Mortier," he continued, pointing to the bags of gold and sil- life will be better than the former: for the light of expever, "is not this a good morning's work?" rience exposes a thousand errors which ought to be avoid"Ay," answered Mortier-" but remember-our compacted, and Christianity is subduing the vicious passions of men. before we started-one half." The future is the season to which the industrious and

"I do-I do," replied Anjou, impatiently. "But let us virtuous must look for the reward of their labors. It is the first get it into a place of safety. Soldiers--on."

The bugle sounded-the banner of Anjou was loosed to the cool morning breeze, and the troops having filed across the narrow bridge, formed under their leader and moved quickly up the hill. As they passed over the summit, the Duke halted and cast a look back to the Chateau. The sun had just lifted itself above the horizon, and its crimson rays were at that moment tipping the upper battlements with its golden hues; at the same instant, with a fierce smile of exultation upon his lips, the Duke perceived wide lurid flames bursting from the roofs, windows and loop holes, wrapping the whole edifice in one broad sheet of fire. Hastily clapping spurs to his horse, he placed himself at the head of the cavalcade, shouting,

"On! on! to Paris!"

The next moment the horses' hoofs struck loud on the flinty road as they gallopped on in the direction indicated by Anjou.

THE FUTURE.

season, too, when those who have repented of former evil conduct calculate upon reaping the fruit of reformation. How consoling the reflection to those who truly regret early indiscretions! Fleeting years are ceaselessly carrying the tokens of their follies far into the distant past, while, if they have become virtuous, a thousand agreeable objects spring up along their path obscuring whatever is unpleasant at the beginning.

There are always two ideas in our minds of the future, arising from our reflection on death. One of them represents the future as that period of time which may elapse before we are confined to the narrow limits of the grave. The other refers to whatever there is beyond the tomb; to eternity-death: that solemn and inevitable event, which awaits us all, renders this division of the future proper. The most thoughtless often look forward to the time when his body must moulder into dust. The most skeptical dread to exchange their sensual pleasures for a place amidst the gloomy mansions of the dead.

There is an uncertainty about coming events. We do not know when those that are inevitable will come. We are so constituted, however, by a wise and beneficent Creator, that if we are mindful of our duties and happiness, we can be prepared for whatever, in the order of Providence, may The past has been bequeathed to the memory; the future befall us. In the structure of the human mind, its three is the legitimate province of our hopes. The present great powers, memory, reason and imagination, are adapted, forms the only separation. On one side lie the wide-spread with astonishing wisdom, to the three grand periods of ruins of the works of many generations-the tokens of for- time: the past, the present and the future. The memory mer greatness; the broken armor and the faded laurel of is stored with riches which have been won in past toils the warrior; the mouldering relics of once mighty empires; and conflicts: and it offers, for instruction, the choicest the tombs of patriots and of tyrants; the decayed monu- fruits of experience. The reason is active in devising the ments of human happiness and misery mingled together; means necessary to supply our present wants and enjoythe thickly scattered memorials of error and of folly; the men's, and in forming a thousand schemes for the accumutrophies of wisdom and truth; the tracks of man's departure lation of wealth, or for the acquisition of glory. The imafrom the path of duty and virtue, and the way that leads gination, bold and adventurous, forms pleasant conceptions back to it again sprinkled with the precious blood of a of the future; and by its representations of what may be glorious Saviour. What is on the other side? Shall we our condition hereafter, warns us of the danger of neglectabandon the stores and the resources of the memory, and going a proper preparation to meet all the vicissitudes of huto the reveries of the imagination? Shall we observe the man existence. The reason may assist the memory in the flight of birds? Shall we listen to the vaticinations of au- accumulation of its useful stores. The memory may rengurs and soothsayers? Or shall we consult the mysterious der important aid to the reason in its contrivances. And lore of astrology? How shall we know the future? What in the wild and uncertain wanderings of the imagination lies beyond the present? Whatever can give gratification, through the illimitable future, memory is its chart, and reaor will bring disappointment. All for which we hope, and son its helmsman. Each faculty of our nature receives all that we dread. All that can interest the myriads of from the others assistance in the performance of its approbeings that are scattered over the universe, during endless priate functions; and every one contributes, when properly directed, to the well-being of man. And no one of our intellectual faculties has a greater influence over our temper and enjoyments, than the imagination. When its pictures of the future are disagreeable, our dispositions are apt to become morose and melancholy. When they are agreeable, our hearts are benefited. Hence the intellectual and religious advantages of this age enable us to form sentiments of the future that will have a more beneficial influence on our conduct, than those which have been entertained by more unenlightened nations. Mental improvement has increased the means by which the memory has rescued from forgetfulness the events of the past. From the same source reason has derived fresh efficiency in ministering to our comforts, and guiding us along the difăcult journey of life. The cultivation of knowledge has, likewise, invigorated and chastened the imagination, rendering its conceptions of the future grand and pleasing. And thus the more the mind is enlarged by the wholesome influence of truth, the greater will be the interest with which the future will be regarded. During ages of dark

ages.

