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Thy maidens grieved themselves at my concern,
Oft

gave me promise of thy quick return.
What ardently I wished, I long believed,5
And, disappointed still, was still deceived.
By expectation every day beguiled, a
Dupe of to-morrow even from a child :
Thus many a sad to-morrow came and went,
Till, all my stock of infant sorrow spent,
I learned, at last; submission to my lot,
But, though I less deplored thee, ne'er forgot.

4. Where once we dwelt our name is heard no more;
Children not thine have trod my nursery floor ;
And where the gardener Robin, day by day,
Drew me to school along the public way,
Delighted with my bawble coach, and wrappedm
In scarlet mantle warm, and velvet capped,m
'Tis now become a history little known,
That once we called the pastoral bouse our own.
Short-lived possession! but the record fair
That memory keeps of all thy kindness there,
Still outlives many a storm that has effaced
A thousand other themes less deeply traced.

5. Thy nightly visits to my chamber made,
That thou might'sib know me safe and warmly laid ;
Thy morning bounties ere I left my home,
The biscuit, or confectionary plum ;
The fragrant waters on my cheeks bestowed
By thy own hand, till fresh they shone and glowed :
All this, and more endearing still than all,
Thy constant flow of love, that knew no fall,a
Ne'er roughenedb by those cataracts and breaks
That humor interposed, too often makes ;
All this, still legible in memory's page,
And still to be so to my
Adds joy to duty, makes me glad to payd
Such honors to thee as my numbers may;
Perhaps a frail memorial, but sincere,
Not scorned in heaven, though little noticed here.

6. Could time, his flight reverse, restore the hours, When, playing with thy vesture's tissued flowers,

latest age,

The violet, the pink, and jessamine,
I pricked them into paper with a pin,
(And thou wast happier than myself the while,
Would'st softly speak, and stroke my head and smile,)
Could those few pleasant days again appear,
Might one wish bring them, would I wish them here?
I would not trust my heart : the dear delight
Seems so to be desired, perhaps I might-
But no—what here we call our life, is such,
So little to be loved, and thou so much,
That I should ill requite thee to restrain
Thy unbounded spirits into bonds again.

7. Thou, as a gallant bark from Albion's coast, k (The storms all weathered and the ocean cr

crossed,) Shoots into port at some well-havened isle, Where spices breathe, and brighter seasons smile, a There sits quiescent on the floods, that show Her beauteous form reflected clear below, While airs impregnated with incense play Around her, fanning light her streamers gay; So thou, with sails how swift! hast reached the shore, " Where tempests never beat, nor billows roar;"f And thy loved consort on the dangerous tide Of life, long since, has anchored by thy side.

8. But me, scarce hoping to attain that rest,
Always from port withheld, always distressed,
Me howling blasts drive devious, tempests tossed,
Sails ripped, seams opening wide, and compass lost,
And, day by day, some current's thwarting force
Sets me more distant from a prosperous course.
Yet, 0, the thought, that thou art safe, and he!
That thought is joy, arrive what may to me.
My boast is not, that I deduce my birth
From loins enthroned, and rulers of the earth;
But higher far my proud pretensions rise,
The son of parents passed into the skies.

9. And now farewell. Time unrevoked has runt
His wonted course, yet what I wished, is done.
By contemplation's help, not sought in vain,
I seem t have lived my childhood o'er again ;
To have renewed the joys that once were mine,
Without the sin of violating thine;

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And, while the wings of fancy still are free,
And I can view this mimmick show of thee,
Time has but half succeeded in his theft, f
Thyself removed, thy power to soothe me, left.

a § 25. 1. b Sound of gh? c § 26. 2. d § 26. 3. f Sound of vowel ? g § 43. 16. k 0 19. 1.

m § 47. No. 2. Roughly, childhood, immortalize, artless, disappointed, submission, prosperous, succeeded, unfelt, dangerous, renewed.

No. 3. Larn-ed for lerned, par-ent for pai-rent, hern for hers, jest for just, mornin for morning.

No. 4. Incen'se and in'cense, record and rec'ord, absent' and ab'sent. No. 6. Punctuate the first verse.

No. 7. Nag and knag, caster and castor, mark and marque, law and la, paws and pause.

No. 8. § 2. 5. 9. 15. § 5. What in a sentence requires emphasis ? No, 10. Analyze the last four lines in the lesson. No. 12. All the words in first verse. What is the opposite meaning to safe, late, slow, constant, public, round, filial, stay?

LESSON XXII.

LIES OF VANITY.

