old-fashioned parlour! I can remember, as well as if I had seen them but yesterday, the noble flowers on the crimson damask chair-covers and window-curtains; and those curiously carved tables and chairs. I could describe every one of the stories on the Dutch tiles that surrounded the grate, the rich China ornaments on the wide mantel-piece, and the pattern of the paper hangings, which consisted alternately of a parrot, a poppy, and a shepherdess,—a parrot, a poppy, and a shepherdess. The room being so little used, the window-shutters were rarely opened; but there were three holes cut in each, in the shape of a heart, rough which, day after day, and year after year, I used to watch the long, dim, dusty sun beams, streaming across the dark parlour. I should mention, however, that I seldom missed a short visit from my master and mistress on a Sunday morning, when they cane down stairs ready dressed for church. I can remember how my mistress used to trot in upon her high-heeled shoes; unfold a leaf of one of the shutters; then come and stand straight before me; then turn half round to the right and left; never failing to see if the corner of her well-starched handkerchief was pinned exactly in the middle. I think I can see her now, in her favourite dove-coloured lustring, (which she wore every Sunday in every summer for seven years at the least,) and her long, full ruffles, and worked apron. Then followed my good master, who, though his visit was somewhat shorter, never failed to come and settle his Sunday wig before me. ence. Time rolled away, and my master and mistress, with all that appertained to them, insensibly suffered from its influWhen I first knew them, they were a young, blooming couple as you would wish to see; but I gradually perceived an alteration. My mistress began to stoop a little; and my master got a cough, which troubled him, more or less, to the end of his days. At first, and for many years, my mistress' foot upon the stairs was light and nimble, and she would come in as blithe and as brisk as a lark; but, at last, it was a slow, heavy step; and even my master's began to totter And, in these respects, every thing else kept pace with them the crimson damask, that I remembered so fresh and bright, was now faded and worn; the dark polished mahogany was, in some places, worin eaten; the parrot's gay plumage on the walls grew dull; and I myself, though long unconscious of it, partook of the universal decay. The dissipated taste I acquired upon my first introduction to society, had, long since, subsided; and the quiet, sombre life I led, gave me a grave, meditative turn. The change, which I witnessed in all things around me, caused me to reflect much on their vanity; and when, upon the occasions before-mentioned, I used to see the gay, blooming faces of the young saluting me with so much complacency, I would fain have admonished them of the alteration they must soon undergo. and have told them how certainly their bloom, also, must fade away as a flower. But, alas' you know, sir, looking-glasses can only reflect. LESSON LX. The Silent Expression of Nature.—ANONYMOUS.* "There is no speech nor language their voice is not heard."-Ps xix. 3, WHEN, thoughtful, to the vault of heaven I lift my wondering eyes, To night resign the skies,- The stars, in silence, shine,— A secret rapture fills my breast, Unheard, the dews around me fall, Touched by harmonious powers: Night reigns, in silence, o'er the pole, Yet borrow not a word. * From "Musæ Biblicæ," published, London, 1819. Noiseless the sun emits his fire, The hand that moves, and regulates, Their amaranthine bowers; Sick of the vanity of man, His noise, and pomp, and show,- LESSON LXI. A Thought.-BLACKWOOD'S MAGAZINE. O COULD we step into the grave, And look upon the greedy worms It well might change the reddest cheek And freeze the warmest blood, to look Upon so sad a sight! Yet still it were a sadder sign,, If, in that lump of clay, There were a sense, to feel the worms So busy with their prey. O pity, then, the living heart,- On which the canker-worms of guilt LESSON LXII. Fidelity.-WORDSWORTH. eyes A BARKING Sound the shepherd hears, The dog is not of mountain breed ; With something-as the shepherd thinks- Nor is there any one in sight, All round, in hollow, or on height; Nor shout, nor whistle, strikes his ear : What is the creature doing here? It was a cove, a huge recess, That keeps, till June, December's snow A lofty precipice in front, A silent tarn* below! Far in the bosom of Helvellyn, From trace of human foot or hand. There, sometimes, does a leaping fish The crags repeat the raven's croak, In symphony austere. *Tarn is a small mere or lake, mostly high up in the mountains. Thither the rainbow comes; the cloud; Not knowing what to think, a while Nor far had gone, before he found From those abrupt and perilous rocks, He instantly recalled the name, And who he was, and whence he came; On which the traveller passed this way. But hear a wonder now, for sake Of which this mournful tale I tell! A lasting monument of words This wonder merits well : The dog, which still was hovering* nigh, This dog had been, through three months space, Yes, proof was plain, that, since the day On which the traveller thus had died, The dog had watched about the spot, How nourished here, through such long time, He knows, who gave that love sublime, |