shepherd shuts his fold, and the star of evening appears. Who is she that comes from the south? Youths and maidens, tell me, if you know, who is she, and what is her name.

Who is he that comes with sober pace, stealing upon us unawares? His garments are red with the blood of the grape, and his temples are bound with a sheaf of ripe wheat. His hair is thin and begins to fall, and the auburn is mixed with mournful grey. He shakes the brown nuts from the tree. He winds

the horn, and calls the hunters to their sport. The gun sounds. The trembling partridge and the beautiful pheasant flutter, bleeding in the air, and fall dead at the sportsman's feet. Who is he that is crowned with the wheat sheaf? Youths and maidens, tell me, if you know, who is he, and what is his name.

Who is he that comes from the north, clothed in furs and warm wool? He wraps his cloak close about him. His head is bald; his beard is made of sharp icicles. He loves the blazing fire, high piled upon the hearth. He binds skates to his feet, and skims over the frozen lakes. His breath is piercing and cold, and no little flower dares to peep above the surface of the ground, when he is by. Whatever he touches turns to ice. If he were to strike you with his cold hand, you would be quite stiff and dead, like a piece of marble. Youths and maidens, do you see him? He is coming fast upon us, and soon he will be here. Tell me, if you know, who is he, and what is his name.

BARBAULD.

THE AFRICAN CHIEF.

Chained in the market-place he stood,
A man of giant frame,
Amid the gathering multitude

That shrunk to hear his name-
All stern of look and strong of limb,
His dark eye on the ground :-
And silently they gazed on him,
As on a lion bound.

Vainly, but well, that chief had fought,
He was a captive now,

Yet pride, that fortune humbles not,
Was written on his brow.

The scars his dark broad bosom wore,
Showed warrior true and brave;
A prince among his tribe before,
He could not be a slave.

Then to his conqueror he spake-
"My brother is a king;

Undo this necklace from my neck,
And take this bracelet ring.

And send me where my brother reigns,

And I will fill thy hands

With store of ivory from the plains,

And gold-dust from the sands."

"Not for thy ivory nor thy gold
Will I unbind thy chain;
That bloody hand shall never hold
The battle-spear again.

A price thy nation never gave,
Shall yet be paid for thee;

For thou shalt be a Christian slave,
In lands beyond the sea."

Then wept the warrior chief, and tore
To shred his locks away;

And, one by one, each heavy braid,
Before the victor lay.

Thick were the plaited locks, and long,
And deftly hidden there

Shone many a wedge of gold among
The dark and crisped hair.

"Look, feast thy greedy eye with gold
Long kept for sorest need;
Take it-thou askest sums untold,
And say that I am freed.

Take it my wife, the long, long day
We eeps by the cocoa tree,

And my young children leave their play,
And ask in vain for me.'

"I take thy gold-but I have made
Thy fetters fast and strong,
And ween that by the cocoa shade
Thy wife will wait thee long."
Strong was the agony that shook
The captive's frame to hear,
And the proud meaning of his look
Was changed to mortal fear.

His heart was broken-crazed his brain:
At once his eye grew wild;
He struggled fiercely with his chain,
Whispered, and wept, and smiled;
Yet wore not long those fatal bands,
And once, at shut of day,

They drew him forth upon the sands,
The foul hyena's prey.

A certain Italian bishop, was remarkable for his happy and contented disposition. He met with much opposition, and encountered many difficulties in his journey through life: but it was observed that he never repined at his condition, or betrayed the least degree of impatience. An intimate friend of his, who highly admired the virtue which he thought it impossible to imitate, one day asked the prelate if he could communicate the secret of being always satisfied. "Yes," replied the good old man, "I can teach you my secret, and with great facility. It consists in nothing more than making a right use of my eyes." His friend begged him to explain himself. "Most willingly," returned the bishop. "In whatever state am, I first of all look up to heaven; and reflect that my principal business here, is to get to that blest abode. I then look down upon the earth, and call to mind that, when I am dead, I shall occupy but a small space in it. I then look abroad in the world, and observe that multitudes there are, who in every respect, are less fortunate than myself. Thus I learn where true happiness is placed, where all our cares must end; and how very little reason I have to repine, or to complain."

I

I am monarch of all I survey,

My right there is none to dispute,
From the centre all round to the sea,
I am lord of the fowl and the brute.
O solitude! where are the charms

That sages have seen in thy face?
Better dwell in the midst of alarms,
Than reign in this horrible place.
Society, friendship, and love,
Divinely bestow'd upon man,
Oh, had I the wings of a dove,
How soon would I taste these again!
My sorrows I then might assuage
In the ways of religion and truth;
Might learn from the wisdom of age,
And be cheer'd by the sallies of youth.
How fleet is a glance of the mind!
Compared with the speed of its flight,
The tempest itself lags behind,

And the swift-winged arrows of light.
When I think of my own native land,
In a moment I seem to be there;
But alas recollection at hand

Soon hurries me back to despair.
Now the sea-fowl is gone to her nest,

The beast is

Even here is a

laid down in his lair ;

season of rest,

And I to my cabin repair.

Still God is in every place:

All His acts with goodness are fraught,

He gives each affliction a grace,

And reconciles me to my lot.

COWPER.