We cannot know much of the future. As long as the world lasts there will still be seed-time and harvest, summer and winter. The cold winds will pass over the earth, and the fruitful fields will look barren and desolate. Then the warm showers will return, and the flowers will bud and blossom again. The rivers will flow into the occan, and the roar of the waves will still be heard. One generation will pass away and another will come. Men will devise a thousand schemes for the acquisition of perishable glory. All the earthly grandeur which we now so much admire, will soon pass from the recollection of man; and the proofs of the littleness of the world will increase with the progress of years. In all probability, wild and wicked schemes of ambition will hereafter desolate the earth, be forgotten, and then succeeded by others as vain, as visionary and as calamitous. Fanaticism may again enlist nations under its bloody banners. The future history of man may be a mere rehearsal of the past. But we have reason to hope that the latter acts of the great drama of

FROM A CHRISTIAN LOVER

TO HIS UNBELIEVING FAIR ONE.*
O tell me not it is a sin

To dwell upon thy sparkling eyes;-
To drink the sweet expression in,

As from those orbs of love it flies.
O! tell me not the world's cold forms
Can ever chain the elastic mind,
Which vibrates as each feeling warms,
Like harp-strings to the passing wind.

As well essay to bind a wreath

ness and ignorance there are many circumstances which | think! He who is only concerned about the present, is apt have a tendency to arouse the imagination. In the infancy to be over-anxious to gratify his lusts and to indulge the of human improvement, philosophy and poetry are mingled transitory sensations of an hour. He who is concerned about together. The scarcity of well-ascertained facts, and the the future is apt to reverence virtue. He who is careful to uncultivated condition of the reason, (whose province it is remember the past may recount the deeds of warriors and to investigate them) leave the mind, in the early stages of conquerors, and point to achievements which have filled knowledge, in a great degree, under the dominion of the the world with wonder and awe; he may tell the story of emotions and desires. Farther advancements assert the the world, or sing the song of the minstrel. He whose mastery of reason. The development of facts diminishes utmost concern it is to regard the things of the present, the influences of those objects which, among rude and bar-may for a while, be considered as great among men. But barous nations, arouse the imagination, and swell thereby he only, who is mindful of the future, will have peace of the tide of all those feelings, that create the wand of magic mind, bright hopes and a love for virtue and every exceland the charms of enchantment; invest every shade and lence that can hallow the efforts of man, shed an unfading dale with a fairy, every fountain with a nymph, and give glory along his path, and erect an imperishable monument to a thousand worthless things the attributes of a Deity. on his grave, upon which shall be inscribed his unalienable Every new thought and discovery add fresh trophies to the title to a happy resurrection. W. boundless triumphs of the reason. Every new acquisition exhibits a never-ending harvest of imperishable fruits. Does this gradual and miraculous extension of the empire of reason narrow and contract the limits of the imagination? Does it render lifeless the pictures which the fancy draws of the future? Truth destroys many of the chimeras of a distempered fancy, and dispels the wizard notes of a superstitious imagination. It is rather the progress of knowledge and the light of truth, than the development of the reasoning faculty, that dispels many of the idle and ridiculous notions which are sometimes entertained by men. When or where was the reasoning faculty better disciplined than among the enlightened republics of Greece and Rome? Yet their whole history is like some gorgeous vision of a dream, or the splendid and unreal imaginings of the poet. It is truth, and not the mere cultivation of the reason, which has stripped their heroes of the attributes of divinity, and driven their nymphs and naiades from the woods and fountains. But while truth has been thus achieving one victory after another over error and superstition, it has increased the domains of the imagination, and opened a wider and a sublimer field, in which an infinite number of objects can be found to amuse, instruct and interest us. The dissipation of the errors and superstitions which have been entertained by most of the nations of the earth, even by the most renowned, concerning the future, has been succeeded by a light of truth which reveals marvels and wonders beyond conception. The sublimest hopes excited by the religion of the ancients were insignificant in comparison with those aroused by the doctrines of the Christian dispensation. One who believed that after death he would have to employ Charon to row him across the river Styx, had but few inducements to think of the future, in comparison with the Christian, who believes that, if he has an interest in the atonement which has been made for sinners, Jesus, the friend of the poor and the sorrowful, will carry him safely through the dark and turbid waters of death. What so sublime in ancient mythology as the final resurrection inculcated by the religion of the Bible? Then "mortal will put on immortality." All of us will have to stand before an infallible Judge, and each will be rewarded according to his works. What mighty inducements for us to reflect often and seriously on our probable future condition! Then, too, if we shall receive the plaudit, "well done, thou good and faithful," we * These lines were suggested by the modern cant, which will enter upon an endless state of existence, and blessings sets up a Pharisaical self-esteem in place of that humility will be in store for us, of which it is impossible for us now taught by pure religion. The Saviour was arraigned by to conceive. "Our earthly tabernacle will be dissolved." the Pharisees because he associated with publicans and It will crumble into dust. But an Almighty Architect will sinners-and the turgid puritans of modern times are stricollect its scattered particles together again, and, without ving to set their dicta above the example of the Saviour. the instrumentality of man, will rebuild it in a more hea- Let them beware that they wrest not the Scriptures to their venly and imperishable form. than a blessing to the world around them. own damnation, and prove an occasion of offence rather

