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LESSON LXIV.

g of Wood upon the Fire.-NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE.

LOG! I cannot hear thee sigh, groan, and hiss, and see thee die,

To warm a poet, out evincing thy success,

as thou wanest less and less, ing a farewell address,

To let thee know it.

ing from earth, a bud unveiled, e busky bourn or dingle hailed Thy natal hour,

le infant winds around thee blew, thou wert fed with silver dew, tender sun-beams, oozing through Thy leafy bower.

ch, water, air, thy growth prepared;
if perchance some robin, scared
From neighboring manor,
ched on thy crest, it rocked in air,
ing his ruddy feathers flare

he sun's ray, as if they were
A fairy banner.

if some nightingale impressed
ainst thy branching top her breast,
Heaving with passion,

, in the leafy nights of June,
poured her sorrows to the moon,
y trembling stem thou didst attune
To each vibration.

Thou grew'st a goodly tree, with shoots
Fanning the sky, and earth-bound roots
So grappled under,

That thou, whom perching birds could swing,
And zephyrs rock with lightest wing,
From thy firm trunk, unmoved, didst fling
Tempest and thunder.

How oft thy lofty summits won
Morn's virgin smile, and hailed the sun
With rustling motion,-

How oft, in silent depths of night,
When the moon sailed in cloudless light,
Thou hast stood awe-struck at the sight,
In hushed devotion,-

Twere vain to ask; for, doomed to fall,
The day appointed for us all

O'er thee impended:

The hatchet, with remorseless blow,
First laid thee in the forest low,
Then cut thee into logs, and so
Thy course was ended.

But not thine use; for moral rules,
Worth all the wisdom of the schools,
Thou may'st bequeath me;

Bidding me cherish those who live
Above me, and, the more I thrive,
A wider shade and shelter give
To those beneath me.

So when, at last, Death lays me low,
I may resign, as calm as thou,
My hold terrestrial;

Like thine my latter end be found
Diffusing light and warmth around,
And like thy smoke my spirit bound
To realms celestial

LESSON LXV.

A Family Scene.-MISS FERRIER.

appearance of the Holm was highly prepossessing. rge, handsome-looking house, situated in a wellk, by the side of a broad, placid river; and an air and stillness reigned all around, which impressed ith images of peace and repose. The interior of was no less promising. There was a spacious hall, some staircase, with all appliances to boot; but, approached the drawing-room, all the luxurious of thought, inspired by the tranquillity of the as quickly dispelled by the discordant sounds ed from thence; and, when the door was thrown Footman in vain attempted to announce the visiters. iddle of the room all the chairs were collected, to ch and horses for the Masters and Misses Fairbairn. -looking urchin sat in front, cracking a long whip s might; another acted as guard behind, and blew impet with all his strength; while a third, in a und flannel lappet, who had somewhat the air of rrelled with the rest of the party, paraded up and olitary majesty, beating a drum. On a sofa sat airn, a soft, fair, genteel-looking woman, with a ild about three years old at her side, tearing shreds, seemingly for the delight of littering the ich was already strowed with headless dolls, tailless d wheelless carts. As she rose to receive her visgan to scream.

t going away, Charlotte, love,—don't be frightened," nd mother, with a look of ineffable pleasure. shan't get up," screamed Charlotte, seizing her gown fiercely, to detain her.

urling, you'll surely let me go to speak to unclee, who brings you pretty things, you know;" but, s colloquy, uncle and the ladies had made their way hralled mother, and the bustle of a meeting and on was got over. The footman obtained chairs

ith some difficulty, and placed them as close to the mistress f the house as possible, aware that, otherwise, it would not easy to carry on even question and answer amid the tu■ult that reigned.

“You find us rather noisy, I am afraid," said Mrs. Fairairn with a smile, and in a manner which evidently meant e reverse; "but this is Saturday, and the children are all such spirits, and they won't stay away from me. Henry, y dear, don't crack your whip quite so loud, there's a good by-that's a new whip his papa brought him from London; ad he's so proud of it! William, my darling, don't you ink your drum must be tired now? If I were you I would ve it a rest. Alexander, your trumpet makes rather too uch noise: one of these ladies has a headache; wait till ou go out-there's my good boy,—and then you'll blow it t the cows and the sheep, you know, and frighten them— h! how you will frighten them with it!" "No, I'll not blow it at the cows; I'll blow it at the horses, ecause then they'll think 'tis the mail-coach." And he was anning off, when Henry jumped down from the coach-box. "No, but you shan't frighten them with your trumpet, for shall frighten them with my whip. Mamma, aren't horses est frightened with a whip?"—and a struggle ensued.

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Well, don't fight, my dears, and you shall both frighten em," cried their mamma.

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No, I'm determined he shan't frighten them; I shall do ," cried both together, as they rushed out of the room, and e drummer was preparing to follow.

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William, my darling, don't you go after these naughty oys; you know they're always very bad to you. You know ey wouldn't let you into their coach with your drum." ere William began to cry.-" Well, never mind, you shall ave a coach of your own—a much finer coach than theirs; wouldn't go in to their ugly, dirty coach; and you shall ave-" Here something of a consolatory nature was whisered; William was comforted, and even prevailed upon to linquish his drum for his mamma's ivory work-box, the connts of which were soon scattered on the floor.

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These boys are gone without their hats," cried Mrs. airbairn, in a tone of distress. "Eliza, my dear, pull the

y to get the boys' hats." Sally being despatched Es, something like a calm ensued, in the absence he whip and the trumpet; but as it will be of on, it is necessary to take advantage of it in imintroduction into an acquaintance with the Fair

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bairn was one of those ladies, who, from the time a mother, ceased to be any thing else. All the sures, charities and decencies of life, were henceentrated in that one grand characteristic; every Fe was henceforth viewed through that single mer own mother was no longer her mother; she was amma of her dear infants: her brothers and sisters uncles and aunts; and even her husband ceased ght of as her husband, from the time he became a

no longer the being who had claims on her time, ts, her talents, her affections; he was simply Mr. the noun masculine of Mrs. Fairbairn, and the ner children. Happily for Mr. Fairbairn, he was on of very nice feelings, or refined taste; and alfirst, he did feel a little unpleasantly, when he saw his children were preferred to himself, yet, in time, e accustomed to it, then came to look upon Mrs. as the most exemplary of mothers,—and, finally, imself into the father of a very fine family, of which bairn was the mother.

his there was more of selfish egotism, and animal than of rational affection, or Christian principle; parents piqued themselves upon their fondness for ring, as if it were a feeling peculiar to themselves, one they shared in common with the lowest and of their species. Like them, too, it was upon the their children that they lavished their chief care erness; for, as to the immortal interests of their the cultivation of their minds, or the improvement empers, these were but little attended to, at least in on with their health and personal appearance. if there "be not a gem so precious as the human w often do these gems seem as pearls cast before

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