the quality of his manufacture, while he shortens the process and diminishes his own labour. Then labour becomes sweet to him; it is accompanied by the consciousness of increasing power; it is leading him forward to a higher place among his fellow men. Relaxation, too, is sweet to him, as it enables him to add to his intellectual stores, and to mature, by undisturbed meditation, the plans and conceptions of the hour of labour.

8. His home has acquired a new charm; for he is become a man of thought, and feels and enjoys the peace and seclusion of that sacred retreat; and he carries thither the honest complacency, which is the companion of well-earned success. There, too, bright visions of the future sphere open upon him, and excite a kindly feeling towards those who are to share in his prosperity.

9. Thus his mind and heart expand together. He has be come an intelligent being, and, while he has learned to esteem himself, he has also learned to live no longer for himself alone. Society opens like a new world to him; he looks upon his fellow creatures with interest and sympathy, and feels that he has a place in their affections and respect.

10. Temptations assail him in vain. He is armed by high and pure thoughts. He takes a wider view of his relations with the beings about and above him. He welcomes every generous virtue that adorns and dignifies the human character. He delights in the exercise of reason. He glories in the consciousness and the hope of immortality.-G. B. EMERSON.

Of

LESSON CXXI.

On Early Rising.

1. RISE with the lark, and with the lark to bed.
The breath of night is destructive to the hue
every flower that blows. Go to the field,
And ask the humble daisy why it sleeps,
Soon as the sun departs: Why close the eyes
Of blossoms infinite, ere the still moon
Her oriental veil puts off?

Think why,

Nor let the sweetest blossom be exposed
That nature boasts, to night's unkindly damp.
Well may it droop, and all its freshness lose,
Compelled to taste the rank and poisonous steam

3.

Of midnight theatre, and morning ball.
Give to repose the solemn hour she claims;
And, from the forehead of the morning, steal
The sweet occasion. Oh! there is a charm
That morning has, that gives the brow of age
A smack of youth, and makes the lip of youth
Breathe perfumes exquisite.

Expect it not,
Ye who, till noon, upon a down-bed lie,
Indulging feverish sleep, or, wakeful, dream
Of happiness no mortal heart has felt,
But in the regions of romance.
Ye fair,
Like you it must be wooed or never won;
And, being lost, it is in vain ye ask
For milk of roses and Olympian dew.
Cosmetick art no tincture can afford,
The faded features to restore: no chain,
Be it of gold, and strong as adamant,
Can fetter beauty to the fair one's will.-HURDIS.

LESSON CXXII.

A West Indian Landscape.

1. In order to make our readers better acquainted with this country, we shall attempt to describe a morning in the Antilles. For this purpose, let us watch the moment when the sun, appearing through a cloudless and serene atmosphere, illumines with his rays the summits of the mountains, and gilds the leaves of the plantain and orange trees. The plants are spread over with gossamer of fine and transparent silk, or gemmed with dew-drops and the vivid hues of industrious insects reflecting unnumbered teints from the rays of the sun.

2. The aspect of the richly cultivated valleys is different, but not less pleasing; the whole of nature teems with the most varied productions. It often happens, after the sun has dissipated the mist above the crystal expanse of the ocean, that the scene is changed by an optical illusion. The spectator obsérves sometimes a sand-bank rising out of the deep, or distant canoes in the red clouds, floating in an aerial sea, while their shadows, at the same time, are accurately delineated below them. This phenomenon, to which the French have given the name of mirage, is not uncommon in equatorial climates.

3. Europeans may admire the views in this Archipelago during the cool temperature of the morning: the lofty mountains are adorned with thick foliage; the hills, from their summits to the very borders of the sea, are fringed with plants of neverfading verdure; the mills, and sugar-works hear them, are obscured by their branches, or buried in their shade:

the

4. The appearance of the valleys is remarkable. To form even an imperfect idea of it, we must group together the palm tree, the cocoa-nut, and mountain cabbage, with the tamarind, orange, and the waving plumes of the bamboo-cane. Fields of sugar-cane, the houses of the planters, the huts of the negroes, and the distant coast lined with ships, add to the beauty of a West Indian landscape. At sunrise, when no breeze ripples the surface of the ocean, it is frequently so transparent, that one can perceive, as if there were no intervening medium, the channel of the water, and observe the shellfish scattered on the rocks, or reposing on the sand.

5. A hurricane is generally preceded by an awful stillness of the elements; the air becomes close and heavy; the sun is red; and the stars at night seem unusually large. Frequent changes take place in the thermometer, which rises sometimes from eighty to ninety degrees. Darkness extends over the earth; the higher regions gleam with lightning.

6. The impending storm is first observed on the sea: foaming thountains rise suddenly from its clear and motionless surface. The wind rages with unrestrained fury: its noise may be compared to distant thunder. The rain descends in torrents; shrubs and lofty trees are borne down by the mountain stream į the rivers overflow their banks, and submerge the plains.

