I possess something better; I have chosen my lot; I am content and satisfied."

12. You are a modest man-you love quiet and independence, and have a delicacy and reserve in your temper, which renders it impossible for you to elbow your way in the world. and be the herald of your own merits. Be content, then, with a modest retirement, with the esteem of your intimate friends, with the praises of a blameless heart, and a delicate, ingenuous spirit; but resign the splendid distinctions of the world to those who can better scramble for them.

13. The man whose tender sensibility of conscience and strict regard to the rules of morality, makes him scrupulous and fearful of offending, is often heard to complain of the disadvantages under which he lies, in every path of honor and profit.-"Could I but get over some nice points, and conform to the practice and opinion of those about me, I might stand as fair a chance as others for dignities and preferment."

14. And why can you not? What hinders you from discarding this troublesome scrupulosity of yours which stands so grievously in your way? If it be a small thing to enjoy a healthful mind, sound at the very core, that does not shrink from the keenest inspection; inward freedom from remorse and perturbation; unsullied whiteness and simplicity of manners; if you think these advantages an inadequate recompense for what you resign, dismiss your scruples this instant, and be a slave merchant, a director-or what you please.

LESSON XCI.

On the Beauties of the Psalms.—HORNE.

1. GREATNESS confers no exemption from the cares and sor rows of life its share of them frequently bears a melancholy proportion to its exaltation. This the monarch* of Israel experienced. He sought in piety, that peace which he could not find in empire: and alleviated the disquietudes of state, with the exercises of devotion. His invaluable Psalms convey those comforts to others, which they afforded to himself.

2. Composed upon particular occasions, yet designed for general use; delivered out as services for Israelites under the Law, yet no less adapted to the circumstances of Christians under the Gospel; they present religion to us in the most engaging dress; communicating truths which philosophy could * King David.

never investigate, in a style which poetry can never equal, while history is made the vehicle of prophecy, and creation lends all its charms to paint the glories of redemption.

3. Calculated alike to profit and to please, they inform the understanding, elevate the affections, and entertain the imagination. Indited under the influence of HIM, to whom all hearts are known, and all events foreknown, they suit mankind in ail situations; grateful as the manna which descended from above, and conformed itself to every palate.

4. The fairest productions of human wit, after a few perusals, like gathered flowers, wither in our hands, and lose their fragrancy: but these unfading plants of Paradise become, as we are accustomed to them, still more and more beautiful; their bloom appears to be daily heightened; fresh odors are emitted, and new sweets extracted from them. He who has once tasted their excellencies, will desire to taste them again; and he who tastes them oftenest, will relish them best.

5. And now, could the author flatter himself, that any one would take half the pleasure in reading his work, which he has taken in writing it, he would not fear the loss of his labor. The employment detached him from the bustle and hurry of life, the din of politics, and the noise of folly. Vanity and vexation flew away for a season: care and disquietude came not near his dwelling. He arose, fresh as the morning, to his task; the silence of the night invited him to pursue it; and he can truly say, that food and rest were not preferred before it.

6. Every psalm improved infinitely upon his acquaintance with it, and no one gave him uneasiness but the last for then he grieved that his work was done. Happier hours than those which have been spent in these meditations on the songs of Sion, he never expects to see in this world. Very pleasantly did they pass; they moved smoothly and swiftly along: for when thus engaged, he counted no time. They are gone, but they have left a relish and a fragrance upon the mind; and the remembrance of them is sweet.

LESSON XCII.

Two Voices from the Grave.-KARAMSIN.
First Voice.

1. How frightful the grave! how deserted and drear!
With the howls of the storm-wind, the creaks of the bier,
And the white bones all clattering together!

Second Voice.

2. How peaceful the grave! its quiet how deep! Its zephyrs breathe calmly, and soft is its sleep, And flowrets perfume it with ether.

First Voice.

3. There riots the blood-crested worm on the dead, And the yellow skull serves the foul toad for a bed, And snakes in its nettle weeds hiss.

Second Voice.

