and has discharged truly his duty to God: and you will find that such a man, through force of this delusion, generally looks down with spiritual pride upon every other man who has less affectation of piety, though, perhaps, ten times more real honesty than himself. "This likewise is a sore evil under the sun: and, I believe, there is no one mistaken principle, which, for its time, has wrought more serious mischiefs. 66 -For a general proof of this, examine the history of the Romish church." [Well, what can you make of that? cried Dr. Slop, "see what scenes of cruelty, murder, răpine, bloodshed," [They may thank their own obstinacy, cried Dr. Slop, have all been sanctified by religion not strictly governed by morality. "In how many kingdoms of the world has the crusading sword of this misguided Saint-errant, spared neither age, nor merit, nor sex, nor condition ?—and, as he fought under the banners of a religion which set him loose from justice and humanity, he shewed none; mercilessly trampled upon both, -heard neither the cries of the unfortunate, nor pitied their distresses-_" [I have been in many a battle, an't please your honor, quoth Trim, sighing, but never in so melancholy a one as this. I would not have drawn a trigger in it against these poor souls, to have been made a general officer. Why, what do you understand of the affair? said Dr. Slop, (looking towards Trim, with something more of contempt than the Corporal's honest heart deserved)-What do you know friend, about this battle you talk of ?—I know, replied Trim, that I never refused quarter in my life to any man who cried out for it but to a woman or a child, continued Trim, before I would level my musket at them, I would lose my life a thousand times.-Here's a crown for thee, Trim, to drink with Obadiah to-night, quoth my uncle Toby.-God bless your honor, replied Trim-I had rather these poor women and children had it.-Thou art an honest fellow, quoth my uncle Toby.-My father nodded his head, as much as to say, -and so he is.] : LESSON CLXIX. Dirge of Al'aric, the Visigoth, Who stormed and spoiled the city of Rome, and was afterwards buried in the channel of the river Busentius, the water of which had been diverted from its course that the body might be interred.—EVERETT. WHEN I am dead, no pageant* train Ye shall not raise a marble bust Lay down the wreck of Power to rest; But ye the mountain stream shall turn, My gold and silver ye shall fling Back to the clods, that gave them bir ; But when beneath the mountain tide, * Pron. pad '-junt. † See the note on page 390. Ye shall not rear upon its side Pillar or mound to mark the spot; My course was like a river deep, And where I went the spot was cursed, Nor blade of grass again was seen Where Alaric and his hosts had been.* See how their haughty barriers fail In judgment my triumphal car; And vengeance sat upon the helm, Across the everlasting Alp I poured the torrent of my powers, And feeble Cæsars shrieked for help In vain within their seven-hilled towers; I quenched in blood the brightest gem That glittered in their diadem, And struck a darker, deeper die In the purple of their majesty, *See the note on page 390. ta as in far. And både my northern banners shine My course is run, my errand done : Of glory that adorns my name; My course is run, my errand done- LESSON CLXX. Lines written on visiting the beautiful burying-ground at New Haven.-N. FROTHINGHAM. O! WHERE are they, whose all that earth could give This the last tribute love to love could pay, Not * Attila was the king of the Huns, and, for many years, in the first half of the fifth century, was the terror both of Constantinople and Rome. long after the death of Alaric, he invaded the Roman empire, at the head of half a million of barbarians, and with fire and sword laid waste many of its most fertile provinces. Into the bold sketch of Alaric, which is given in this Dirge, the poet, in the license of his art, has thrown some of the distinguishing features of Attila. It may be well to advise the youthful reader, that, as a matter of sober history, it was Attila, and not Alaric, who used to say that the grass never grew where his horse had trod; and that it was not Alaric, but Attila, who was called the Scourge of God. With this appellation the king of the Huns was so well pleased that he adopted it as one of his titles of honor. Why deck these sculptured trophies of the tomb ? Yet powerless man revōlts from ruin's reign; And reared o'er mouldering dust the mountain pyramid. Sink, mean memorials of what cannot die ! My sacred griefs for joy and friendship fled. LESSON CLXXI. Some account of the character and merits of John Playfair, Professor of Natural Philosophy in the University of Edinburgh.-Jeffrey. IT has struck many people, we believe, as very extraordinary, that so eminent a person as Mr. Playfair should have been allowed to sink into his grave in the midst of us, without calling forth almost so much as an attempt to commemorate his merit, even in a common newspaper; and that the death of a man so celebrated and beloved, and at the same time so closely connected with many who could well appreciate and suitably describe his excellencies, should be left to the brief and ordinary notice of the daily obituary. No event of the kind certainly ever excited more general sympathy; and no individual, we are persuaded, will be longer or more affectionately remembered by all the classes of his fellow-citizens and yet it is to these very circumstances that we must look for an explanation of the apparent neglect with which his memory has been followed. We beg leave to assure our readers, that it is merely from an anxiety to do something to gratify this natural im |