heavenly brood,
And to her snowy palfrey got again,

To seek her strayed champion if she might attain.

The lion would not leave her desolate,
But with her went along, as a strong guard

Of her chaste person, and a faithful mate
Of her sad troubles, and misfortunes hard:

Still, when she slept, he kept both watch and ward;
And when she waked, he waited diligent,
With humble service to her will prepared;
From her fair eye he took commandément,
And ever by her looks conceived her intent.

Faëry Queen.

THE HORSE OF ADONIS.

(Shakespeare.)

Born, 1564; died, 1616. Principal works:-his celebrated Plays and Sonnets.

LOOK, when a painter would surpass the life,
In limning out a well-proportioned steed,
His art with nature's workmanship at strife,
As if the dead the living should exceed :
So did this horse excel a common one
In shape, in courage, colour, pace, and bone.

Round-hoofed, short-jointed, fettocks shag and long,
Broad breast, full eye, small head, and nostril wide,
High crest, short ears, straight legs, and passing strong,
Thin mane, thick tail, broad buttock, tender hide:
Look! what a horse should have, he did not lack,
Save a proud rider on so proud a back.

Sometimes he scuds far off, and there he stares;
Anon he starts at stirring of a feather.
To bid the wind a base* he now prepares,

And whe'r he run, or fly, they know not whether.
For through his mane and tail the high wind sings,
Fanning the hairs, who wave like feather'd wings.

Venus and Adonis.

THE VICISSITUDES OF LIFE.

(Wolsey.)

Farewell, a long farewell to all my greatness!
This is the state of man: to-day he puts forth
The tender leaves of hopes, to-morrow blossoms,
And bears his blushing honours thick upon him;
The third day comes a frost, a killing frost,
And when he thinks, good easy man, full surely
His greatness is a-ripening, nips his root,
And then he falls as I do. I have ventur'd,
Like little wanton boys, that swim on bladders,
These many summers, in a sea of glory;
But far beyond my depth: my high-blown pride
At length broke under me; and now has left me,
Weary and old with service, to the mercy
Of a rude stream, that must for ever hide me.
Vain pomp and glory of this world, I hate ye!
I feel my heart new-open'd. Oh, how wretched
Is that poor man that hangs on prince's favours!
There is, betwixt that smile he would aspire to,
That sweet aspect of princes, and their ruin,
More pangs and fears than wars or women have,
And, when he falls, he falls like Lucifer,
Never to hope again.

Henry the Eighth.

'To bid the wind a base:' i. e. to challenge the wind, to contend with him in speed; base, prison-base, or prison-bars, was a rustic game consisting chiefly in running.

THE GOLDEN AGE RESTORED.

(Ben Jonson.)

Born, 1574; died, 1637. Principal works, Plays and Court Masques.

Pallas. Look, look! rejoice and wonder

That you, offending mortals, are

(For all your crimes) so much the care Of him that bears the thunder!

Jove can endure no longer,

Your great ones should your less invade;
Or that your weak, though bad, be made
A prey unto the stronger,

And therefore means to settle
Astræa in her seat again;

Which deed he doth the rather,
That even Envy may behold
Time not enjoyed his head of gold
Alone beneath his father,

But that his care conserveth,

As time, so all time's honours too,
Regarding still what heav'n should do,
And not what earth deserveth.

(A tumult and clashing of arms heard within.)

But hark! what tumult from yon cave is heard?
What noise, what strife, what earthquake and alarms,
As troubled Nature for her Maker fear'd,

And all the Iron Age were up in arms!

Hide me, soft cloud, from their profaner eyes,
Till insolent rebellion take the field;

And as their spirits with their counsels rise,
I frustrate them all with showing but

my shield.

(She retires behind a cloud),

The commencement of the Masque The Golden Age Restored,'