His inattention to money matters had incensed his father to such a degree, that all intercession of friends in his favour, was fruitless.

The old gentleman was on his death bed. The whole family (and Dick among the number) gathered around him.

"I leave my second son Andrew," said the expiring miser, "my whole estate; and desire him to be frugal."

Andrew, in a sorrowful tone (as is usual on those occasions) prayed Heaven to prolong his life and health to enjoy it himself!

"I recommend Simon, my third son, to the care of his elder brother; and leave him, beside, four thousand pounds."

"Ah! father," cried Simon (in great affliction to be sure) "may Heaven give you life and health to enjoy it yourself!"

At last-turning to poor Dick, "as for you, you have always been a sad dog; you'll never come to good; you'll never be rich; I leave you a shilling, to buy a halter "

"Ah! father," cries Dick, without any emotion, "may Heaven give you life and health to enjoy it yourself!"

THE APOSTROPHE TO LIGHT.

MILTON.

Hail, holy Light, offspring of Heav'n first-born, Or of th' Eternal coeternal beam, May I express thee unblam'd! Since God is light, And never but in unapproached light Dwelt from eternity, dwelt then in thee, Bright effluence of bright essence increate. Or hear'st thou rather, pure etherial stream, Whose fountain who shall tell? before the sun, Before the Heav'ns thou wert, and at the voice Of God, as with a mantle, didst invest The rising world of waters dark and deep,

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Won from the void and formless infinite.
Thee I revisit now with bolder wing,
Escap'd the Stygian pool, though long detain'd
In that obscure sojourn, while in my flight
Through utter and through middle darkness borne,
With other notes than to th' Orphean lyre
I sung of Chaos and eternal Night;
Taught by the Heav'nly Muse to venture down
The dark descent, and up to re-ascend,
Though hard and rare, thee I revisit safe,
And feel thy sov'reign vital lamp; but thou
Revisit'st not these eyes, that roll in vain
To find thy piercing ray, and find no dawn;
So thick a drop serene hath quench'd their orbs,
Or dim suffusion veil'd. Yet not the more
Cease I to wander where the Muses haunt,
Clear spring, or shady grove, or sunny hill,
Smit with the love of sacred song; but chief
Thee, Sion, and the flow'ry brooks beneath,
That wash thy hallow'd feet, and warbling flow,
Nightly I visit: nor sometimes forget
Those other two equall'd with me in fate,
So were I equall'd with them in renown,
Blind Thamyris, and blind Mæonides,
And Tyresias, and Phineus, prophets old:
Then fed on thoughts, that voluntary move
Harmonious numbers; as the wakeful bird
Sings darkling, and in shadiest covert hid
Tunes her nocturnal note. Thus with the year
Seasons return, but not to me returns
Day, or the sweet approach of ev'n and morn,
Or sight of vernal bloom, or summer's rose,
Or flocks, or herds, or human face divine;
But cloud instead, and ever-during dark
Surrounds me, from the cheerful ways of men
Cut off, and for the book of knowledge fair
Presented with a universal blank

Of Nature's works to me expung'd and raz'd;
And wisdom, at one entrance, quite shut out.

So much the rather thou, celestial Light,

Shine inward, and the Mind through all her powers

Irradiate, there plant eyes, all mist from thence
Purge and disperse, that I may see and tell
Of things invisible to mortal sight.

LUCY.

WORDSWORTH.

Three years she grew in sun and shower,
Then nature said, "a lovelier flower

On earth was never sown;
This child I to myself will take;
She shall be mine, and I will make
A lady of my own.

"Myself will to my darling be
Both law and impulse: and with me
The girl, in rock and plain,
In earth and heaven, in glade and bower,
Shall feel an overseeing power
To kindle and restrain.

"She shall be sportive as the fawn
That wild with glee across the lawn
Or up the mountain springs;
And hers shall be the breathing balm
And hers the silence and the calm
Of mute insensate things.

"The floating clouds their state shall lend
To her; for her the willow bend;
Nor shall she fail to see
Even in the motions of the storm

Grace that shall mould the maiden's form
By silent sympathy.

"The stars of midnight shall be dear
To her; and she shall lean her ear
In many a secret place
Where rivulets dance their wayward round;
And beauty, born of murmuring sound,
Shall pass into her face.

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"And vital feelings of delight
Shall rear her form to stately height,
Her virgin bosom swell;
Such thoughts to Lucy I will give
While she and I together live,

Here in this happy dell."

Thus Nature spake.

The work was done

How soon my Lucy's race was run!

She died, and left to me

This health, this calm and quiet scene;

The memory of what has been,

And never more will be.

ALEXANDER'S FEAST.

DRYDEN.

"Twas at the royal feast for Persia won

By Philip's warlike son:

Aloft, in awful state,

The godlike hero sat

On his imperial throne;

His valiant peer's were plac'd around,

Their brows with roses and with myrtle bound:
So should desert in arms be crown'd.

The lovely Thais, by his side,
Sat, like a blooming eastern bride,
In flower of youth, and beauty's pride.

Happy, happy, happy pair!

None but the brave, -none but the brave,-none but

the brave deserves the fair!

Timotheous, plac'd on high,

Amid the tuneful choir,

With flying fingers touch'd the lyre;

The trembling notes ascend the sky,
And heavenly joys inspire.

The song began from Jove!
Who left his blissful seats above-
Such is the power of mighty love!-
A dragon's fiery form bely'd the god:
Sublime, on radiant spires, he rode,

When he to fair Olympia press'd;
And, while he sought her snowy breast,
Around her slender waist he curl'd,

And stamp'd an image of himself, a sovereign of the

world!

The listening crowd admire the lofty sound;

A present deity! they shout around,

A present deity! the vaulted roofs rebound.

With ravish'd ears,

The monarch hears,
Assumes the God,
Affects to nod,

And seems to shake the spheres.

The praise of Bacchus, then, the sweet musician

sung:

Of Bacchus ever fair and ever young..

The jolly god, in triumph comes;

Sound the trumpets, beat the drums!

Flush'd with a purple grace,

He shows his honest face:

Now give the hautboys breath; he comes!-he comes!

Bacchus, ever fair and young,

Drinking joys did first ordain:

Bacchus' blessings are a treasure,

Drinking is the soldier's pleasure!

Rich the treasure

Sweet the pleasure;

Sweet is pleasure after pain.

Sooth'd with the sound, the king grew vain;
Fought all his battles o'er again:

And thrice he routed all his foes; and thrice he slew

the slain.

The master saw the madness rise,

His glowing cheeks, his ardent eyes;
And while he heaven and earth defy'd,
Chang'd his hand, and check'd his pride.

He chose a mournful muse,
Soft pity to infuse,