7. Terrour and consternation seem to pervade the whole of animated nature; land birds are driven into the ocean, and those whose element is the sea, seek for refuge in the woods. The frighted beasts of the field herd together, of roam in vain for a place of shelter. It is not a contest of two opposite winds, or a roaring ocean that shakes the earth: all the elements are thrown into confusion; the equilibrium of the atmosphere seems as if it were destroyed; and nature appears to hasten to her ancient thaos.

8. Scenes of sudden desolation have often been disclosed in these islands to the morning's sun: uprooted trees, branches shivered from their trunks, and the ruins of houses, have been strewed over the land. The planter is sometimes unable to distinguish the place of his former possessions. Fertile valleys are changed in a few hours into dreary wastes, covered with the carcasses of domestick animals, and the fowls of heaven.

MALTE-BRUN.

LESSON CXXIII.

Supposed Speech of John Adams in favour of the Declaration of Independence.

1. SINK or swim, live or die, survive or perish, I give my hand, and my heart, to this vote. It is true, indeed, that in the beginning, we aimed not at independence. But there is a Divinity which shapes our ends. The injustice of England has driven us to arms; and, blinded to her own interest, for our good she has obstinately persisted, till independence is now within our grasp. We have but to reach forth to it, and it is

ours.

2. Why then should we defer the declaration? Is any man so weak as now to hope for a reconciliation with England, which shall leave either safety to the country and its liberties, or safety to his own life, and his own honour? Are not you, sir, who sit in that chair; is not he, our venerable colleague, near you; are you not both already the proscribed and predestined objects of punishment and vengeance? Cut off from all hope of royal clemency, what are you, what can you be, while the power of England remains, but outlaws?

3. If we postpone independence, do we mean to carry on, or to give up, the war? Do we mean to submit to the measures of parliament, Boston port-bill and all? Do we mean to submit, and consent that we ourselves shall be ground to powder, and our country and its rights trodden down in the dust? I know we do not mean to submit. We never shall submit.

4. Do we intend to violate that most solemn obligation ever entered into by men, that plighting, before God, of our sacred honour to Washington, when putting him forth to incur the dangers of war, as well as the political hazards of the times, we promised to adhere to him, in every extremity, with our fortunes and our lives? I know there is not a man here, who would not rather see a general conflagration sweep over the land, or an earthquake sink it, than one jot or tittle of that plighted faith fall to the ground.

5. For myself, having, twelve months ago, in this place, moved you, that George Washington be appointed commandet of the forces, raised, or to be raised, for the defence of American liberty, may my right hand forget her cunning, and my tongue cleave to the roof of my mouth, if I hesitate or waver, in the support I give him. The war, then, must go on. We must fight it through. And, if the war must go on, why put off

longer the declaration of independence? That measure will strengthen us: it will give us character abroad.

6. The nations will then treat with us, which they never can do while we acknowledge ourselves subjects, in arms against our sovereign. Nay, I maintain that England, herself, will sooner treat for peace with us on the footing of independence, than consent, by repealing her acts, to acknowledge, that her whole conduct towards us has been a course of injustice and oppression.

7. Her pride will be less wounded, by submitting to that course of things which now predestinates our independence, than by yielding the points in controversy to her rebellious subjects. The former she would regard as the result of fortune; the latter she would feel as her own deep disgrace. Why then, why then, sir, do we not, as soon as possible, change this from a civil to a national war? And since we must fight it through, why not put ourselves in a state to enjoy all the benefits of victory, if we gain the victory?

8. If we fail, it can be no worse for us. But we shall not fail. The cause will raise up armies; the cause will create navies. The people, the people, if we are true to them, will carry us, and will carry themselves, gloriously through this struggle. I care not how fickle other people have been found.

9. I know the people of these colonies, and I know, that resistance to British aggression is deep and settled in their hearts, and cannot be eradicated. Every colony, indeed, has expressed its willingness to follow, if we but take the lead. Sir, the declaration will inspire the people with increased courage. Instead of a long and bloody war for restoration of privileges, for redress of grievances, for chartered immunities, held under a British king, set before them the glorious object of entire independence, and it will breathe into them anew the breath of life.

10. Read this declaration at the head of the army; every sword will be drawn from its scabbard, and the solemn vow uttered, to maintain it, or to perish on the bed of honour. Publish it from the pulpit; religion will approve it, and the love of religious liberty will cling round it, resolved to stand with it, or fall with it. Send it to the publick halls; proclaim it there; let them hear it, who heard the first roar of the enemy's cannon; let them see it, who saw their brothers and their sons fall on the field of Bunkerhill, and in the streets of Lexington and Concord, and the very walls will cry out in its support.

11. Sir, I know the uncertainty of human affairs; but I see, I see clearly through this day's business. You and I, indeed,