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these rude but hospitable inns open to receive us. There was not another human habitation, within many miles. All the soil, which we could see, had been brought thither, and placed carefully round the cottage, to nourish a few 5 cabbages and lettuces. There were some goats, which supplied the cottagers with milk; a few fowls lived in the house; and the greatest luxuries of the place were newmade cheeses, and some wild alpine mutton, the rare provision of the traveller. Yet here Nature had thrown off 10 the veil, and appeared in all her sublimity. Summits of bare granite rose all around us. The snow-clad tops of the distant Alps, seemed to chill the moon-beams that lighted on them; and we felt all the charms of the picturesque, mingled with the awe inspired by unchangeable grandeur. 15 We seemed to have reached the original elevations of the globe, o'ertopping forever the tumults, the vices, and the miseries of ordinary existence, far out of hearing of the murmurs of a busy world, which discord ravages, and luxury corrupts. We asked for the album, and a large 20 folio was brought to us, almost filled with the scrawls of every nation on earth that could write. Instantly our fatigue was forgotten; and the evening passed away pleasantly in the entertainment which this book afforded us.

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LESSON LXIII.-PETER STUYVESANT.—WASHINGTON IRVING.

Peter Stuyvesant was the last, and, like the renowned Wouter Van Twiller, he was also the best, of our ancient Dutch governors: Wouter having surpassed all who preceded him, and Peter having never been equalled by any 5 successor.

To say merely that he was a hero, would be doing him great injustice;-he was in truth a combination of heroes;

for he was of a sturdy, raw-bone make, like Ajax Telamon, with a pair of round shoulders that Hercules would 10 have given his hide for, (meaning his lion's hide,) when he undertook to ease old Atlas of his load. He was, moreover, as Plutarch describes Coriolanus, not only terrible for the force of his arm, but likewise of his voice, which sounded as though it came out of a barrel; and like the 15 selfsame warrior, he possessed a sovereign contempt for the sovereign people, and an iron aspect, which was enough of itself to make the very bowels of his adversaries quake with terror and dismay.

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All this martial excellency was inexpressibly heightened by an accidental advantage, with which I am surprised that neither Homer nor Virgil have graced any of their heroes. This was nothing less than a wooden leg, 5 which was the only prize he had gained, in bravely fighting the battles of his country, but of which he was so proud, that he was often heard to declare, he valued it more, than all his other limbs put together; indeed, so highly did he esteem it, that he had it gallantly enchased 10 and relieved with silver devices, which caused it to be related in divers histories and legends, that he wore a silver leg.

Like that choleric warrior, Achilles, he was somewhat subject to extempore bursts of passion, which were ofttimes 15 rather unpleasant to his favorites and attendants, whose perceptions he was apt to quicken, after the manner of his illustrious imitator, Peter the Great, by anointing their shoulders with his walking-staff.

He was, in fact, the very reverse of his predecessors, 20 being neither tranquil and inert, like Walter, the Doubter, nor restless and fidgeting, like William, the Testy; but a man, or rather a governor, of such uncommon activity and decision of mind, that he never sought or accepted the advice of others; depending confidently upon his single 25 head, as did the heroes of yore upon their single arms, to work his way through all difficulties and dangers. To tell the simple truth, he wanted no other requisite for a perfect statesman, than to think always right, for no one can deny, that he always acted as he thought; and if he wanted 30 in correctness, he made up for it in perseverance,—an excellent quality! since it is surely more dignified for a ruler to be persevering and consistent in error, than wavering and contradictory, in endeavoring to do what is right. This much is certain, and it is a maxim worthy 35 the attention of all legislators, both great and small, who stand shaking in the wind, without knowing which way to steer, a ruler who acts according to his own will, is sure of pleasing himself, while he who seeks to satisfy the wishes and whims of others, runs a great risk of 40 pleasing nobody. The clock that stands still, and points steadfastly in one direction, is certain of being right twice. in the four-and-twenty hours,-while others may keep going continually, and continually be going wrong.

Nor did this magnanimous virtue escape the discern

ment of the good people of Nieuw-Nederlandts ;* on the contrary, so high an opinion had they of the independent mind and vigorous intellect of their new governor, that they universally called him Hardkopping Piet,t or Peter the 5 Headstrong, a great compliment to his understanding!

