Pleasure by savage man is dearly bought With fell revenge, lust that defies control,

With gluttony and death. The mind untaught Is a dark waste, where fiends and tempests howl; As Phoebus to the world, is science to the soul.

And reason, now, through number, time and space,
Darts the keen lustre of her serious eye,

And learns, from facts compared, the laws to trace,
Whose long progression leads to Deity.

Can mortal strength presume to soar so high?
Can mortal sight, so oft bedimmed with tears,
Such glory bear?-for, lo! the shadows fly
From nature's face; confusion disappears,
And order charms the eye, and harmony the ears.

* *

Many a long-lingering year, in lonely isle,

Stunned with the eternal turbulence of waves, Lo! with dim eyes, that never learned to smile, And trembling hands, the famished native craves Of Heaven his wretched fare: shivering in caves, Or scorched on rocks, he pines from day to day; But science gives the word; and, lo! he braves The surge and tempest, lighted by her ray, And to a happier land wafts merrily away.

And even where nature loads the teeming plain
With the full pomp of vegetable store,

Her bounty, unimproved, is deadly bane:

Dark woods and rankling wilds, from shore to shore Stretch their enormous gloom; which, to explore, Even fancy trembles in her sprightliest mood;

For there each eyeball gleams with lust of gore, Nestles each murderous and each monstrous brood; Plague lurks in every shade, and steams from every flood.

"Twas from philosophy man learned to tame
The soil, by plenty to intemperance fed.
Lo! from the echoing axe and thundering flame,
Poison, and plague, and yelling rage are fled.

The waters, bursting from their slimy bed, Bring health and melody to every vale:

And from the breezy main and mountain's head, Ceres and Flora, to the sunny dale,

To fan their glowing charms, invite the fluttering gale.

What dire necessities, on every hand,

Our art, our strength, our fortitude, require!
Of foes intestine what a numerous band
Against this little throb of life conspire!
Yet science can elude their fatal ire
Awhile, and turn aside death's levelled dart,

Soothe the sharp pang, allay the fever's fire,
And brace the nerves once more, and cheer the heart,
And yet a few soft nights and balmy days impart.

Nor less to regulate man's moral frame
Science exerts her all-composing sway.
Flutters thy breast with fear, or pants for fame,
Or pines, to indolence and spleen a prey,
Or avarice, a fiend more fierce than they?
Flee to the shades of Academus' grove,

Where cares molest not; discord melts away

In harmony, and the pure passions prove

How sweet the words of truth, breathed from the lips of love.

What cannot art and industry perform,

When science plans the progress of their toil?
They smile at penury, disease and storm,

And oceans from their mighty mounds recoil.
When tyrants scourge, or demagogues embroil
A land, or when the rabble's headlong rage
Order transforms to anarchy and spoil,
Deep-versed in man, the philosophic sage
Prepares, with lenient hand, their phrensy to assuage.

'Tis he alone, whose comprehensive mind,
From situation, temper, soil and clime
Explored, a nation's various powers can bind,
And various orders, in one form sublime

Of policy, that, midst the wrecks of time,
Secure shall lift its head on high, nor fear

The assault of foreign or domestic crime;
While public faith, and public love sincere,
And industry and law, maintain their sway severe.

LESSON LXII.

Extracts from "A Father's Legacy to his Daughters."— GREGORY.

THERE are many circumstances in your situation, that peculiarly require the supports of religion, to enable you to act in them with spirit and propriety. Your whole life is often a life of suffering. You cannot plunge into business, or dissipate yourselves in pleasure and riot, as men too often do, when under the pressure of misfortunes. You must bear your sorrows in silence, unknown and unpitied. You must often put on a face of serenity and cheerfulness, when your hearts are torn with anguish, or sinking in despair. Then your only resource is in the consolations of religion.

Be punctual in the stated performance of your private devotions, morning and evening. If you have any sensibility or imagination, this will establish such an intercourse between you and the Supreme Being, as will be of infinite consequence to you in life. It will communicate an habitual cheerfulness to your tempers, give a firmness and steadiness to your virtue, and enable you to go through all the vicissi tudes of human life with propriety and dignity.

Cultivate an enlarged charity for all mankind, however they may differ from you in their religious opinions. That difference may probably arise from causes in which you had no share, and from which you can derive no merit.

The best effect of your religion will be a diffusive humanity to all in distress. Set apart a certain proportion of your income as sacred to charitable purposes. But in this, as well as in the practice of every other duty, carefully avoid ostentation. Vanity is always defeating her own purposes. Fame

is one of the natural rewards of virtue. Do not pursue her, and she will follow you.

You may

Do not confine your charity to giving money. have many opportunities of showing a tender and compassionate spirit, where your money is not wanted. There is a false and unnatural refinement in sensibility, which makes some people shun the sight of every object in distress. Never indulge this, especially where your friends or acquaintances are concerned. Let the days of their misfortunes, when the world forgets or avoids them, be the season for you to exercise your humanity and friendship. The sight of human misery softens the heart, and makes it better it checks the pride of health and prosperity; and the distress it occasions is amply compensated by the consciousness of doing your duty, and by the secret endearment which nature has annexed to all our sympathetic sorrows.

One of the chief beauties in a female character, is that modest reserve, that retiring delicacy, which avoids the public eye, and is disconcerted even at the gaze of admiration. I do not wish you to be insensible to applause. If you were, you must become, if not worse, at least less amiable women. But you may be dazzled by that admiration, which yet rejoices your hearts.

When a girl ceases to blush, she has lost the most powerful charm of beauty. That extreme sensibility, which it indicates, may be a weakness and encumbrance in our sex; but in yours, it is peculiarly engaging. Pedants, who think themselves philosophers, ask why a woman should blush, when she is conscious of no crime. It is a sufficient answer, that nature has made you to blush when you are guilty of no fault, and has forced us to love you because you do so. Blushing is so far from being necessarily an attendant on guilt, that it is the usual companion of innocence.

This modesty, which I think so essential in your sex, will naturally dispose you to be rather silent in company, especially in a large one. People of sense and discernment will never mistake such silence for dulness. One may take a share in conversation without uttering a syllable. The expression in the countenance shows it, and this never escapes an observing eye.

Wit is the most dangerous talent you can possess. It must be guarded with great discretion and good nature, otherwise it will create you many enemies. Wit is perfectly consistent with softness and delicacy; yet they are seldom found united. Wit is so flattering to vanity, that they who possess it, become intoxicated, and lose all self-command.

Humor is a different quality. It will make your company much solicited; but be cautious how you indulge it. It is often a great enemy to delicacy, and a still greater one to dignity of character. It may sometimes gain you applause, but will never procure you respect.

LESSON LXIII.

The same,-concluded.

BEWARE of detraction, especially where your own sex are concerned. You are generally accused of being particularly addicted to this vice-I think, unjustly. Men are fully as guilty of it, when their interests interfere. As your interests more frequently clash, and as your feelings are quicker than ours, your temptations to it are more frequent. For this reason, be particularly tender of the reputation of your own sex, especially when they happen to rival you in our regards. We look on this as the strongest proof of dignity and true greatness of mind.

Have a sacred regard to truth. Lying is a mean and despicable vice. I have known some women of excellent parts, who were so much addicted to it, that they could not be trusted in the relation of any story, especially if it contained any thing of the marvellous, or if they themselves were the heroines of the tale. This weakness did not proceed from a bad heart, but was merely the effect of vanity, or an unbridled imagination. I do not mean to censure that lively embellishment of a humorous story, which is only intended to promote innocent mirth.

There is a certain gentleness of spirit and manners extremely engaging in your sex; not that indiscriminate atten