attention, exercise thought, excite reflection, and replenish the mind with an infinite variety of ideas.

The man of letters, when compared with one that is illiterate, exhibits nearly the same contrast as that which exists between a blind man and one that can see; and if we consider how much literature enlarges the mind, and how much it multiplies, adjusts, rectifies and arranges the ideas, it may well be reckoned equivalent to an additional sense. It affords pleasures which wealth cannot procure, and which poverty cannot entirely take away. A well cultivated mind places its possessor beyond the reach of those trifling vexations and disquietudes, which continually harass and perplex those who have no resources within themselves; and, in some measure, elevates him above the smiles and frowns of fortune.

LESSON LXXXII.

The Vulture of the Alps.-ANONYMOUS.

I've been among the mighty Alps, and wandered through their vales,

And heard the honest mountaineers relate their dismal tales, As round the cottage blazing hearth, when their daily work

was o'er,

They spake of those who disappeared, and ne'er were heard of more.

And there I from a shepherd heard a narrative of fear,
A tale to rend a mortal heart, which mothers might not hear:
The tears were standing in his eyes, his voice was tremulous;
But, wiping all those tears away, he told his story thus:—

"It is among these barren cliffs the ravenous vulture dwells,
Who never fattens on the prey which from afar he smells;
But, patient, watching hour on hour upon a lofty rock,
He singles out some truant lamb, a victim, from the flock.

"One cloudless Sabbath summer morn, the sun was rising

high,

When, from my children on the green,
I heard a fearful cry,
As if some awful deed were done, a shriek of grief and pain,
A cry, I humbly trust in God, I ne'er may hear again.

"I hurried out to learn the cause; but, overwhelmed with fright, The children never ceased to shriek, and from my frenzied sight

I missed the youngest of my babes, the darling of my care; But something caught my searching eyes, slow sailing through the air.

"Oh! what an awful spectacle to meet a father's eye,—
His infant made a vulture's prey, with terror to descry;
And know, with agonizing breast, and with a maniac rave,
That earthly power could not avail, that innocent to save!

"My infant stretched his little hands imploringly to me, And struggled with the ravenous bird, all vainly, to get free; At intervals, I heard his cries, as loud he shrieked and screamed!

Until, upon the azure sky, a lessening spot he seemed.

"The vulture flapped his sail-like wings, though heavily he

flew ;

A mote upon the sun's broad face he seemed unto my view; But once I thought I saw him stoop, as if he would alight,— 'Twas only a delusive thought, for all had vanished quite.

"All search was vain, and years had passed; that child was ne'er forgot,

When once a daring hunter climbed unto a lofty spot,
From whence, upon a rugged crag the chamois never reached,
He saw an infant's fleshless bones the elements had bleached!

"I clambered up that rugged cliff,-I could not stay away,I knew they were my infant's bones thus hastening to decay; A tattered garment yet remained, though torn to many a shred; The crimson cap he wore that morn was still upon the head.

"That dreary spot is pointed out to travellers passing by, Who often stand, and, musing, gaze, nor go without a sigh." And as I journeyed, the next morn, along my sunny way, The precipice was shown to me, whereon the infant lay.

LESSON LXXXIII.

Song of the Stars.-BRYANT.

WHEN the radiant morn of creation broke,
And the world in the smile of God awoke,
And the empty realms of darkness and death,
Were moved through their depths by his mighty breath,
And orbs of beauty, and spheres of flame,
From the void abyss, by myriads came,
In the joy of youth, as they darted away,

Through the widening wastes of space to play,
Their silver voices in chorus rung;

And this was the song the bright ones sung :

"Away, away! through the wide, wide sky,-
The fair blue fields that before us lie,-
Each sun, with the worlds that round us roll,
Each planet, poised on her turning pole,
With her isles of green, and her clouds of white,
And her waters that lie like fluid light.

"For the Source of glory uncovers his face,
And the brightness o'erflows unbounded space;
And we drink, as we go, the luminous tides
In our ruddy air and our blooming sides.
Lo! yonder the living splendors play:
Away, on our joyous path away!

"Look, look! through our glittering ranks afar, In the infinite azure, star after star,

How they brighten and bloom as they swiftly pass!
How the verdure runs o'er each rolling mass

And the path of the gentle winds is seen,
Where the small waves dance, and the young

woods lean.

"And see, where the brighter day-beams pour,
How the rainbows hang in the sunny shower;
And the morn and the eve, with their pomp of hues,
Shift o'er the bright planets, and shed their dews;
And, 'twixt them both, o'er the teeming ground,
With her shadowy cone, the night goes round.

"Away, away!-in our blossoming bowers,
In the soft air wrapping these spheres of ours,-
In the seas and fountains that shine with morn,-
See, love is brooding, and life is born,
And breathing myriads are breaking from night,
To rejoice, like us, in motion and light.

"Glide on in your beauty, ye youthful spheres,
To weave the dance that measures the years:
Glide on, in the glory and gladness sent
To the farthest wall of the firmament,-
The boundless visible smile of Him,

To the veil of whose brow our lamps are dim."

LESSON LXXXIV.

Domestic Love.-CROLY.

DOMESTIC LOVE! not in proud palace halls
Is often seen thy beauty to abide ;

Thy dwelling is in lowly cottage walls,

That in the thickets of the woodbine hide;

With hum of bees around, and from the side

Of woody hills some little bubbling spring,

Shining along through banks with harebells dyed;

And many a bird, to warble on the wing,

When morn her saffron robe o'er heaven and earth doth fling.

O love of loves! to thy white hand is given

Of earthly happiness the golden key;
Thine are the joyous hours of winter's even,

When the babes cling around their father's knee';
And thine the voice that on the midnight sea
Melts the rude mariner with thoughts of home,
Peopling the gloom with all he longs to see.
Spirit! I've built a shrine; and thou hast come,
And on its altar closed-forever closed thy plume!

LESSON LXXXV.

Candor, in estimating the Attainments of others, recommended.-FREEMAN.

THERE are various causes, which lead us to think unfavorably of the abilities of each other. The most obvious is envy. When the knowledge of another man obscures our own, gives him a preeminence above us, or is, in any way, inconsistent with our interest, we are inclined to depreciate it, not only by speaking against it, but even by thinking of it unworthily. For we have such a command over our minds, that what we passionately wish to be true, we in time come to believe. There are, however, other causes, less hateful than envy, from which the want of candor proceeds.

As our knowledge is of different kinds, we are disposed to think uncandidly of the acquisitions of other men. We know the value of the knowledge which is in our own mind; we can perceive its uses; we remember the pains which it cost us to obtain it; but none of these things can we see without us. We suppose that what is performed easily by another, is not in itself difficult, though that ease may be the effect of previous labor. We are apt, therefore, to undervalue what we imagine can be done with so little effort; and we are apt to judge uncandidly, if it is not done in the best manner possible. As our own knowledge is thus conceived to be the most difficult, so it is also imagined to be of the greatest importance. We too often judge that the acquisitions