LESSON LXIX.

The Little Graves.-ANONYMOUS.

"TWAS autumn, and the leaves were dry,
And rustled on the ground,
And chilly winds went whistling by,
With low and pensive sound.

As through the grave-yard's lone retreat,
By meditation led,

I walked, with slow and cautious feet,
Above the sleeping dead,-

Three little graves, ranged side by side,
My close attention drew;

O'er two, the tall grass, bending, sighed,
And one seemed fresh and new.

As, lingering there, I mused awhile
On death's long, dreamless sleep,
And opening life's deceitful smile,
A mourner came to weep.

Her form was bowed, but not with years,
Her words were faint and few,
And on those little graves her tears
Distilled like evening dew.

A prattling boy, some four years old,
Her trembling hand embraced,
And from my heart the tale he told
Will never be effaced.

"Mămma',* now you must love me more,

For little sister's dead;
And t'other sister died before,
And brother too, you said."

66 Mamma, what made sweet sister die?
She loved me when we played:
You told me, if I would not cry,
You'd show me where she's laid."

*

a sounded as in father?

"No, sister is not cold, my child; For God, who saw her die,

As he looked down from heaven and smiled, Recalled her to the sky.

"And then her spirit quickly fled

To God, by whom 'twas given;

Her body in the ground is dead,
But sister lives in heaven."

"Mamma, won't she be hungry there,
And want some bread to eat?
And who will give her clothes to wear,
And keep them clean and neat?

"Păpa' must go and carry some;
I'll send her all I've got;
And he must bring sweet sister home,
Mamma, now must he not?”

"No, my dear child, that cannot be;
But, if you're good and true,
You'll one day go to her; but she
Can never come to you.

"Let little children come to me,'
Once our good Saviour said,
And in his arms she'll always be,
And God will give her bread."

LESSON LXX.

Life and Death.-NEW MONTHLY Magazine.

O FEAR not thou to die!

But rather fear to live; for life Has thousand snares thy feet to try, By peril, pain, and strife.

Brief is the work of death;

But life!-the spirit shrinks to see How full, ere heaven recalls the breath, The cup of wo may be.

O fear not thou to die!

No more to suffer or to sin;

No snares without, thy faith to try,

No traitor heart within:

But fear, O! rather fear,

The gay, the light, the changeful scene, The flattering smiles that greet thee here, From heaven thy heart to wean.

Fear, lest, in evil hour,

Thy pure and holy hope o'ercome,
By clouds that in the horizon lower,-
Thy spirit feel that gloom,
Which, over earth and heaven,

The covering throws of fell despair;
And deems itself the unforgiven,
Predestined child of care.

O fear not thou to die!

To die, and be that blessed one, Who, in the bright and beauteous sky, May feel his conflict done

May feel that, never more,

The tear of grief or shame shall come, For thousand wanderings from the Power Who loved, and called him home!

12

LESSON LXXI.

The Burial of Arnold.*-CONNEcticut Journal,

YE'VE gathered to your place of prayer,
With slow and measured tread:
Your ranks are full, your mates all there—
But the soul of one has fled.

He was the proudest in his strength,
The manliest of ye all;
Why lies he at that fearful length,
And ye around his pall?

Ye reckon it in days, since he
Strode up that foot-worn aisle,
With his dark eye flashing gloriously,
And his lip wreathed with a smile.
O, had it been but told you then,
To mark whose lamp was dim,
From out yon rank of fresh-lipped men,
Would ye have singled him?

Whose was the sinewy arm, which flung

Defiance to the ring?

Whose laugh of victory loudest rung,
Yet not for glorying?

Whose heart, in generous deed and thought,
No rivalry might brook,
And yet distinction claiming not?
There lies he-go and look!

On now-his requiem is done,
The last deep prayer is said-
On to his burial, comrades-on,
With the noblest of the dead!
Slow-for it presses heavily-
It is a man ye bear!

Slow, for our thoughts dwell wearily
On the noble sleeper there.

Tread lightly, comrades!-we have laid
His dark locks on his brow-

* A member of the senior class in Yale College:

Like life

e-save deeper light and shade:

We'll not disturb them now.

Tread lightly-for 'tis beautiful,
That blue veined eye-lid's sleep,
eye death left so dull-

Hiding the

Its slumber we will keep.

Rest now!-his journeying is done-
Your feet are on his sod-
Death's chain is on your champion-
He waiteth here his God!
Ayturn and weep-'tis manliness
To be heart-broken here-
For the grave of earth's best nobleness
Is watered by a tear.

LESSON LXXII.

Cruelty to Animals reproved.-Mavor.

A YOUNGSTER, whose name we shall conceal, because it is not for his credit it should be known, was amusing himself with a beetle stuck on a pin, and seemed vastly delighted with the gyrations* it made, occasioned by the torture it felt. Harley saw this with emotion; for he would not wantonly have injured the most contemptible animal that breathes,

He rebuked the unfeeling youth in the following terms; and the impression, which the lecture made, was never after effaced from his mind: "I am deeply concerned," said he, "to observe any one, whom I so tenderly love, fond of cruel sport. Do you think that the poor beetle, which you are thus agonizing, is incapable of sensation? And if you are aware that it feels pain as well as you, how can you receive amusement from its torture? Animals, it is true, were formed for the use of man; but reason and humanity forbid us to abuse them.

"Every creature, not immediately noxious to our kind, ought to be cherished, or, at least, not injured. The heart of sensibility bleeds for misery wherever it is seen. No amusement can be rational that is founded on another's pain. I know you take delight in bird-nesting: I wish to discourage this pursuit too.

*g sounded like j.