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every thing. It is diverting enough to see a Philadel phian at New York; he walks the streets with as much painful caution as if his toes were covered with corns, 'or his feet lamed with the gout; while a New Yorker, as 5 little approving the plain masonry of Philadelphia, shuffles along the pavement, like a parrot on a mahogany table.

It must be acknowledged, that the ablutions I have mentioned, are attended with no small inconvenience; but 10 the women would not be induced, on any consideration, to resign their privilege. Notwithstanding this, I can give you the strongest assurances that the women of America make the most faithful wives, and the most attentive mothers, in the world; and I am sure you will join 15 me in opinion, that, if a married man is made miserable only one week in a whole year, he will have no great cause to complain of the matrimonial bond.

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LESSON LXXVIII.-THE FORCE OF CURIOSITY.-CHARLES
SPRAGUE.

How swells my theme! how vain my power I find,
To track the windings of the curious mind!
Let aught be hid, though useless, nothing boots,
Straightway it must be pluck'd up by the roots.
How oft we lay the volume down to ask

Of him, the victim in the Iron Mask;

The crusted medal rub with painful care,

To spell the legend out,-that is not there;

With dubious gaze o'er mossgrown tombstones bend
10 To find a name-the herald never penned;
Dig through the lava-deluged city's breast,
Learn all we can, and wisely guess the rest:
Ancient or modern, sacred or profane,

All must be known, and all obscure made plain;

15 If 't was a pippin tempted Eve to sin,

If glorious Byron drugged his muse with gin;
If Troy e'er stood, if Shakspeare stole a deer,
If Israel's missing tribes found refuge here;
If like a villain Captain Henry lied,
20 If like a martyr Captain Morgan died.
Its aim oft idle, lovely in its end,

We turn to look, then linger to befriend;

The maid of Egypt thus was led to save
A nation's future leader from the wave;
New things to hear when erst the Gentiles ran,
Truth closed what Curiosity began.

5 How many a noble art, now widely known,
Owes its young impulse to this power alone;
Even in its slightest working we may trace
A deed that changed the fortunes of a race;
Bruce, banned and hunted on his native soil,
10 With curious eye surveyed a spider's toil;

Six times the little climber strove and failed;
Six times the chief before his foes had quailed;
"Once more," he cried, "in thine my doom I read,
Once more I dare the fight if thou succeed;"
15 'Twas done: the insect's fate he made his own:
Once more the battle waged, and gained a throne.
Behold the sick man in his easy chair;
Barred from the busy crowd and bracing air,
How every passing trifle proves its power
20 To while away the long, dull, lazy hour!
As down the pane the rival rain-drops chase,
Curious he'll watch to see which wins the race;
And let two dogs beneath his window fight,
He'll shut his Bible to enjoy the sight.

25 So with each newborn nothing rolls the day,
Till some kind neighbor stumbling in his way,
Draws up his chair, the sufferer to amuse,
And makes him happy, while he tells-The News.
The News! our morning, noon, and evening cry;

30 Day unto day repeats it till we die.

For this the cit, the critic, and the fop,
Dally the hour away in Tonsor's shop;
For this the gossip takes her daily route,
And wears your threshold and your patience out;

35 For this we leave the parson in the lurch,
And pause to prattle on the way to church;
Even when some coffined friend we gather round,
We ask, "What news?"-then lay him in the ground;
To this the breakfast owes its sweetest zest,

40 For this the dinner cools, the bed remains unpressed.

LESSON LXXIX.-THE WINDS.-W. C. BRYANT.

Ye winds, ye unseen currents of the air, Softly ye played a few brief hours ago; Ye bore the murmuring bee; ye tossed the hair 'er maiden cheeks, that took a fresher glow; 5 Ye rolled the round white cloud through depths of blue; Ye shook from shaded flowers the lingering dew; Before you the catalpa's blossoms flew,

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Light blossoms, dropping on the grass like snow.

How are ye changed! Ye take the cataract's sound; Ye take the whirlpool's fury and its might; The mountain shudders as ye sweep the ground; The valley woods lie prone beneath your flight. The clouds before you shoot like eagles past; The homes of men are rocking in your blast; 15 Ye lift the roofs like autumn leaves, and cast, Skyward, the whirling fragments out of sight.

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The

weary fowls of heaven make wing in vain,
To scape your wrath; ye seize and dash them dead.
Against the earth ye drive the rearing rain;

The harvest field becomes a river's bed;
And torrents tumble from the hills around;
Plains turn to lakes, and villages are drowned;
And wailing voices, midst the tempest's sound,
Rise, as the rushing waters swell and spread.

