feebler than it had been; but when she beheld her face in the sea, she could no longer overlook the unwelcome defect. The season was boisterous; the wind rose suddenly, and the waves burst into foam; perhaps the tide, for the first time, was then affected by sympathy with the moon; and what had never happened before, an universal tempest mingled heaven and earth in rain, and lightning, and darkness. She plunged among the thickest of the thunder-clouds, and in the confusion that hid her disgrace, her exulting rivals were all likewise put out of countenance. eyes 10. On the next evening, and every evening afterward, the moon came forth later, and less, and dimmer; while on each occasion, more and more of the minor stars, which had formerly vanished from her eye, re-appeared to witness her fading honors and disfigured form. Prosperity had made her vain; adversity brought her to her mind again, and humility soon *compensated the loss of glaring distinction, with softer charms, which won the regard which haughtiness had repelled; for when she had worn off her uncouth +gibbous aspect, and through the last quarter, her profile *waned into a hollow shell, she appeared more graceful than ever in the of all heaven. 11. When she was originally seen among them, the stars contemned her; afterward, as she grew in beauty, they envied, feared, hated, and finally fled from her. As she relapsed into insignificance, they first rejoiced in her decay, and then endured her superiority, because it could not last long; but when they marked how she had wasted away every time they met, compassion succeeded, and, on the last three nights, (like a human fair one, in the latest stages of decline, growing lovelier and dearer to her friends till the close,) she disarmed hostility, conciliated kindness, and secured affection. She was admired, beloved, and unenvied by all. 12. At length there came a night when there was no moon. There was silence in heaven all that night. In serene meditation on the changes of the month, the stars pursued their journey from sunset to day-break. The comet had, likewise, departed into unknown regions. His fading luster had been attributed, at first, to the bolder radiance of the moon in her meridian; but, during the wane, while inferior luminaries were brightening around her, he was growing fainter Of and smaller every evening, and now, he was no more. the rest, planets and stars, all were unimpaired in their light, and the former only slightly varied in their positions. The whole multitude, wiser by experience, and better for their knowledge, were humble, contented, and grateful, each for his lot, whether splendid or obscure. 13. Next evening, to the joy and astonishment of all, the moon, with a new crescent, was descried in the west; and instantly, from every quarter of the heavens, she was congratulated on her happy resurrection. Just as she went down, while her bow was yet recumbent in the dark purple †horizon, it is said that an angel appeared, standing between her horns. Turning his head, his eye glanced rapidly over the universe; the sun far sunk behind him, the moon under his feet, the earth spread in prospect before him, and the firmament all glittering with constellations above. He paused a moment, and then in that tongue, wherein, at the accomplishment of creation, "the morning stars sang together, and all the sons of God shouted for joy," he thus brake forth: "Great and marvelous are thy works, Lord God Almighty! In wisdom hast thou made them all. Who would not fear thee, O Lord, and glorify thy name, for thou only art holy!" He ceased; and from that hour there has been harmony in heaven. CLXXV. THUNDER-STORM ON THE ALPS. FROM BYRON. 1. CLEAR, placid Leman! thy contrasted lake, 2. All heaven and earth are still; though not in sleep, All heaven and earth are still: from the high host Where not a beam, nor air, nor leaf is lost, Of that which is of all Creator and defense. 3. The sky is changed! and such a change! O night, 4. And this is in the night.-Most glorious night! me be A sharer in thy fierce and far delight; As if they did rejoice o'er a young earthquake's birth. 5. Now, where the swift Rhone cleaves his way between Heights which appear as lovers who have parted In hate, whose mining depths so intervene, That they can meet no more, though broken-hearted; Though in their souls, which thus each other thwarted, Love was the very root of the fond rage, Which blighted their life's bloom, and then-departed! Itself expired, but leaving them an age Of years, all winters, war within themselves to wage. 6. Now, where the quick Rhone thus hath cleft his way, The mightiest of the storms has ta'en his stand! For here, not one, but many make their play, And fling their thunder-bolts from hand to hand, Flashing and cast around! Of all the band, The brightest through these parted hills hath forked That in such gaps as desolation worked, There, the hot shaft should blast whatever therein lurked. It is said, that a gentleman in England, in order to gain possession of his wife's property, confined her in a mad-house, under pretense of insanity, until she became really a maniac. 1. STAY, jailer, stay, and hear my woe! For what I'm now, too well I know, I am not mad; I am not mad. 2. My tyrant husband forged the tale, 3. He smiles in scorn, and turns the key; 4. 'Tis sure some dream, some vision vain; What! I, the child of rank and wealth? Which never more my heart must glad, 5. Hast thou, my child, forgot, ere this, Nor how with me you sued to stay; Nor how that suit your sire forbade; 6. His rosy lips, how sweet they smiled! His mild, blue eyes, how bright they shone! And art thou now forever gone? I am not mad; I am not mad. 7. Oh! hark! what mean those yells and cries? Now, now my dungeon grate he shakes! 8. Yes, soon;-for, lo you!-while I speak, Ay, laugh, ye fiends;-I feel the truth; Your task is done!-I'm mad! I'm mad! CLXXVII.--IMPORTANCE OF THE UNION. FROM WEBSTER. 1. MR. PRESIDENT: I am conscious of having detained you and the senate much too long. I was drawn into the debate with no previous deliberation, such as is suited to the discussion of so grave and important a subject. But it is a subject of which my heart is full, and I have not been willing to suppress the utterance of its spontaneous sentiments. I can not, even now, persuade myself to relinquish it, without expressing once more, my deep conviction, that, since it |