The wind is high, the window shakes,
With sudden start the miser wakes.
Along the silent room he stalks;
Looks back, and trembles as he walks:
Each lock and every bolt he tries,
In every creek and corner pries,

Then opes the chest with treasure stored,
And stands in rapture o'er his hoard.
But now, with sudden qualms possest,
He wrings his hands, he beats his breast,
By conscience stung, he wildly stares;
And thus his guilty soul declares :

"Had the deep earth her stores confined,
This heart had known sweet peace of mind,
But virtue's sold. Good gods! what price
Can recompense the pangs of vice!

O bane of good! seducing cheat!

Can man, weak man, thy power defeat?
Gold banish'd honour from the mind,
And only left the name behind;
Gold sowed the world with every ill;

Gold taught the murderer's sword to kill

'Twas gold instructed coward-hearts
In treachery's more pernicious arts.
Who can recount the mischiefs o'er?
Virtue resides on earth no more!"
He spoke and sighed. In angry mood,
Plutus, his god, before him stood.
The miser trembling locked his chest.
The vision frowned, and thus addrest :
"Whence is this vile ungrateful rant?
Each sordid rascal's daily cant.

Did I, base wretch, corrupt mankind?
The fault's in thy rapacious mind.
Because my blessings are abus'd,
Must I be censur'd, curs'd, accus'd?
E'en virtue's self by knaves is made
A cloak to carry on the trade;

And power (when lodged in their possession)
Gross tyranny and rank oppression.
Thus when the villain crams his chest,
Gold is the canker of the breast,
'Tis av'rice, insolence, and pride,
And every shocking vice beside.
But when to virtuous hands 'tis given,
It blesses like the dew of heaven;
Like heaven, it hears the orphan's cries,
And wipes the tears from widows' eyes;
Their crime on gold shall misers lay,
Who pawned their sordid souls for pay?
Let bravoes, then (when blood is spilt),
Upbraid the passive sword with guilt.

Gay.

The miser blames his money for all his selfishness and meanness. Plutus, the fabled god of money, shows him it is not gold or money which is to blame, but the use we make of it is the source of all the wrong. In bad hands, money is a great curse; in good hands, it is a great blessing. We do not blame the sword that kills, but we me the arm that uses it for such a wicked purpose.

ac'-cu-rate, exact
de-fraud'-ed, cheated

pro-cras-ti-na'-tion, putting off no-to'-ri-ous, well known

1. "I am," said he, "the son of old father Time, and the last of a numerous family; for he has had no less than several thousands of us; but it has ever been his fate to see one child expire before another was born. It is the opinion of some, that his own constitution is beginning to break up, and

that when he has given birth to a hundred or two more of us, his family will be complete, and then he himself will be no more."

2. Here the Old Year called for his account book, and turned over the pages with a sorrowful eye. He has kept, it appears, an accurate account of the seconds, minutes, hours, and months, which he has issued, and subjoined in some places memorandums of the uses to which they have been applied, and of the loss he has sustained. These particulars it would be tedious to detail, but we must notice one circumstance. Upon turning to a certain page in his accounts, the old man was much affected, and the tears streamed down his furrowed cheeks as he examined it.

But

3. This was the register of the fifty-two Sundays which he had issued; and which, of all the wealth he had to dispose of, has been, it appears, the most wasted. "These," said he, "were my most precious gifts. I feel, however," said he, "more pity than indignation towards these offenders, since they were far greater enemies to themselves than to me. there are a few outrageous ones, by whom I have been defrauded of so much of my substance, that it is difficult to think of them with patience, particularly that notorious thief Procrastination, of whom everybody has heard, and who is well known to have wronged my venerable father of so much of his property.

4. "There are also Sleep, Sloth, and Pleasure, from whom I have suffered much; besides a certain busy-body called Dress, who, under the pretence

of making the most of me, and taking great care of me, steals away more of my gifts than any two of them.

5. "As for me, all must acknowledge that I have performed my part towards my friends and foes. I have fulfilled my utmost promise, and been more bountiful than many of my predecessors. My twelve fair children have each in their turn aided my exertions; and their various tastes and dispositions have all conduced to the general good.

6. "Mild February, who sprinkled the naked boughs with delicate buds, and brought her wonted offerings of early flowers, was not of more essential service than that rude blustering boy, March, who though violent in his temper, was well-intentioned and useful.

7. April, a gentle, tender-hearted girl, wept for his loss, yet cheered me with many a smile. June came, crowned with roses and sparkling in sunbeams, and laid up a store of costly ornaments for her luxuriant successors. But I cannot stop to enumerate the good qualities and graces of all my children. You, my poor December, dark in your complexion, and cold in your temper, greatly resemble my first-born, January, with this difference, that he was most prone to anticipation, and you to reflection.

8. "It is very likely that, at least after my decease, many may reflect upon themselves for their misconduct towards me. To such I would leave it as my dying injunction, not to waste time in unavailing regret; all their wishes and repentance