25 Ye dart upon the deep; and straight is heard
A wilder rear; and men grow pale, and
pray:
Ye fling its floods around you, as a bird

Flings o'er his shivering plumes the fountain's spray.
See! to the breaking mast the sailer clings;

30 Ye scoop the ocean to its briny springs,

And take the mountain billow on your wings,
And pile the wreck of navies round the bay.

Why rage ye thus ?-no strife for liberty

Has made you mad; no tyrant, strong through fear, 35 Has chained your pinions till ye wrenched them free, And rushed into the unmeasured atmosphere:

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For ye were born in freedom where ye blow;
Free o'er the mighty deep to come and go;

Earth's solemn woods were yours, her wastes of snow,
Her isles where summer blossoms all the year.

ye

wild winds! a mightier Power than yours In chains upon the shore of Europe lies; The sceptred throng, whose fetters he endures, Watch his mute throws with terror in their eyes; 5 And armed warriors all around him stand, And, as he struggles, tighten every band, And lift the heavy spear, with threatening hand, To pierce the victim, should he strive to rise. Yet oh! when that wronged Spirit of our race, Shall break, as soon he must, his long-worn chains And leap in freedom from his prison-place,

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Lord of his ancient hills and fruitful plains,
Let him not rise, like these mad winds of air,
To waste the loveliness that time could spare,
To fill the earth with wee, and blot her fair

Unconscious breast with blood from human veins.

But may he like the Spring-time come abroad,
Who crumbles winter's gyves with gentle might,
When in the genial breeze, the breath of God,

Come spouting up the unsealed springs to light;
Flowers start from their dark prisons at his feet,
The woods, long dumb, awake to hymnings sweet,
And morn and eve, whose glimmerings almost meet,
Crowd back to narrow bounds the ancient night.

LESSON LXXX.-DAYBREAK.-RICHARD H. DANA, sen. "The Pilgrim they laid in a large upper chamber, whose window opened towards the sun rising: the name of the chamber was Peace; where he slept till break of day, and then he awoke and ·."— The Pilgrim's Progress.

sang."

Now, brighter than the host that all night long,

In fiery armor, up the heavens high

Stood watch, thou comest to wait the morning's song,
Thou comest to tell me day again is nigh.

5 Star of the dawning, cheerful is thine eye;
And yet in the broad day it must grow dim.
Thou seem'st to look on me, as asking why
My mourning eyes with silent tears do swim ;
Thou bid'st me turn to God, and seek my rest in Him.
"Canst thou grow sad," thou say'st, "as earth grows
bright?

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And sigh, when little birds begin discourse

In quick, low voices, ere the streaming light

Pours on their nests, as sprung from day's fresh source! With creatures innocent thou must perforce

A sharer be, if that thine heart be pure. 5 And holy hour like this, save sharp remorse, Of ills and pains of life must be the cure,

And breathe in kindred calm, and teach thee to endure.”

I feel its calm. But there's a sombrous hue Along that eastern cloud of deep, dull red; 10 Nor glitters yet the cold and heavy dew;

And all the woods and hilltops stand outspread With dusky lights, which warmth nor comfort shed. Still,-s -save the bird that scarcely lifts its song,The vast world seems the tomb of all the dead,15 The silent city emptied of its throng,

And ended, all alike, grief, mirth, love, hate, and wrong.

But wrong, and hate, and love, and grief, and mirth,
Will quicken soon; and hard, hot toil and strife,
With headlong purpose, shake this sleeping earth
20 With discord strange, and all that man calls life.
With thousand scattered beauties nature's rife,
And airs, and woods, and streams breathe harmonies;
Man weds not these, but taketh art to wife;

Nor binds his heart with soft and kindly ties:

25 He feverish, blinded, lives, and, feverish, sated, dies.

And 't is because man useth so amiss

Her dearest blessings, Nature seemeth sad;
Else why should she in such fresh hour as this
Not lift the veil, in revelation glad,

30 From her fair face? It is that man is mad!

Then chide me not, clear star, that I repine

When Nature grieves: nor deem this heart is bad.

Thou look'st towards earth; but yet the heavens are thine,
While I to earth am bound: When will the heavens be

mine?

35 If man would but his finer nature learn,

And not in life fantastic lose the sense

Of simpler things; could Nature's features stern
Teach him be thoughtful; then, with soul intense,
I should not yearn for God to take me hence,

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