If from all that I have said, thou dost not gather, worthy reader, that Peter Stuyvesant was a tough, sturdy, valiant, weatherbeaten, mettlesome, obstinate, leathern-sided, lionhearted, generous-spirited old governor, either I have writ10 ten to but little purpose, or thou art very dull at drawing conclusions.

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LESSON LXIV.-ODE ON ART.-CHARLES SPRAGUE.

When, from the sacred garden driven,
Man fled before his Maker's wrath,

An angel left her place in heaven,

And crossed the wanderer's sunless path.
'Twas Art! sweet Art! new radiance broke
Where her light foot flew o'er the ground;
And thus with seraph voice she spoke,-

"The Curse a Blessing shall be found."
She led him through the trackless wild,

Where noontide sunbeam never blazed;
The thistle shrunk, the harvest smiled,

And Nature gladdened, as she gazed.
Earth's thousand tribes of living things,
At Art's command, to him are given;
The village grows, the city springs,

And point their spires of faith to heaven.
He rends the oak,—and bids it ride,

To guard the shores its beauty graced;
He smites the rock,-upheaved in pride,
See towers of strength and domes of taste.
Earth's teeming caves their wealth reveal,
Fire bears his banner on the wave,
He bids the mortal poison heal,

And leaps triumphant o'er the grave.
He plucks the pearls that stud the deep,
Admiring Beauty's lap to fill;
He breaks the stubborn marble's sleep,
And mocks his own Creator's skill.

*Pronounced New Nayderlânts.

+ Pronounced Peet.

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With thoughts that swell his glowing soul,

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He bids the ore illume the page,
And proudly scorning Time's control,
Commerces with an unborn age.

In fields of air he writes his name,
And treads the chambers of the sky;
He reads the stars, and grasps the flame
That quivers round the Throne on high.
In war renowned, in peace sublime,

He moves in greatness and in grace;
His power, subduing space and time,

Links realm to realm, and race to race.

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LESSON LXV. ROBERT BURNS.-F. G. HALLECK.

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The memory of Burns,—a name

That calls, when brimmed her festal cup,
A nation's glory, and her shame,

In silent sadness up.

A nation's glory,-be the rest

Forgot, she's canonized his mind;

And it is joy to speak the best

We may of human kind.

I've stood beside the cottage bed

Where the Bard-peasant first drew breath
A straw-thatched roof above his head,
A straw-wrought couch beneath.

And I have stood beside the pile,
His monument,-that tells to heaven
The homage of earth's proudest isle
To that Bard-peasant given!

Bid thy thoughts hover o'er that spot,
Boy-Minstrel, in thy dreaming hour;
And know, however low his lot,
A Poet's pride and power.

The pride that lifted Burns from earth,
The power that gave a child of song
Ascendancy o'er rank and birth,

The rich, the brave, the strong;
And if despondency weigh down
Thy spirit's fluttering pinions then,

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Despair :-thy name is written on

The roll of common men.

There have been loftier themes than his,
And longer scrolls, and louder lyres,
And lays lit up with Poesy's

Purer and holier fires:

Yet read the names that know not death;
Few nobler ones than Burns are there;
And few have won a greener wreath

Than that which binds his hair.

His is that language of the heart,

In which the answering heart would speak, Thought, word, that bids the warm tear start, Or the smile light the cheek;

And his that music, to whose tone

The common pulse of man keeps time,
In cot or castle's mirth or moan,
In cold or sunny clime.

And who hath heard his song, nor knelt
Before its spell, with willing knee,
And listen'd, and believed, and felt
The Poet's mastery?

O'er the mind's sea, in calm and storm,

O'er the heart's sunshine and its showers, O'er Passion's moments, bright and warm, O'er Reason's dark, cold hours;

On fields where brave men "die or do,"

In halls where rings the banquet's mirth,
Where mourners weep, where lovers woo,
From throne to cottage hearth;

What sweet tears dim the eyes unshed,
What wild vows falter on the tongue,
When "Scots wha hae wi' Wallace bled,"
Or "Auld Lang Syne" is sung!

Pure hopes, that lift the soul above,

Come with his Cottar's hymn of praise,
And dreams of youth, and truth, and love,
With "Logan's" banks and braes.

And when he breathes his master-lay
Of Alloway's witch-haunted wall,

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