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friend was sick, or in gaol, out came his purse, and then his creditors might go whistle. Now if he had married a woman with money, you know, why then . . . . .”

The supplicant turned pale, and would have fainted. Jacob was alarmed; not that he sympathized, but a wo man's fainting was a scene that he had not been used to; besides there was an awkwardness about it; for Jacob was a bachelor.

Sixty summers had passed over his head without imparting a ray of warmth to his heart; without exciting one tender feeling for the sex, deprived of whose cheering presence, the paradise of the world were a wilderness of weeds. -So he desperately extracted a crown piece from the depth profound, and thrust it hastily into her hand. The action recalled her wandering senses. She blushed:-it was the honest blush of pride at the meanness of the gift. She curt'sied; staggered towards the door; opened it; closed it; raised her hand to her forehead, and burst into tears. ****


The Highlander.-W. GILLESPIE.

Many years ago, a poor Highland soldier, on his return to his native hills, fatigued, as it was supposed, by the length of the march and the heat of the weather, sat down under the shade of a birch-tree, on the solitary road of Lowrin, that winds along the margin of Loch Ken, in Galloway. Here he was found dead, and this incident forms the subject of the following verses.

FROM the climes of the sun, all war-worn and weary,
The Highlander sped to his youthful abode ;
Fair visions of home cheered the desert so dreary;

Though fierce was the noon-beam and steep was the road.

Till spent with the march that still lengthened before him,
He stopped by the way in a sylvan retreat;
The light shady boughs of the birch-tree waved o'er him,
And the stream of the mountain fell soft at his feet.

He sunk to repose where the red heaths are blended,
One dream of his childhood his fancy past o'er;
But his battles are fought, and his march.... it is ended;
The sound of the bagpipe shall wake him no more

No arm in the day of the conflict could wound him,
Though war lanched her thunder in fury to kill;
Now the angel of death in the desert has found him,
Now stretched him in peace by the stream of the hill.
Pale Autumn spreads o'er him the leaves of the forest,
The fays of the wild chant the dirge of his rest;
And thou, little brook, still the sleeper deplorest,
'And moistenest the heath-bell that weeps on his breast.


The Harvest Moon.-W. MILLAR.
ALL hail! thou lovely queen of night,
Bright empress of the starry sky!
The meekness of thy silvery light

Beams gladness on the gazer's eye,
While from thy peerless throne on high

Thou shinest bright as cloudless noon,
And bidd'st the shades of darkness fly

Before thy glory-Harvest moon!

In the deep stillness of the night,
When weary labour is at rest,
How lovely is the scene !—how bright

The wood-the lawn—the mountain's breast,
When thou, fair Moon of Harvest! hast
Thy radiant glory all unfurled,
And sweetly smilest in the west,

Far down upon the silent world.
Dispel the clouds, majestick orb!

That round the dim horizon brood,
And hush the winds that would disturb
The deep, the awful solitude,
That rests upon the slumbering flood,

The dewy fields, and silent grove,
When midnight hath thy zenith viewed,
And felt the kindness of thy love.

Lo! scattered wide beneath thy throne,
The hope of millions richly spread,
That seems to court thy radiance down
'To rest upon its dewy bed:

'O! let thy cloudless glory shed
Its welcome brilliance from on high,
Till hope be realized-and fled
The omens of a frowning sky.

Shine on, fair orb of light! and smile
Till autumn months have passed away,
And Labour hath forgot the toil

He bore in summer's sultry ray;
And when the reapers end the day,

Tired with the burning heat of noon, They'll come with spirits light and gay, And bless thee-lovely Harvest Moon!


Thalaba among the ruins of Babylon.-SOUTHEY.

THE many-coloured domes*
Yet wore one dusky hue
The cranes upon the Mosque
Kept their night-clatter still;

When through the gate the early traveller pass'd.
And when, at evening, o'er the swampy plain
The bittern's bomb came far,
Distinct in darkness seen,
Above the low horizon's lingering light,
Rose the near ruins of old Babylon.
Once, from her lofty walls the charioteer
Looked down on swarming myriads; once she flung
Her arches o'er Euphrates' conquered tide,"
And, through her brazen portals when she poured
Her armies forth, the distant nations looked
As men who watch the thunder-cloud in fear,
Lest it should burst above them.-She was fallen!
The queen of cities, Babylon, was fallen!..
Low lay her bulwarks: the black scorpion basked
In palace courts: within the sanctuary
The she-wolf hid her whelps.
Is yonder huge and shapeless heap, what once
Hath been the aërial gardens, height on height
Rising, like Media's mountains, crowned with wood,

* Of Bagdad.

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Work of imperial dotage? Where the fane
Of Belus? Where the golden image now,
Which, at the sound of dulcimer and lute,
Cornet and sackbut, harp and psaltery,
The Assyrian slaves adored?
A labyrinth of ruins, Babylon

Spreads o'er the blasted plain.
The wandering Arab never sets his tent
Within her walls. The shepherd eyes afar
Her evil towers, and devious drives his flock.
Alone unchanged, a free and bridgeless tide,
Euphrates rolls along,
Eternal nature's work.

Through the broken portal,
Over weedy fragments,
Thalaba went his way.
Cautious he trod, and felt

The dangerous ground before him with his bow.
The jackal started at his steps;
The stork, alarmed at sound of man,
From her broad nest upon the old pillar top,
Affrighted fled on flapping wings;
The adder, in her haunts disturbed,
Lanched at the intruding staff her arrowy tongue.

Twilight and moonshine, dimly mingling, gave
An awful light obscure :
Evening not wholly closed-

The moon still pale and faint,-
An awful light obscure,

Broken by many a mass of blackest shade;

Long columns stretching dark through weeds and moss,
Broad length of lofty wall,
Whose windows lay in light,

And of their former shape, low-arched or square,
Rude outline on the earth
Figured with long grass fringed.

Reclined against a column's broken shaft,
Unknowing whitherward to bend his way,
He stood and gazed around,
The ruins closed him in :
It seemed as if no foot of man
For ages had intruded there.

He stood and gazed awhile,
Musing on Babel's pride, and Babel's fall;
Then, through the ruined street,
And through the farther gate,
He passed in silence on.


Daily Prayer.-Morning.-CHANNING.

THE Scriptures of the Old and New Testaments agree in enjoining prayer. Let no man call himself a Christian, who lives without giving a part of life to this duty. We are not taught how often we must pray; but our Lord in teaching us to say, "Give us this day our daily bread,” implies that we should pray daily. As to the particular hours to be given to this duty, every Christian may choose them for himself. Our religion is too liberal and spiritual to bind us to any place or any hour of prayer. But there are parts of the day particularly favourable to this duty, and which, if possible, should be redeemed for it.

The first of these periods is the morning, which even nature seems to have pointed out to men of different religions, as a fit time for offerings to the Divinity. In the morning our minds are not so much shaken by worldly cares and pleasures, as in other parts of the day. Retirement and sleep have helped to allay the violence of our feelings, to calm the feverish excitement so often produced by intercourse with men. The hour is a still one. The hurry and tumults of life are not begun, and we naturally share in the tranquillity around us. Having for so many hours lost our hold on the world, we can banish it more easily from the mind, and worship with less divided attention. This, then, is a favourable time for approaching the invisible Author of our being, for strengthening the intimacy of our minds with him, for thinking upon a future life, and for seeking those spiritual aids which we need in the labours and temptations of every day.

In the morning there is much to feed the spirit of devotion. It offers an abundance of thoughts, friendly to pious feeling. When we look on creation, what a happy and touching change do we witness! A few hours past, the earth was wrapt in gloom and silence. There seemed "a pause

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