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Wake! thou that sleepest in enchanted bowers,
Lest these lost years should haunt thee on the night
When death is waiting for thy numbered hours
To take their swift and everlasting flight;

Wake' ere the earthborn charm unnerve thee quite,
And be thy thoughts to work divine addressed;
Do something,-do it soon,-with all thy might;
An angel's wing would droop if long at rest,
And God himself inactive were no longer blessed.
10 Some high or humble enterprise of good
Contemplate till it shall possess thy mind,
Become thy study, pastime, rest, and food,
And kindle in thy heart a flame refined;
Pray Heaven for firmness thy whole soul to bind
To this thy purpose,-to begin, pursue,

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With thoughts all fixed and feelings purely kind,
Strength to complete and with delight review,
And grace to give the praise where all is ever due.

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LESSON CXXV.-MY NATIVE VILLAGE.-JOHN H. BRYANT

There lies a village in a peaceful vale,

With sloping hills and waving woods around,
Fenced from the blasts. There never ruder gale
Bows the tall grass that covers all the ground;
And planted shrubs are there, and cherished flowers,
And a bright verdure born of gentle showers.
'Twas there my young existence was begun,

My earliest sports were on its flowery green,
And often, when my schoolboy task was done,

I climbed its hills to view the pleasant scene,
And stood and gazed till the sun's setting ray
Shone on the height,-the sweetest of the day.
There, when that hour of mellow light was come,
And mountain shadows cooled the ripened grain,
I watched the weary yeoman plodding home,

In the lone path that winds across the plain,
To rest his limbs, and watch his child at play,
And tell him o'er the labors of the day.

And when the woods put on their autumn glow,
And the bright sun came in among the trees,

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And leaves were gathering in the glen below,
Swept softly from the mountains by the breeze,
I wandered till the starlight on the stream
At length awoke me from my fairy dream.

Ah! happy days, too happy to return,

Fled on the wings of youth's departed years,
A bitter lesson has been mine to learn,

The truth of life, its labors, pains, and fears;
Yet does the memory of my boyhood stay,
A twilight of the brightness passed away.

My thoughts steal back to that sweet village still;
Its flowers and peaceful shades before me rise;
The play-place and the prospect from the hill,

Its summer verdure, and autumnal dyes;
The present brings its storms; but, while they last,
I shelter me in the delightful past.

LESSON CXXVI.-THE PRESS.-JOSEPH T. BUCKINGHAM.

Look abroad, over the face of this vast and almost illimitable continent, and behold multitudes which no man can number, impatient of the slow process of education, wrestling with the powers of nature, and the obstructions of 5 accident, and, like the patriarch, refusing to let go their hold, till the day break, and they receive the promised blessing, and the recompense of the struggle.

You will perceive, too, in the remotest corners, where civilization has planted her standard, that there the Press, the 10 mightiest engine, ever yet invented by the genius of man, is producing a moral revolution, on a scale of grandeur and magnificence, unknown to all former generations. By it, information of every transaction of government, and of all important occurrences, in the four quarters of the world, 15 is transmitted with a degree of speed and regularity, that the most sagacious could not have foreseen, nor the most enthusiastic have dared to hope for, fifty years ago. By the Press, every cottage is supplied with its newspaper, and elementary books, in the most useful sciences; and 2o every cradle is supplied with tracts and toy-books, to teach the infant to lisp lessons of wisdom and piety, long before his mind has power to conceive, or firmness to retain, their meaning.

The power of this engine, in the moral and intellectual

universe, is inconceivable. There is no ordinary operation of the physical elements, to which its mighty influence can be compared. We can find, only in the visions of the apocalyptic saint, a parallel to its tremendous action. 5 Guided by truth and reason, like the sound of the seventh trumpet, it opens the temple of God in heaven, and shows to the eye of the faithful and regenerated spirit, within the veil of that temple, in the presence-chamber of the Almighty, the ark of his testament. Controlled by false10 hood and fraud, its force, like the opening of the sixth seal of the mystic volume, produces earthquakes, turns the sun to sackcloth, and the moon to blood, moves every mountain and island out of their places, and causes even the heaven we hope for, to depart as a scroll, when it is rolled 15 together.

LESSON CXXVII.-MOUNT AUBURN.-NEHEMIAH ADAMS.

There is a spot within a few miles of Boston, which is destined to be distinguished as a burying-place. "Sweet Auburn " was familiarly known as a place of favorite resort; its shady and intricate retreats, affording opportunity 5 for social or solitary rambles, and its botanic richness a field for pastime and study. The place has been purchased by an Association, and consecrated as a cemetery, with the name of Mount Auburn.

