formed upon the best and purest classical models: his expression is always correct and chaste, but cold, and never exciting. His speeches are such that the strictest critic can hardly detect an error, or even defect of polish; but the feeling which they produce will never rise higher than that of admiration. He often convinces, but it is from the soundness of his argument, and not from his manner, the frigidity of which seems to denote a man who cares not what he says, nor what follows his exertions. And yet his natural disposition was one of lively sensibility; but the cold contact of the world, and worldly education, has reduced him to the unimpassioned utterer of frigid sentiments.

Between and beyond these two degrees are many others of different qualifications, tempers, and manners, abounding more or less in defects;-these it would be long to enumerate. Yet one reflection naturally arises from the contemplation:-Why is not this study, so important in after-life, made a part (though a subordinate part) of the education of this day? Why are we, wellinstructed in other branches, left to form our own habits in this most important pursuit? I know that there are those who will defend this omission, by asserting that youth is the time for the acquisition, not the exhibition, of knowledge; that we are then not to study the means of communicating, but of acquiring, our information. But it is well known that, after a certain time, the youth of this age provide for themselves the means of practice in that art in which their education denies them complete instruction. To this they bring much of the errors they have acquired,— much of the incompetency of judgment to which such experience as theirs is liable. Would it not, then, be wise that a moderate and judicious system of instruction in this most important study be added to the already-received education, that their minds may not be entirely left to their own resources, and abandoned to their natural inexperience, or unavoidable errors? And would it not be a desirable thing, in those who have these matters in their hands, to teach those whom they guide not only to understand and relish, but also to imitate and emulate

SONG.

WRITTEN ON THE MARRIAGE OF A YOUNG LADY OF SEVENTEEN.

I LOVE the green old ivy, for around the oak he clings,
Not only while the summer sun o'er earth his radiance flings;
Not only while among the leaves the song-bird loves to play,
And carol forth, o'er hill and vale, in harmony his lay;
But even when the wintry blast is heard upon the hill,
And frost hath spread his icy chain o'er every crystal rill;
Amid the drear and stormy blast still faithfully clings he,
An emblem of fidelity, around the old oak tree.

I love the green old ivy, for he spurns the cherished bower,
And loves to twine his slender ties around the ancient tower;

And there, amid the ruin and the desolated hall,

He spreads his verdant branches o'er the old and crumbling wall.

Oh! thus should friendship, when the hours of youth and hope are past,
And o'er the wearied spirit age and sorrow come at last,

Cling fondly round the kindred heart, and, in affliction, be
What still the faithful ivy is to tower and to tree.

C. H. H.

RELIGION.

Rest! to the wearied one, even on earth,

Hope! when all else is gone, smiles on thy birth.
Heav'n's best and purest gift, spirit of love!
Thou dost the soul uplift to realms above.
Shrived in our inmost heart, holy and pure,
Thou dost the peace impart e'er to endure.

F. W.

THE ANGEL.

AN OASIS in the desert; scattered among the luxurious foliage of the East, are flowers of every clime: the jasmine there encircles the stem of the lofty palm, and the rose blushes at its foot; the clear spring gushes in melody forth among myrtles, and dewy honeysuckle is entwined with the tendrils of the spreading gourd.

Amid that Eden in the wilderness, which her presence had created, stood an angel form robed in raiment of light; around her lily brow was wreathed the flower that blooms but in heaven— the flower that earth hath lost-immortal amaranth; upon that brow it opened forth its sacred petals, and there its choicest fragrance was exhaled.

And Love was at that spirit's heart, and she sought the abode of men. From afar off she saw the busy world, and beheld hearts sere and black; she joined the throng, sought companions and

As she approached, the wintry chill and the blast of autumn faded from every soul; at her touch spring, summer, bloomed again. As a thin cloud, that pours in its course a grateful shower over the parched meads, so was her passage through the world, until she returned to heaven.