4. How lovely, how sweet the repose of the tomb ! No tempests are there ;—but the nightingales come. And sing their sweet chorus of bliss.

First Voice.

5. The ravens of night flap their wings o'er the grave; "Tis the vulture's abode ;-'tis the wolf's dreary cave, Where they tear up the dead with their fangs. Second Voice.

6. There the cony,* at evening, disports with his love, Or rests on the sod; while the turtlest above, Repose on the bough that o'erhangs.

First Voice.

7. There darkness and dampness, with poisonous breath, And loathsome decay, fill the dwelling of death; The trees are all barren and bare.

Second Voice.

8. O! soft are the breezes that play round the tomb,
And sweet with the violet's wafted perfume,
With lilies and jessamine fair.

First Voice.

9. The pilgrim who reaches this valley of tears, Would fain hurry by; and with trembling and fears. He is launched on the wreck-covered river.

Second Voice.

10. Here the traveller, worn with life's pilgrimage dreary Lays down his rude staff, like one that is weary, And sweetly reposes for ever.

* Cony, a rabbit.

+ Turtles, turtle-doves.

1. ON Linden, when the sun was low,
All bloodless lay the untrodden snow,
And dark as winter, was the flow
Of Iser, rolling rapidly.

2. But Linden saw another sight,
When the drum beat, at dead of night,
Commanding fires of death to light
The darkness of her scenery.

3. By torch and trumpet fast array'd,
Each horseman drew his battle blade,
And furious every charger neigh'd,
To join the dreadful revelry.

4. Then shook the hills with thunder riv'n,
Then rush'd the steed to battle driv'n,
And louder than the bolts of heaven,
Far flash'd the red artillery.

5. And redder yet those fires shall glow,
On Linden's hills of blood-stain'd snow,
And darker yet shall be the flow
Of Iser, rolling rapidly.

6. 'Tis morn, but scarce yon lurid sun
Can pierce the war-clouds, rolling dun,
Where furious Frank, and fiery Hun,

Shout in their sulphurous canopy.

7. The combat deepens. On, ye brave,
Who rush to glory, or the grave!
Wave Munich,† all thy banners wave!
And charge with all thy chivalry!

8. Few, few shall part where many meet!
The snow shall be their winding sheet,
And every turf beneath their feet,
Shall be a soldier's sepulchre.

* Hohenlinden, a town in Austria, famous for the defeat of the Austrians, December 3d, 1800, by the French under Moreau.

+ Pronounced Mu'-nick, a city 20 miles west of Hohenlinden.

LESSON XCIV.

The Indian Chief.-ANONYMOUS.

The following poem is founded on a traditionary story which is common in the neighborhood of the Falls of Niagara.

1. THE rain fell in torrents, the thunder roll'd deep,
And silenc'd the cataract's roar;

But neither the night nor the tempest could keep
The warrior chieftain on shore.

2. The war shout has sounded, the stream must be cross'd; Why lingers the leader afar!

"Twere better his life than his glory be lost;
He never came late to the war.

3. He seiz❜d a canoe as he sprang from the rock,
But fast as the shore fled his reach,

The mountain wave seem'd all his efforts to mock,
And dash'd the canoe on the beach.

4. "Great Spirit," he cried," shall the battle be given,
And all but their leader be there?

May this struggle land me with them or in heaven!'
And he push'd with the strength of despair.

5. He has quitted the shore, he has gained the deep,
His guide is the lightning alone;

But he felt not with fast, irresistible sweep,
The rapids were bearing him down.

6. But the cataract's roar with the thunder now vied;
"O what is the meaning of this!"

He spoke, and just turn'd to the cataract's side,
As the lightning flash'd down the abyss.

7. All the might of his arm to one effort was given,
At self preservation's command;

But the treacherous oar with the effort was riven,
And the fragment remain'd in his hand.

8. "Be it so," cry'd the warrior, taking his seat,
And folding his bow to his breast;

"Let the cataract shroud my pale corse with its sheet. And its roar lull my spirit to rest.

9. "The prospect of death with the brave I have borne, I shrink not to bear it alone;