was of the number of those | good natured | creatures! that are said to | do no | harm to any but them selves. misery, by a chairman, per, ing | life." | 1| If his head was | broke or his | pocket | picked by a | sharhe comforted | himself | by | imitating || the Hibernian | dialect of the one, or the more | fashionable | cant of the | other. |1| Nothing | came a- | miss to him. |11|77| His inattention to | money matters censed his father |to| such a de- | gree, all inter- cession of | friends, in that in his | favor, | The old gentleman | was on his | death bed. | 11|17|1 The | whole | family, and Dick | Ma-| mong the number, gathered a- | round him. | | | 9714717" I leave my second son | Andrew,"| said the ex- piring | miser," my whole es- tate; and de- sire him to be | frugal." | I to Andrew, in a | sorrowful | tone, (as is ❘ usual | on those occasions,) || prayed | heaven pro- | long his life and health to en- | joy it himself!|77|77| "I recommend | Simon, my third | son, to the care of his | elder | brother; and leave him be- | side, | four | thousand | pounds.” "Ah! | father," | cried | Simon, (in | great af-| "may | heaven | give you | to en- | joy it your- | self!" | At | last | turning to | poor | Dick, |17| "as for | you'll | never be | you, you have always been a | sad | dog; |11| you'll never come to | good; | rich; I leave you buy a halter." |11|17| a shilling, to | "Ah! | father," cries | Dick, without any emotion, "may | heaven | give you | life and | health | to enjoy it yourself!" A SUMMER EVENING'S MEDITATION. Mrs. Barbauld. Tis past; the sultry | tyrant of the | south || Has spent his | short-lived | rage.1| 1| More | grateful hours | Move | silent pel on.The skies no | more re | The dazzled sight; But with | mild | maiden | beams Of temper'd | light,| in- | vite the | cherish'd | eye To wander o'er their | sphere: where hung a loft, Dian's | bright | crescent, | like a | silver | bow New | strung in heaven, | lifts | high |its | beamy | horns, Im-patient for the night, and seems to | push Her brother | down the | sky. Fair Venus | shines Even in the eye of | day; with sweetest | beam 11 Pro- pitious | shines, and | shakes a trembling flood Of soften'd radiance from her | dewy | locks. | 771971 The shadows | spread a- | pace;1|11| pace; while | meeken'd | eve,| Her cheek yet warm with | blushes, | slow re- | tires | Through the Hes- | perian | gardens of the west, And | shuts the | gates of | day.1 |11| 1 'Tis | now the hour When contem- | plation | (from her | sunless! haunts, The cool damp | grotto, or the lonely | depth Of | unpierced | woods, where, wrapt in | silent shade, Shemused a- | way the guady | hours of noon, And fed on | thoughts | un- | ripen'd by the | sun,) Moves forward; and with | radiant | finger | points To yon blue | concave, | swell'd by breath di- | vine; Where, one by one, the living | eyes of | heaven | A-wake, quick | kindling o'er the face of ether One | boundless | blaze; || ten | thousand | trembling fires, And dancing | lustres, | where the un- | steady | eye,◄| Restless and | dazzled, | wanders | uncon- | fined | O'er all this field of | glories: | spacious | field,| And worthy of the | Master! | he | hewhose hand, |With | hiero- | glyphics | elder than the | Nile,| In- | scrib'd the | mystic | tablet, | hung on | high || To public | gaze; | and | said,~|~A- | dore O | man, | The finger of thy | God! From what | pure wells | Of milky light | what | soft o'er- | flowing | urn, Are | all these | lamps | so | fill'd? | these | friendly | lamps, For-ever streaming | o'er the | azure | deep, | To point our | path, home.1|77| and light us to our | How soft they | slide a- | long their | lucid | spheres ! | And silent as the | foot of time, ful- | fil| Their destin'd | courses. || Nature's | self | ishush'd | And | (but a | scatter'd | leaf which | rustles | through The thick-wove | foliage,) | not a | sound | is | heard To break the | midnight | air :| though the raised | ear, In- tensely listening, | drinks in | every | breath. 771771 How deep the silence, | yet how | loud the | praise! | 771771 But are they | silent | all?or | is there not | A tongue in every | star that talks with man, And woos him to be | wise?nor | woos in | vain This dead of | midnight | is the noon of! thought, And wisdom | mounts her | zenith with the | stars. 1971 At this still | hour the self-col- | lected | soul Turns inward, | and | be- | holds a | stranger | there Of high de- | scent, and | more than | mortal | rank; An embryo | God; | a | spark of | fire di- | vine, Which must burn | on for | ages, when the | sun (Fair | transitory | creature of a day?)| Has closed his | wonted | journey | through the | east. 191 Ye citadels of light, and | seats of bliss! Perhaps my | future | home, the soul, from whence | |