F. A description is intended to give you a lively picture of an object, as though you saw it; it ought to be very full. A definition gives no picture to those who have not seen it, it rather tells you what its subject is not, than what it is, by giving you such clear, specific marks, that it shall not be possible to confound it with any thing else; and hence it is of the greatest use in throwing things into classes. We have a great many beautiful descriptions from ancient authors so loosely worded, that we cannot certainly tell what animals are meant by them; whereas, if they had given us definitions, three lines would have ascertained their meaning.

C. I like a description best, papa.

F. Perhaps so; I believe I should have done the same at your age. Remember, however, that nothing is more useful than to learn to form ideas with precision, and to express them with accuracy; I have not given you a definition to teach you what a horse is, but to teach you to think

THE SUBSIDING OF THE WATERS OF THE DELUGE.

He looked, and saw the Ark hull* on the flood,
Which now abated; for the clouds were fled,
Driven by a keen north-wind, that blowing dry
Wrinkled the face of Deluge, as decayed;
And the clear Sun on his wide watery glass
Gazed hot, and of the fresh wave largely drew,
As after thirst; which made their flowing shrink
From standing lake to tripping ebb, that stole
With soft foot towards the Deep, who now had stop❜d
His sluices, as the Heaven his windows shut.
The ark no more now floats, but seems on ground,
Fast on the top of some high mountain fixed.
And now the tops of hill, as rocks, appear;
With clamour thence the rapid currents drive
Towards the retreating sea their furious tide.
Forthwith from out the ark a raven flies,

"Hull" is here a verb, signifying to swerve to one side.

MILTON.

And, after him the surer messenger,

A dove, sent forth once and again to spy

Green tree or ground, whereon his foot may light;
The second time returning, in his bill
An olive-leaf he brings, pacific sign:
Anon, dry ground appears, and from his ark
The ancient Sire descends, with all his train;
Then with uplifted hands, and eyes devout,
Grateful to Heaven, over his head beholds
A dewy cloud, and in the cloud a bow
Conspicuous with three listed colours gay,
Betokening peace from God, and covenant new!

ON BRIBERY.

A POOR man once a judge besought
To judge aright his cause;
And with a pot of oil salutes
The judger of the laws.

My friend, quoth he, thy cause is good;
He glad away did trudge;
Anon his wealthy foe did come
Before this partial judge.

A hog well-fed this churl presents,
And craves a strain of law;
The hog receiv'd, the poor man's right
Was judg'd not worth a straw.

Therewith he cried, O partial judge,

Thy doom has me undone;
When oil I gave, my cause was good,
But now to ruin run.

Poor man, quoth he, I thee forgot,
And see thy cause of foil;

A hog came since into my house,
And broke thy pot of oil.

THE FEMALE CHOICE.

A TALE.

FROM "EVENINGS AT HOME.”

A YOUNG girl, having fatigued herself one hot day with running about the garden, sat herself down in a pleasant arbour, where she presently fell asleep. During her slumber, two female figures presented themselves before her. One was loosely habited in a thin robe of pink, with light green trimmings. Her sash of silver gauze flowed to the ground. Her fair hair fell in ringlets down her neck, and her head-dress consisted of artificial flowers, interwoven with feathers. She held in one hand a ball-ticket, and in the other a fancy dress all covered with spangles and knots of gay ribbon. She advanced smiling to the girl, and with a familiar air thus addressed her:

you

"My dearest Melissa, I am a kind genius, who have watched you from your birth, and have joyfully beheld all your beauties expand, till at length they have rendered you a companion worthy of me. See what I have brought you. This dress and this ticket will give free access to all the ravishing delights of my palace. With me you will pass your days in a perpetual round of ever-varying amuse ments. Like the gay butterfly, you will have no other business than to flutter from flower to flower, and spread your charms before admiring spectators. No restraints, no toils, no dull tasks are to be found within my happy domains. All is pleasure, life, and good humour. Come, then, my dear! Let me put you on this dress, which will make you quite enchanting; and away, away, with me!"

