But in this page a record will I seek. Not in the air shall these my words disperse, Though I be ashes; a far hour shall wreak The deep prophetic fullness of this verse, And pile on human heads the mountain of my curse!

That curse shall be forgiveness.-Have I not-
Hear me, my mother Earth! behold it, Heaven!-
Have I not had to wrestle with my lot?

Have I not suffered things to be forgiven?
Have I not had my brain seared, my heart riven,
Hopes sapped, name blighted, life's life lied away?
And only not to desperation driven,
Because not altogether of such clay

As rots into the souls of those whom I survey.

But I have lived, and have not lived in vain : My mind may lose its force, my blood its fire, And my frame perish even in conquering pain, But there is that within me which shall tire Torture and time, and breathe when I expire; Something unearthly, which they deem not of, Like the remembered tone of a mute lyre, Shall on their softened spirits sink, and move In hearts all rocky now, the late remorse of love.

LESSON LXXXV.

SYMPATHY.

The following amusing Satire upon what may be called poetical despair or affected misanthropy, was written by the excellent BISHOP HEBER. The pupil must be careful to distinguish the speakers by a suitable variation of voice.

A knight and a lady once met in a grove,
While each was in quest of a fugitive love;
A river ran mournfully murmuring by,
And they wept in its waters for sympathy.

"O never was knight such a sorrow that bore!"
"O never was maid so deserted before!"
"From life and its woes let us instantly fly,
And jump in together for company!"

They searched for an eddy that suited the deed,
But here was a bramble and there was a weed;
"How tiresome it is!" said the fair with a sigh;
So they sat down to rest them in company.

They gazed on each other, the maid and the knight; How fair was her form, and how goodly his height! "One mournful embrace!" sobbed the youth,

die!"

So kissing and crying kept company!

"O, had I but loved such an angel as you!"

66

66

O, had but my swain been a quarter as true!" "To miss such perfection how blinded was I!" Sure now they were excellent company!

ere we

At length spoke the lass, 'twixt a smile and a tear,
"The weather is cold for a watery bier;
When summer returns we may easily die,
Till then let us sorrow in company!"

LESSON LXXXVI.

THE ART OF BOOK-KEEPING.

The wit of the following piece lies in its puns, which have been explained at lesson 67. It may be necessary for the teacher to explain to the young pupil the point of each pun, although it is marked as far as practicable by italic letters. Campbell is pronounced Camel.

How hard, when those who do not wish
To lend, that is, to lose, their books,
Are snared by anglers-folks that fish.
With literary hooks.

A circulating library

Is mine—my birds are flown; There's one odd volume left, to be Like all the rest,-a-lone.

New tales and novels you may shut
From view-'t is all in vain ;

They're gone-and though the leaves "are cut,"
They never come again."

66

For pamphlets lent, I look around;
For tracts, my tears are spilt;

But when they take a book that's bound,
'Tis surely extra-guilt.

O'er everything, however slight,

They seized some airy trammel;

They snatched my " Hogg" and " Fox," one night, And pocketed my "Campbell."

They picked my " Locke," to me far more

Than patent locks are worth; And now my losses I deplore

Without a "Home" on earth.

If once a book you let them lift,
Another they conceal;

For though I caught them stealing "Swift,"
As swiftly went my " Steele."

66

Hope" is not now upon my shelf,

Where late he stood elated;

But what is strange, my " Pope" himself
Is excommunicated.

My life is wasting fast away

To suffer from these shocks;

And though I've fixed a lock on " Gray,”
There's grey upon my
locks.

But still they've made me slight returns,
And thus my griefs divide;

For, oh! they've cured me of my " Burns,”
And eased my "Akenside.”

But more, I think, I shall not say,
Nor let my anger burn,

For as they never found me " Gay,"

They have not left

me "Sterne."

LESSON LXXXVII.

THE APPLICATION OF PHRENOLOGY.

The following good natured hit at the new science, was taken from the LITERARY GAZETTE. It must be spoken by a lad, and that not young one. The German name of Spurzheim is pronounced Spurtz

a

hame,

Away with all doubt and misgiving,

Now lovers must woo by the book—
There's an end to all trick and deceiving,
No man can be caught by a look.
Bright eyes or a love-breeding dimple,
No longer their witchery fling:
That lover indeed must be simple
Who yields to so silly a thing.

No more need we fly the bright glances
Whence Cupid shot arrows of yore:
To skulls let us limit our fancies,
And love by the bumps we explore!
Oh, now we can tell in a minute

What fate will be ours when we wed:

13

The heart has no passion within it
That is not engraved on the head.

The first time I studied the science
With Jane, and I can not tell how,
"Twas not till the eve of alliance

I caught the first glimpse of her brow. Causality finely expanding,

The largest, I happened to see; Such argument's far too commanding, Thought I, to be practised on me.

Then Nancy came next, and each feature
As mild as an angel's appears;

I ventured, the sweet little creature,
To take a peep over her ears;
Destructiveness, terrible omen,
Most vilely developed did lie!
(Though perhaps it is common in women,
And hearts may be all they destroy.)

The organ of Speech was in Fanny ;
I shuddered, 'twas terrible strong!
Then fled, for I'd rather that any
Than that to my wife should belong.
Locality, slily betraying

In Helen a passion to roam,
Spoke such predilection for straying,—
Thought I-she'll be never at home.

At length 'twas my lot to discover

The finest of skulls, I believe,

To please or to puzzle a lover,

That Spurzheim or Gall could conceive. "Twould take a whole age to decipher The bumps upon Emily's head; So I said, I will settle for life here, And study them-after I wed.