How forcibly the claims of religion urge themselves upon us as soon as we begin to think calmly and solemnly of the future! And what a great privilege it is to be able so to

VOL. VII-21

Of sun-beams, as they dance along
In joyous glee, o'er hill and heath,

As curb the Lover's thought or song:
From the same source of light they start,

By the same pow'r they both are driven;
And one the world, and one the heart,

To light and cheer, hath Allat given.

O! frown not on me coldly then,
Nor turn away thine eye of light;
For all to me is sunshine when
Thine own sweet smile does bless my sight;
But when thine eye no more is lit

By love's bright-taper burning there,

I feel that I in darkness sit,
And yield me wildly to despair.

Turn on me, then, thy radiant eye,

And drive each trembling fear away;
Before thy glance they'll swiftly fly,

Like mists before the god of day.
And pour those tender tones, which tell
Far more than words did e'er convey,
Into mine ear, and like a spell

My life will sweetly glide away.

BETA.

† Alla was used on account of the metre and euphony.

SCHILLER.

BY MISS JANE T. LOMAX.

|vided as the empire of German literature is, governed by so many opposing rulers, there is no national style, and no lasting model of literary perfection. The German writes from the impulse of his own spirit, without the cramping "Vergiss die treuen Todten nicht!"-Körner. fear of public disapproval ever within him. Criticism is to him a kind and impartial friend, prone to dwell on virtues There was a time in the annals of literature, when its more than on faults, yet judicious even in encouragement. records were the records of the mental characteristics of Hence the author gives free utterance to his thoughts, howthe people to which it belonged; when the traits most ever extravagant they may be; and expresses, with careless prominent in books, were those most conspicuous in the security, theories and opinions often unwise, but always national character of the country where these works were original in their very fearlessness. Perhaps to this disrecomposed. The marked qualities of a nation, its tone of gard of general criticism we may attribute much of the mind and feeling, its particular tastes and prejudices, might wildness and improbability of German romance; for though once have been traced in the lighter portion of its intellec- much is to be ascribed to the peculiar genius of the people, tual labors. Fiction was the mirror in which infant history it is probable the same intellect in another country would loved to gaze, and where its features were accurately re-be deterred, by public prejudice and the dread of censure, flected. There, too, were imaged peculiar moral attributes; from venturing amid the obscurer haunts of fiction. The and if we sought in the learned volume of the historian for success of a work is owing as much to the taste of its readthe details of conquest or of government, it was the inspired ers as to the talent of its writer; and genius is frequently verse of the poet, and the graphic delineation of the ro- as fully exemplified in the selection of a subject as in the mancer, that introduced us to the private life of individuals—development of a plot. In the choice of materials for comthat revealed the silent triumphs of feeling-the despot position, Schiller was singularly fortunate. Peculiarly sussway of hidden thought. They rent the veil, shading the ceptible of the beautiful, he sought it in the daily walks of inner temple of the heart, and its secrets and its mysteries life-he discovered it beneath the homeliest disguises. were laid open to our eyes. Particular characteristics were Without the startling eccentricity of Goethe, or his bold brought vividly before us, until we learned to judge the fondness for rambling in the serpentine paths of vague submany by the few, to merge the personal in the general,-limity, Schiller possessed that gentler and less adventurous and heroes of romance became to us as prophets of their native land. One gifted child of another nation stands beside us, the representative of the thoughts, the emotions of his countrymen,-and we grasp his hand with the friendly warmth of intellectual kindred. He has led us to the ever-disclosed, the many-hidden sources of poetry and improveflowing fountains of sympathy and feeling; he has displayed the rich, inexhaustible mines of unknown mental wealth; he has taught us that we possess something in common with the treasures of those, who, but for him, would have been to us as strangers. The artificial barriers raised by difference of language and customs, gradually disappear,-and the lofty, unshackled intercourse of mind connects us in one sacred brotherhood. The exchange of intellect with intellect loosens the corroding fetters with which unex-loses himself in the vales of mysticism, nor flies to the tended associations shackle the judgment. It breaks down with peaceful but resistless power the Chinese wall of local prejudice; and the appeal of heart to heart kindles a flame never wholly to expire; forms a tie not easily nor lightly to be severed.*

