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How contrary the prayer would be with others! Not, Sun, stand thou still; but, O sun, hasten on thy way! hasten on, O sun, and bring me tidings from the absent! hasten on, O sun, and bring me the expected triumph! hasten on, O sun, and let the day of revelry appear! be not so slow and lingering in thy course; weary me not with waiting, but speed me to the hour for which my soul so oyearns! Hasten on, O sun! Let the time be quick which is to glorify my name and crown my ambition; which is to crush my enemies and to exalt myself.

Hasten on, O sun! exclaims another. Let me have the quiet and consoling night; let my tortured eye have its shadow, and my burning head its coolness. Hasten back, O sun! cries such a one, again; bring to my watching sight the beauty of thy morning beams. Chase away this killing darkness, which weighs down my spirit with its dismal heaviness; wake up the heavens, cheer the earth, bring to my fainting heart the music and the hope of a new day.

Hasten on, O sun! sighs the prisoner. Hasten on, O sun, so quicken thy pace, that days may be hours, and hours be shortened into minutes! Hasten on, O sun, that the term of my captivity be fulfilled; that I may once again walk unfettered among men; that I may tread the green pastures, and breathe the untainted air.

Sun, stand thou still! murmurs the sentenced criminal, whose last sun is shining. O sun, stand thou still, and give me some more of life! Let this heart pant yet longer; let this warm blood flow on! keep off the moment which brings with it the sound of death! 0 move not, as thou art moving, with rapidity thus terrible! Do not quicken the pendulum, but retard it! Prolong the intervals which are the measure of thy speed, and check those deadly vibrations that echo mortality in every beat!

But not for wishes, prayers, not for enjoyment or despair, does the sun stand still or hasten onward. Bright, serene, but inexorable, the sun moves onward through immeasurable space, with his group of planets around him; ours, with its myriads of animated beings, among them-at once the cradle and the grave of associated life and death.

REV. HENRY GILES.

XXVIII. THE WATCHER ON THE TOWER.

TRAVELER.

WHAT dost thou see, lone watcher on the tower?
Is the day breaking? comes the wished-for hour?
Tell us the signs, and stretch abroad thy hand,
If the bright morning dawns upon the land.

WATCHER.

The stars are clear above me-scârcely one
Has dimmed its rays in reverence to the sun;
But lo! I see on the horizon's verge,

Some fair, faint streaks, as if the light would surge.

TRAVELER.

Look forth again, O! watcher on the tower-
The people wake, and languish for the hour;
Long have they dwelt in darkness, and they pine
For the full daylight that they know must shine.

WATCHER.

I see not well-the morn is cloudy still;
There is no radiance on the distant hill-
Even as I watch, the glory seems to glow;
But the stars blink, and the night breezes blow.

TRAVELER.

And is this all, O! watcher on the tower?
Look forth again; it must be near the hour.
Dost thou not see the snowy mountain copes,
And the green woods beneath them on the slopes?

WATCHER.

A mist envelopes them: I cannot trace

Their outline; but the day comes on apace,
The clouds roll up in gold and amber flakes,
And all the stars grow dim. The morning breaks!

TRAVELER.

We thank thee, lonely watcher on the tower;
But look again, and tell us, hour by hour,
All thou beholdest; many of us die

"Ere the day comes; Oh! give them a reply.

WATCHER.

I see the hill tops now; and 'chanticleer
Crows his prophetic carol on my ear;
I see the distant woods, and fields of corn
And ocean gleaming in the light of morn.

TRAVELER.

Again, again, O! watcher on the tower-
We thirst for daylight, and we bide the hour,

Patient but longing. Tell us, shall it be
A bright, calm, glorious daylight for the free?

WATCHER.

I hope, but cannot tell. I hear a song,
Vivid as day itself, and clear and strong
As of a lark-young prophet of the noon,
Pouring in sunlight his seraphic tune.

TRAVELER.

What doth he say, O! watcher on the tower?
Is he a prophet? Doth the dawning hour
Inspire his music? Is his chant sublime
With the full glories of the coming time?

WATCHER.