Melissa felt a strong inclination to comply with the call of this inviting nymph; but first she thought it would be prudent, at least, to ask her name.

"My name," said she, "is Dissipation."

The other female then advanced. She was clothed in a close habit of brown stuff, simply relieved with white. She wore her smooth hair under a plain cap. Her whole person was perfectly neat and clean. Her look was serious, but satisfied; and her air was staid and composed. She held in one hand a distaff; on the opposite arm hung a work-basket; and the girdle round her waist was garnished with scissors, knitting-needles, reels, and other implements of female labour. A bunch of keys hung at her side. She thus accosted the sleeping girl:

'Melissa, I am the genius who have ever been the friend and com

panion of your mother; and I now offer my protection to you. I have no allurements to tempt you with like those of my gay rival. Instead of spending all your time in amusements, if you enter yourself of my train, you must rise early, and pass the long day in a variety of employments, some of them difficult, some laborious, and all requiring some exertion of body or mind. You must dress plainly, live mostly at home, and aim mostly at being useful, rather than shining. But, in return, I will insure you content, even spirits, selfapprobation, and the esteem of all who thoroughly know you. If these offers appear to your young mind less inviting than those of my rival, be assured, however, that they are more real. She has promised much more than she can ever make good. Perpetual pleasures are no more in the power of Dissipation, than of Vice or Folly, to bestow. Her delights quickly pall, and are inevitably succeeded by languor and disgust. She appears to you under a disguise, and what you see is not her real face. For myself, I shall never seem to you less amiable than I now do, but, on the contrary, you will like me better and better. If I look grave to you now, you will hear me sing at my work; and, when work is over, I can dance too. But I have said enough. It is time for you to choose whom you will follow, and upon that choice all your happiness depends. If you would know my name, it is Housewifery."

Melissa heard her with more attention than delight; and though overawed by her manner, she could not help turning again to take another look at the first speaker. She beheld her still offering her presents with so bewitching an air, that she felt it scarcely possible to resist; when, by a lucky accident, the mask, with which Dissipation's face was so artfully covered, fell off. As soon as Melissa beheld, instead of the smiling features of youth and cheerfulness, a countenance wan and ghastly with sickness, and soured by fretfulness, she turned away with horror, and gave her hand unreluctantly to her sober and sincere companion.

A HYMN FOR FAMILY WORSHIP.

O LORD! another day is flown,

And we, a lonely band,

HENRY KIRKE WHITE.

Are met once more before Thy throne,

To bless Thy fostering hand.

And wilt Thou bend a listening ear,
To praises low as ours?

Thou wilt! for Thou dost love to hear
The song which meekness pours.
And Jesus, Thou Thy smiles will deign,
As we before Thee pray;

For Thou didst bless the infant train,
And we are less than they.

Oh! let Thy grace perform its part,
And let contention cease;
And shed abroad in every heart
Thine everlasting peace!

Thus chastened, cleansed, entirely thine

A flock by Jesus led;

The Sun of Holiness shall shine,

In glory on our head.

And Thou wilt turn our wandering feet,

And Thou wilt bless our way;

Till worlds shall fade, and faith shall greet
The dawn of lasting day.

ODE TO EVENING.

COLLINS.

This elegant but ill-fated poet was born in 1721, and died in 1759. His poems met with undeserved neglect, and almost his whole life was one of poverty, ill-health, and unhappiness.

*

Ir aught of oaten stop, or pastoral song,

May hope, chaste Eve, to soothe thy modest ear
Like thy own brawling springs,
Thy springs, and dying gales;

O nymph reserved, while now the bright-haired sun
Sits in yon western tent, whose cloudy skirts,
With bredet ethereal wove,

O'erhang his wavy bed:

Now air is hush'd, save where the weak-eyed bat
With short shrill shriek flits by on leathern wing;
Or where the beetle winds

His small but sullen horn,