LESSON XLII. Parody on the preceding.-BLACKWOOD'S MAGAZINE. NEAR where yon brook flows babbling through the dell, From whose green bank those upland meadows swell, See where the rector's splendid mansion stands, Embosomed deep in new-enclosed lands,Lands wrested from the indigent and poor, Because, forsooth, he holds the village cure.† A man is he whom all his neighbours fear, Litigious, haughty, greedy, and severe; And starving, with a thousand pounds a year. Midst crowds and sports he passed his youthful prime; Could ne'er find entrance to his close-locked breast: His seeming virtues are to vice allied; Backward to duty, hateful to his ears Sound the church bells to summon him to prayers; Parody-A kind of writing, in which the words of an author, or his thoughts, are taken, and, by a slight change, adapted to some other subject. t Cure-The office or employment of a curate or clergyman. Stole-A long robe worn by the clergy in England. Bridewell;-A house of correction. And, like the wolf that stole into the fold, If dues and tithes be punctually supplied. Such is the man blind chance, not God, hath given To be the guide of humble souls to heaven. To preach of heaven he'll sometimes condescend, But all his views and wishes earthward tend. Like a tall guide-post, towering o'er the way, Whose lettered arms the traveller's route display, Fixed to one spot, it stands upon the down, Its hand still pointing to the distant town. LESSON XLIII. Elegy on Mrs. Mary Blaize.-GOLDSMITH. Good people all, with one accord, The needy seldom passed her door, She strove the neighbourhood to please With manner wonderous winning; And never followed wicked ways— Unless when she was sinning. At church, in silks and satins new, Her love was sought, I do aver, But now, her wealth and finery fled, Her doctors found, when she was dead- Let us lament, in sorrow sore; For Kent-Street well may say, That, had she lived a twelvemonth more She had not died to-day. LESSON XLIV. The sick Man and the Angel.-Gay. "Is there no hope?" the sick man said: When thus the man, with gasping breath: My will hath made the world amends: When I am numbered with the dead, And all my pious gifts are read, By heaven and earth! 'twill then be known, An Angel came. "Ah! friend," he cried, "But why such haste ?" the sick man whines, "Who knows as yet what heaven designs! Perhaps I may recover still: That sum, and more, are in my will.” "Fool!" says the Vision, (6 now 'tis plain, Your life, your soul, your heaven, was gain : By giving what is not your own. "While there is life, there's hope," he cried : LESSON XLV. The Voice of the Seasons.-ALISON. THERE is, in the revolution of time, a kind of warning voice, which summons us to thought and reflection; and every season, as it arises, speaks to us of the analogous character which we ought to maintain. From the first openings of the spring, to the last desolation of winter, the days of the year are emblematic of the state and of the duties of man; and, whatever may be the period of our journey, we can scarcely look up into the heavens, and mark the path of the sun, without feeling either something to animate us upon our course, or to reprove us for our delay. When the spring appears, when the earth is covered with its tender green, and the song of happiness is heard in every shade, it is a call to us to religious hope and joy. Over the infant year the breath of heaven seems to blow with paternal softness, and the heart of man willingly partakes in the joyfulness of awakened nature. When summer reigns, and every element is filled with life, and the sun, like a giant, pursues his course through the firmament above, it is the season of adoration. We see there, as it were, the majesty of the present God; and, wherever we direct our eye, the glory of the Lord seems to cover the earth as the waters cover the sea. When autumn comes, and the annual miracle of nature is completed, it is the appropriate season of thankfulness and praise. The heart bends with instinctive gratitude before |