1. I shall begin by defining what I meana by the lie of vani. ty both in its active and passive natureb—these lies being undoubtedlye the most common because vanity is one of the most powerful springs of human action and is usually the besetting sin of every one suppose that in order to give myself consequence I were to assert that I was actually acquainted with certain great and distinguished personages whom I had merely met in fashionabled society suppose also I were to say that I was at such a place and such an assembly on such a night without adding that I was there not as an invited guest but simply on some temporary business in the first I should assert a direct falsehood in the other I should withhold part of the truth but both would be lies because in both my intention was to deceive.

2. But though we are frequently tempted to be guilty of the active lies of vanity, our temptations to its passive lies are more frequent still. The following are illustrations of my meaning. If I assert that my motive for a particular action was virtuous,

when I know it was wholly selfish, I am guilty of an active or direct lie. But I am equally guilty of falsehood, if, while I hear my actions praised and imputed to worthy motives, I tacitly confirm such impressions by not directly disclaiming my right to such commendation ; only, in the one case I lie directly, in the other indirectly; the lie is active in the one, in the other passive. And are we not all of us consciouse of having sometimes accepted ineense to our vanity, which we knew we did not deserve ?f

3. It is no less lamentable than true, that many, who would shrink with moral disgust from perpetrating an active lie, are apt to remain silent, when their vanity is gratified, without any overt act of deceit on their part, and are contented to let the flattering impression remain uncontradicted. Yet the turpitude is, in my opinion, at least, nearly equal, if my definition of lying be correct,--namely, the intention to deceive. I am myself also convinced that this withholding the truth, or, as it is sometimes called, “ White lying," is a sin equally as irreconcilable to moral principles, as an active lie. And although most people think differently, I cannot refrain from suggesting to such, a caution, to beware how they suffer themselves to violate truth-that is, to deceive, for any purpose whatever. I give the following story, in illustration of the Active Lie of

Vanity.

THE STAGE COACH.

4. Amongst those whom successesh in trade had raised to considerable opulence in their native city, was a gentleman by the name of Burford. Having been successful in business, he was able not only to indulge in the luxuries of a carriage, country-house, garden, hot-houses, and all the privileges which wealth bestows, but could also appropriate an ample sum to the future welfare of his children. His only daughter had been adopted when very young, by her paternal grandmother, whose fortune was employed in her son's trade, and who could well afford to take on herself all the expenses of Annabel's education.

5. But it was with painful reluctance, that Annabel's excellent mother consented to resign her child to another's care ; nor did she accede to the measure, till Mr. Burford urged the arrangement,k as being essentially necessary to the existence

of his mother, who was now in a lonely and widowed state. Annabel's mother, therefore, resigned her up, but not without a great mental conflict, only too prophetic of the mischiefs' to which she exposed her child's mind and character by this surrender of a mother's duties.m

6. The grandmother was a thoughtless, worldly woman ; the mother, a pious, conscientious, and exemplary person. With the latter, Annabel would have acquired principles,—with the former, she could only learn accomplishments. Vanity was the girl's ruling passion ; and this her grandmother fostered by every means in her power. She procured for her the most elegant dresses, and had her taught" all the fancifulo and showy accomplishments. The old lady delighted to hear her speak of herself, and boast of the compliments paid to her beauty and talents.

7. But while Annabel and her grandmother were on a visit to Mr. Burford's country-house, and while the parents were beholding with sorrow the conceits and flippancy of their only daughter, they were plunged at‘once into comparative poverty, by the ruin of some of Mr. Burford's correspondents, and by the fraudulent conduct of a friend in whom he had trusted. In a few short days, therefore, the ruined grandmother and her adopted child, together with the parents and their boys, were forced to seek an asylum in the heart of Wales, and live on a small estate that fell to Mr. Burford's amiable wife.

8. For her, every one expressed their sorrow, as it was thought that she was ever economical; and discouraged extravagance and expensive living. As Mr. Burford was a violent politician, some of the opposite party rejoiced at his downfall, and were ready to believe and propagate the story that he had made a fraudulentb bankruptcy in concert with his friend, who had absconded, and that he had concealed money to a considerable amount, to cheat his creditors.

9. But the tale of calumny which has no foundation in truth, cannot long retain its power to injure ; and, in process of time, the feelings of the creditors in general were so completely changed towards Mr. Burford, that some of his most decided opposers were at length brought to confess that they might have acted precipitately in refusing to sign his certificate, and that they would reconsider the matter. When, therefore, one of his former distinguished friends, who had been strongly prejudiced against him at first, repented of his unjust suspicion,

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