He prophesies-his heart is full-his lay
Tells of the brightness of a peaceful day!
A day not cloudless, nor devoid of storm,
But sunny
for the most, and clear and warm.

TRAVELER.

We thank thee, watcher on the lonely tower,

For all thou tellest. Sings he of an hour

When error shall decay, and truth grow strong;

When right shall rule supreme, and vanquish wrong?

WATCHER.

IIe sings of brotherhood, and joy, and peace;
Of days when jealousies and hate shall cease;
When war shall die, and man's progressive mind
Soar as unfettered as its God designed.

TRAVELER.

Well done! thou watcher on the lonely tower!
Is the day breaking? dawns the happy hour?
We pine to see it. Tell us yet again,

If the broad daylight breaks upon the plain?

WATCHER.

It breaks-it comes-the misty shadows fly-
A rosy radiance gleams upon the sky;
The mountain tops reflect it calm and clear;
The plain is yet in shade, but day is near!

REV. CHARLES MACKAY.

XXIX. THE THREE PAINTERS.

Ar one of the celebrated schools of painting in Italy, a young man, named Guidotto, produced a piece so excellent, that it gained the admiration of all the masters in the art. This performance was looked upon with very different eyes by two of his fellow-scholars.

Brunello, the elder of them, who had himself acquired some reputation in his studies, regarded all the honor Guidotto had acquired, as so much taken from himself; and longed for nothing so much as to see him lose the eredit he had gained. Afraid openly to decry the merit of a work which had gained the approbation of the best judges, he threw out secret insinuations, that Guidotto had been assisted in it by one or other of his masters; and he affected to represent it as a sort of lucky hit, which the reputed author. would probably never equal.

Not so Lorenzo. Though a very young proficient in the art, he comprehended in its full extent the excellence of Guidotto's performance, and became one of the sincerest of his admirers. Fired with the praises he daily heard bestowed on Guidotto, his fellow-pupil, he 'ardently longed to deserve the same; and placed him before his eyes as a model, which it was his highest ambition to equal. He entered with his whole soul into the career of improvement, was the first and last of all the scholars in the designing room, and devoted to practice at home those hours, which other youths passed in amusement. It was long before he could please himself with any of his attempts, and he was continually repeating to himself: Alas, how far distant is this from Guidotto's! At length, however, he had the satisfaction of . becoming sensible of his progress; and having received considerable applause for one of his performances, he ventured to say to himself: And why may not I too become a Guidotto.

Guidotto had now prepared, for the anniversary of the day when prizes were awarded in school, a piece which was to excel all he had before executed. He had just finished it on the evening before exhibition, and nothing remained but to heighten the colors by means of a transparent varnish. The malignant Brunello contrived artfully to convey into the phial containing this varnish, some drops of a caustic preparation, the effect of which would be entirely to destroy the beauty and splendor of the piece. Guidotto laid it on by candlelight, and then with great satisfaction hung up his picture in the public room against the morrow.

Lorenzo, with vast application, had finished a piece, which he humbly hoped might appear not greatly inferior to some of Guidotto's earlier performances. The important day arrived. The company assembled in the great room, where the light had just been fully

admitted by drawing a curtain. All went up to Guidotto's picture; when behold, instead of the beauty which they had conceived, there was nothing but a dead surface of confused and blotched colors. The unfortunate youth burst into an agony of grief, and exclaimed that he was betrayed and undone.

Lorenzo, little less affected than Guidotto himself, cried out, Gentlemen, this is not Guidotto's work: I saw it when only half finished, and it was then an ex'quisite performance.

Every one admired Lorenzo, and sympathized in the disgrace of Guidotto; but it was impossible to adjudge the prize to his picture, in the state in which they beheld it. It was therefore awarded to Lorenzo, who immediately presented it to Guidotto, saying, Take what merit would have acquired for you, had not the basest malice and envy defrauded you of it. If hereafter I may aspire to equal you, it shall be by means of fair competition, not by the aid of treachery.

Lorenzo's noble conduct excited the warmest encomiums among the judges, who at length determined that for this time there should be two equal prizes distributed; for if Guidotto had deserved the prize of painting, Lorenzo was entitled to that of virtue.

MRS. ANNA LETITIA "BARbauld.

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