Such beings the merciful God sends, at times, among his creatures, to purify, by their presence, the souls of men. While they live we learn to love them, and, when lost, we recognise their holy mission; while, as we mark by the bright hearts they made, the scene of their hallowed labours, we acknowledge, with the reverence of affection, that here there hath been-an angel upon earth!

HAL.

THE ROBBERS.

(Translated from the German of Friedrich Von Schiller.)

ACT IV.

SCENE V.-A Forest. The Ruins of a Castle in the midst. Night. The ROBBERS encamped upon the ground.

ROBBERS sing.

IN murder, plunder, and in strife,
So we pass our time away :
The gallows soon may end our life,
Let us then be glad to-day.

We lead a life that's brave and free,
Its pleasure hath no bound;
At night, we love abroad to be

With the wild wind whistling round.

We care not in the night to sleep,

But by the moonlight watch we keep.

We dine with the farmer, or with the priest,

We dine wherever we find a feast;

As to what follows, we have the good sense

To trust it all to providence.

When we quaff the goblet bright,

And our thirsty throats we lave,

Rises then our spirits' might,

And our hearts are strong and brave.

The wounded father's bitter sigh,

The mother's shriek of fear,

The helpless orphan's wailing cry,
Is music for our ear.

And when at last our time is up,

Our course we will not alter;
We'll welcome, with a sparkling cup,
The scaffold and the halter.

Merrily, merrily will we sing,

And boldly take the fatal swing,

And shout huzza! as off we spring.

SCHWEIT. It is night, and the captain is not yet here.
RAZ. And he promised to meet us by eight o'clock.

SCHWEIT. If harm hath happened to him-comrades! we will burn, and murder even the suckling.

SPIE. (takes Razman aside.) A word with you, Razman.

SCHWEIT. (to Grimm.) Shall we not send out spies?

GRIMM. Let him be. He will do something that will shame us. SCHWEIT. Thou art right, by the devil! He went not away from us as one who designed a knavish trick. Hast thou forgotten what he said, as he led us over the heath?" Who steals but a turnip out of a field, if I know it, leaves his head here, as true as my name is Moor."-We may not rob.

T

RAZ. (to Spiegelberg.) What mean you ?-speak plainer. SPIE. Hist! hist!-I know not what ideas you or I have about freedom, that we should be driven like beasts, and then declaim wonderfully about independence. It pleases me not. SCHWEIT. (to Grimm.) What has the fool got in his head? RAZ. (to Spiegelberg.) You speak of the captain. SPIE, Hist! hist!-He hath ears among us. thou? Who hath made him captain over us; or hath he not usurped the title that by right is mine? How?-shall we risk our lives for this-bear all the spleen of fortune for this-that at last we should have the good fortune to be the bondmen of a slave ?— Bondmen, when we might be princes? By God, Razman, that never pleased me,

Captain, sayest

SCHWEIT. (to the others.) Yes; you are the right hero for me, to smash frogs with a stone: why, the sound of his nose when he sneezes, would drive you through the eye of a needle.

:

SPIE. (to Razman.) Yes, and for years I have thought of it: it shall be different, Razman-if thou art what I take thee for Razman! They miss him-they half account him lost it seems to me, his dark hour striketh. How? Doth not thy colour once rise, as the bell of freedom soundeth to thee? courage enough to understand a bold hint?

Hast thou not

soul?

I have marked

RAZ. Ha, Satan! whither dost thou tempt my SPIE. Hath it caught?-Good! then follow. where he went-come! Two pistols seldom fail; and then-we are the first to strangle the suckling.

SCHWEIT. (draws his knife.) Ha, beast! Well dost thou remind me of the Bohemian forest. Wast not thou the coward who began to faint when they cried, "The enemy cometh !" I cursed thee then in my soul. Away, assassin. (Stabs him.) ROBBERS (in confusion.) Murder! Spiegelberg-separate them.

L

murder! Schweitzer

SCHWEIT. (throws down his knife.) There! And so perish thou. Quiet, comrades-let the beggar lie. The beast was always