I him then-he loved me too. My heart finds its fondness kindle, if he smile; emory of our loves will ne'er depart; ■ough he often sting me with a dart, omed and barbed, and waste, upon the vile, es, which his babe and mine should share; h he should spurn me, I will calmly bear madness; and, should sickness come, and lay alyzing hand upon him, then

uld, with kindness, all my wrongs repay, I the penitent should weep, and say, jured and how faithful I had been.

LESSON XXXIV.

The Last Man.-CAMPBELL.

LL worldly shapes shall melt in gloom,
The Sun himself must die,

efore this mortal shall assume
Its immortality.

saw a vision in my sleep,

hat gave my spirit strength to sweep

Adown the gulf of Time:

saw the last of human mould,
hat shall Creation's death behold,

As Adam saw her prime.

he Sun's eye had a sickly glare,
The Earth with age was wan;
'he skeletons of nations were
Around that lonely man.

ome had expired in fight, the brands

till rusted in their bony hands,In plague and famine some:

arth's cities had no sound nor tread; nd ships were drifting, with the dead, To shores where all was dumb

Yet, prophet-like, that lone one stood,
With dauntless words and high,

That shook the sere leaves from the wood,
As if a storm passed by,

Saying, "We're twins in death, proud Sun: Thy face is cold, thy race is run,—

'Tis Mercy bids thee go;

For thou, ten thousand thousand years,
Hast seen the tide of human tears,

That shall no longer flow.

"What though beneath thee man put forth His pomp, his pride, his skill,

And arts that made fire, flood and earth,
The vassals of his will;-

Yet mourn not I thy parted sway,
Thou dim, discrowned king of day;
For all those trophied arts

And triumphs, that beneath thee sprang,
Healed not a passion or a pang,
Entailed on human hearts.

"Go, let Oblivion's curtain fall
Upon the stage of men,
Nor with thy rising beams recall
Life's tragedy again :

Its piteous pageants bring not back,
Nor waken flesh, upon the rack

Of pain anew to writhe;
Stretched in Disease's shapes abhorred,

Or mown in battle by the sword,
Like grass beneath the scythe.

"E'en I am weary, in yon skies
To watch thy fading fire;
Test of all sumless agonies,
Behold not me expire.

My lips, that speak thy dirge of death

Their rounded gasp and gurgling breath

To see thou shalt not boast:

he eclipse of nature spreads my pall,-
he majesty of Darkness shall
Receive my parting ghost.

This spirit shall return to Him
That gave its heavenly spark;
et think not, Sun, it shall be dim
When thou thyself art dark.
o; it shall live again, and shine
à bliss unknown to beams of thine
By Him recalled to breath,
ho captive led Captivity,

ho robbed the grave of Victory,
And took the sting from Death.

Go, Sun, while Mercy holds me up,
On Nature's awful waste,

-o drink this last and bitter cup

Of grief that man shall taste

o, tell that night which hides thy face,
hou saw'st the last of Adam's race,
On Earth's sepulchral clod,

he dark'ning universe defy
o quench his immortality,
Or shake his trust in God."

LESSON XXXV.

Government of the Temper.-MRS. CHAPONE.

rincipal virtues or vices of a woman, must be of a nd domestic kind. Within the circle of her own d dependents lies her sphere of action; the scene t all those tasks and trials, which must determine acter and her fate, here and hereafter. Reflect, for it, how much the happiness of her husband, children ants, must depend on her temper, and you will see

that the greatest good or evil, which she ever may have in her power to do, may arise from her correcting or indulging its infirmities.

*

*

It is true, we are not all equally happy in our dispositions; but human virtue consists in cherishing and cultivating every good inclination, and in checking and subduing every propensity to evil. If you had been born with a bad temper, it might have been made a good one, at least with regard to its outward effects, by education, reason and principle; and, though you are so happy as to have a good one while young, do not suppose it will always continue so, if you neglect to maintain a proper command over it. Power, sickness, disappointments, or worldly cares, may corrupt and imbitter the finest disposition, if they are not counteracted by reason and religion.

It is observed that every temper is inclined, in some degree, either to passion, peevishness, or obstinacy. Many are so unfortunate as to be inclined to each of the three in turn it is necessary, therefore, to watch the bent of our nature, and to apply the remedies proper for the infirmity to which we are most liable. With regard to the first, it is so injurious tc society, and so odious in itself, especially in the female character, that one would think shame alone would be sufficient to preserve a young woman from giving way to it; for it is as unbecoming her character to be betrayed into ill-behavior by passion as by intoxication; and she ought to be ashamed of the one as much as of the other. Gentleness, meekness and patience are peculiar distinctions; and an enraged woman is one of the most disgusting sights in nature.

It is plain, from experience, that the most passionate people can command themselves, when they have a motive sufficiently strong, such as the presence of those they fear, or to whom they particularly desire to recommend themselves. It is, therefore, no excuse to persons, whom you have injured by unkind reproaches and unjust aspersions, to tell them you were in a passion: the allowing yourself to speak to them in a passion, is a proof of an insolent disrespect, which the meanest of your fellow-creatures would have a right to

resent.

When once you find yourself heated so far, as to desire to

you know would be provoking and wounding to you should immediately resolve either to be silent, the room, rather than give utterance to any thing by so bad an inclination. Be assured, you are then eason or to reprove, or to hear reason from others. efore, your part to retire from such an occasion to wait till you are cool, before you presume to judge as passed.

ustoming yourself thus to conquer and disappoint er, you will, by degrees, find it grow weak and ole, so as to leave your reason at liberty. You will restrain your tongue from evil, and your looks and rom all expressions of violence and ill-will. Pride, oduces so many evils in the human mind, is the rce of passion. Whoever cultivates in himself a mility, a due sense of his own faults and insufand a due respect for others, will find but small 1 to violent or unreasonable anger.

a

case of real injuries, which justify and call for re-
there is a noble and generous kind of anger,
d necessary part of our nature, which has nothing
1 or degrading. I would not wish you insensible
or the person, who feels not an injury, must be inca-
being properly affected by benefits. With those
you ill, without provocation, you ought to maintain
dignity.

order to do this, whilst you show a sense of their
behavior, you must preserve calmness, and even
ding; and thereby convince them of the impo-
well as injustice, of their malice. You must
every circumstance with candor and charity, and
whether your showing the resentment deserved,
▪roduce ill consequences to innocent persons; and
t may not occasion the breach of some duty, or
connexion, to which you ought to sacrifice even
resentments.

all things, take care that a particular offence to you make you unjust to the general character of the person. Generous anger does not preclude esteem ver is really estimable, nor does it destroy good-will