the characters in me. They were like letters cut in the bark of a young tree, which, with the tree, still grow roportionably. But how this love came to be produ ed in me so early, is a hard question; I befieve an tell the particular little chance that filled my hed first with such chimes of verse, as have never since left ringing there; for I remember when I began to read, and take some pleasure in it, there was wont to lie in my mother's parlour-I know not by what accident, for she herself never in her life read any book but of devotion—but there was wont to lie Spencer's works; this I happened to fall upon, and was infinitely delighted with the stories of the knights, and giants, and monsters, and brave houses which I found everywhere there—though my under. standing had little to do with all this-and by degrees, with the tinkling of the rhyme, and dance of the numbers; so that I think I had read him all over before I was twelve years old. With these affections of mind, and my heart wholly set upon letters, I went to the university; but was soon torn from thence by that public violent storm, which would suffer nothing to stand where it did, but rootod up every plant even from the princely cedars, to me, the hyssop. Yet I had as good fortune as could have befallen me in such a tempest; for I was cast by it into the family of one of the best persons, and into the court of one of the best princesses in the world. Now, though I was here engaged in ways most contrary to the original design of my life; that is, into much company, and no small business, and into a daily sight of greatness-both militant and triumphant-for that was the state then of the English and the French courts-yet all this was so far from altering my opinion, that it only added the confirmation of reason to that which was before but natural inclination. I saw plainly all the paint of that kind of life the nearer I came to it; and that beauty which I did not fall in love with, when, for aught I knew, it was real, was not like to bewitch or entice me when I saw it was adulterate. I met with several great persons, whom I liked very well, but could not perceive that any part of their greatness was to be liked or desired, no more than I would be glad or content to be in a storm, though I saw many ships which rid safely and bravely in it. A storm would not agree with my stomach, if it did with my courage; though I was in a crowd of as good company as could be found anywhere, though I was in business of great and honorable trust, though I eat at the best table, and enjoyed the best conveniences for present subsistence that ought to be desired by a man of my condition, in banishment and public distresses; yet I could not abstain from renewing my old schoolboy's wish, in a copy of verses to the same effect: advantage from his majesty's happy restoration, bu the getting into some moderately convenient retreat in the country, which I thought in that case I might easily have compassed, as well as some others, who, with no greater probabilities or pretences, have arrived to extraordinary fortunes. But I had before written a shrewd prophecy against myself, and I think Apollo inspired me in the truth, though not in the elegance of it: Thou neither great at court nor in the war, Content thyself with the small barren praise However, by the falling of the forces which I had expected, I did not quit the design which I had resolved on; I cast myself into a corpus perditum, without making capitulations, or taking counsel of fortune. But God laughs at man, who says to his soul, 'Take thy ease;' I met presently not only with many little incumbrances and impediments, but with so much sickness-a new misfortune to me--as would have spoiled the happiness of an emperor as well as mine. Yet I do neither repent nor alter my course; A on ego perfidum dixi sacramentum [I have not falsely sworn]. Nothing shall separate me from a mistress which I have loved so long, and have now at last married; though she neither has brought me a rich portion, nor lived yet so quietly with me as I hoped from her. Nor by me e'er shall you, You of all names the sweetest and the best, AN ELOQUENT PASSAGE. GEORGE D. PRENTISS. It cannot be that earth is man's only abiding place. It cannot be that our life is a mere bubble cast up by eternity to float a moment on the waves and sink into nothingness. Else why is it that the glorious aspirations which leap like angels from the temple of our hearts are forever wandering unsatisfied? Why is it that the stars that hold their festival around the midnight throne are set above the grasp of our limited faculties, forever mocking us with their unapproachable glory? And finally, why is it that bright forms of human beauty presented to our view are taken from us, leaving the thousand streams of our affections to flow back in Alpine torrents upon our hearts? There is a realm where the rainbow never fades; where the stars will spread out before us like the islands that slumber in the ocean; and where the beautiful beings which pass before us like And I never then proposed to myself any other shadows will stay in our presence forever. Well, then, I now do plainly see This busy world and I shall ne'er agree, &c. For thee, who, mindful of the unhonoured dead, Haply some hoary-headed swain may say; 'Oft have we seen him at the peep of dawn Brushing with hasty steps the dews away, To meet the sun upon the upland lawn. 'There at the foot of yonder nodding beech, That wreathes its old fantastic roots so high, His listless length at noontide would he stretch, And pore upon the brook that babbles by. 'Hard by yon wood, now smiling as in scorn, Muttering his wayward fancies he would rove; Now drooping, woful, wan, like one forlorn, Or crazed with care, or crossed in hopeless love. 'One morn I missed him on the customed hill, Along the heath and near his favourite tree; Another came; nor yet beside the rill, Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he; 'The next, with dirges due, in sad array, Slow through the churchway path we saw him borne; Approach and read—for thou canst read-the lay THE EI APH. Here rests his head upon the lap of Earth, Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere, He gained from Heaven-'twas all he wished-a friend. No further seek his merits to disclose, Or draw his frailties from their dread abodeThere they alike in trembling hope reposeThe bosom of his Father and his God. PLEASURES OF MEMORY. SAMUEL ROGERS. Twilight's soft dews steal o'er the village green, With treasured tales and legendary lore. Mark yon old mansion frowning through the trees, Once the calm scene of many a simple sport; As when in ocean sinks the orb of day, Down by yon hazel copse, at evening, blazed Whose dark eyes flashed through locks of blackest shade, When in the breeze the distant watch-dog brayed; And traced the line of life with searching view, How throbbed my fluttering pulse with hopes and fears, To learn the color of my future years! Ah, then, what honest triumph flushed my breast; |