Its distant appearance was formerly better than at pres10 ent, many of the trees now being removed. It looked like a large mound rather than a hill, its central elevation being surrounded by deep glens and valleys, whose tree tops preserved a regular ascent, and reduced the otherwise prominent height of the centre to the slope of a large 15 dome. It always seemed as though it were destined to some important and solemn use.

From the bridge across Charles river, in Cambridge, at sunset, when the horizontal light rayed into it, and the glowing western sky showed in relief the quick motion of 20 the leaves in the fresh evening air, it has appeared like a solemn and mournful place, enlivened, against its will, by the voices and joy of a multitude, and showing, as it assumed its natural shades, that it was of a melancholy and sorrowing spirit.

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Now, its dense woods are thinned; and, from the common road to the place, and, within a fraction of a mile,

where the last house on the left leaves the view unbroken, you see a large white object, with a black centre, peering out from the side of a hill; the nature and object of which a stranger is not at a loss to know, as the Egyptian Portal 5 of the grounds, appearing before him with its inscription, "Then shall the dust return to the earth as it was; and the spirit shall return to God who gave it."

Man

There has been a large number of avenues and paths laid through the place. The paths wind through romantic 10 recesses. It was with a peculiar sensation that we walked through the place, when the avenues were first made. It was like viewing a great, but mournful conquest. had invaded a hitherto sacred and safe retreat; and the axe and plough-share had let in the common sun. The 15 turf had just been removed from the ways, exposing a glebe made rich by the decay of a thousand autumns.

The robins were rejoicing over a strange supply of food. The sound of the workman's implements, from different parts of the place, showed that "Sweet Auburn" was no 20 longer a safe retreat; and the sudden appearance of a trench, with blocks of granite near, and other preparations for a tomb, made known the change that had taken place in the character of this beautiful retirement.

LESSON CXXVIII.-TRYING TO PLEASE.-EDWARD T. CHANNING.

We know, that it is difficult to draw the line between good social dispositions and actions generally, and a sickly regard to false exactions; and to avoid useless discriminations, we shall venture to say, that we dislike much of the 5 current language on the subject of pleasing. We dislike the phrase, "trying to please." It is deceptive, and the practice itself leads to effeminacy or fraud. It puts men in wrong positions towards each other.

To shun giving needless offence is one thing, and most 10 important. This passive good-will or negative benevolence is not sustained without effort; and, as it is little noticed by those whom it spares, it is likely to be disinterested, and can scarcely do harm to either party.

Then, again, to give innocent pleasure to others by 15 active efforts and personal sacrifices in their behalf, is safe for all concerned. And to gratify our friends by our moral excellence and high reputation, is a natural reward, though we should not propose it as the object, of virtuous action.

And undoubtedly our customary civilities and attentions are in part designed to give pleasure.

But Chesterfield's "passionate desire of pleasing everybody," this endeavoring so to adapt ourselves to the dispo5 sitions of others, that admiration and gratitude shall beam upon us whenever we appear, and our very persons become idols, is not the prompting or expression of benevolence; and it is foreign to the true spirit and purpose of civility. There is selfishness on both sides, and mutual mischief. 10 Men have no right to such a show of devotion, and we have no right to offer it.

We are not placed here, solely or chiefly, to please or to be pleased, even in the best sense that we can give to these terms; but to be good and to do good. And, so far as 15 manners promote these objects, let them be cultivated with enthusiasm, as virtues; and, so far as they then give pleasure, they yield a natural fruit.

LESSON CXXIX.-DEFENCE OF CHARLES GREENLEAF.-
G. S. HILLARD.

Gentlemen, it is time for me to bring my remarks to a close. I believe that I have left no point unurged, which may be presented to you in an aspect favorable to the prisoner; and he now awaits your merciful consideration. 5 I presume that no advocate, in a capital cause, was ever satisfied with his efforts, in his client's behalf; who did not feel, or fancy, on a sober re-consideration of his argument, that he might have done better. I am prepared to be disturbed by this reflection hereafter; and, if so, I must draw 10 what comfort I can, from that, I now feel,-that I have done what I could.

I have endeavored to argue this cause fairly. I am not conscious of having mis-stated the facts in evidence, or laid down the law incorrectly; and if I have, I shall be 15 sure to hear of it, before the case is through. In such cases, however, there is no great difference, between what can be accomplished by the highest or the humblest faculties. The prisoner is saved, if at all, by the law and facts; and by these, and these alone, do I solicit my client's 20 acquittal. If I have failed, or been wanting, let them speak for me, and make up for my deficiencies.

There is another class of considerations, in this case, which might be urged,-another class of emotions which

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