genius, which, though capable of penetrating far into the shadowy region of transcendental research, is satisfied to remove the veil from the sublime truths already dimly visible; and to reveal, with an earnest belief in the faith he

ment lying unexplored in the world. He was content to display the beauty in common life. His philosophy was practical;-it carried the influence of intellect and reflection, to hallow the heart and teach it wisdom. Even the fictitious works of Germany are philosophies in a holiday garb, and their tendency is almost always towards the va por-land of metaphysical revelations. Tinctured, but not imbued, with this universal characteristic, Schiller never

clouds, to conceal the absence or the poverty of inspiration. His earlier writings partake most largely of the peculiar adoration for the extravagant which distinguishes his countrymen. The tragedy of The Robbers-the first flight of a spirit destined to soar so high-is tinged with the gorgeous

Among the many foreign writers whose works have awa-ness of coloring, that might be expected in the unguided atkened the widely-spread interest of the literary world, it tempt of a vivid but uncultured imagination. And yet this were difficult to name one more worthy of that interest, or drama, the unassisted effort of a school-boy; the rebellious more fully repaying it, than Schiller. Original, without the outbreak of a mind warring against despotism and restraint, affectation of originality; philosophical, without transcen- and conquering both; this early and untutored sketch, condentalism; he appears the realization of his own unclouded tains touches of beauty rarely equalled in poetry, and never ideal. One of the intellectual leaders in a land where in-surpassed in truth. As the boy-poet grew older-as the tellect is power, where the gifted few hold the rod beneath eager delirium of composition became mingled with calmer which the many pass, he is never led astray by vanity, nor judgment and more worldly views, the improbable gradually induced by ambition to forsake the true for the politic. The merged into the life-like, and Schiller acquired the rare love of praise was not his ruling passion, nor the restless loveliness of repose, without losing the enthusiasm of inyearning for distinction his most powerful temptation. He vention. His knowledge of the human heart was intuitive. wrote from the strong necessity of giving vent to thoughts He looked around him with inspired gaze; he questioned too mighty to be silent, rather than from the wild, eager his own spirit, and wrote down its God-given answers. wish for celebrity, which so often affords an author inspira- Don Carlos-one among his youthful compositions-is pertion. To him, Fame was the gift of a grateful world; a haps the best he ever executed. Though deficient in unity, wreath he had quietly and proudly won-not a recompense and somewhat inconsistent in plot, its eloquence and powstriven and toiled for-not a reward he had sacrificed hap-erful delineation of lofty characters place it amid the highpiness to gain. In his youth, he knew little of the disap-est of the writer's works. The gift of portraying the inpointment that awaits too ardent aspirations: the man per-most secrets of thought, is one of Schiller's greatest powfected, without changing, the conceptions of the boy-anders. He touches the canvass on which history had sketched for him, calm, resolute and self-confident, there were no the rough outline of events; and the picture, before so vague dark years of remembrance to come. Combining with sin- and dim, becomes instinct with the majesty of life. The gular harmony, the different excellencies of an historian, a star-light of imagination lends its lustre; the dull scene philosopher, and a poet, his genius seems universal. Di- changes to a living record; and though it depict circum

stances far gone, they flit before us like the deeds of yes- advocates is truth; and we half-unconsciously coincide terday, bringing silent appeals to our sympathies, bearing with opinions, advanced with such settled yet unpretending eloquent but voiceless memorials from times and people firmness, supported with such simple but lofty eloquence. long past away. The prominent actors in that mental por- The history of Schiller's heart would be the record of one traiture live in our memories, with the friends we had long, stainless childhood; for he retained through life that enknown in youth as companions, holding a claim on our thusiastic devotion to whatever seemed to him admirable, gratitude for happy moments bestowed, and pleasant asso- and that ready, fervent sympathy with those around him, ciations awakened. Another among the many pleasing which lengthened communion with our 'working-day world' traits of Schiller's writings, is their entire freedom from the is but too prone to destroy. His disinterested and unafvanity of egotism. Even when he felt most proudly the fected interest in the welfare of others, while winning him rapturous excitement of public applause; when fame was a "golden opinions from all sorts of people," gave him the familiar thing, and his name was hallowed as a household faculty of depicting the emotions with which he sympaword; he evinces not a single throb of the self-approval thized,—and he was true to nature, in being true to himwhose pulse must have beat so strongly he forgot himself self. Real genius is shown as often in the feelings as in in the great cause for which he labored, and his course was the thoughts, and Schiller was gifted proudly in both. ever upward and onward in the advancement of happiness Sympathy to him was inspiration; the "open sesame" that and truth. As he became older, the shadows of sorrow and unclosed the deep cavern of buried impulse. The solitude suffering closed around his path; and the wings, once so which an existence consecrated to literary toil renders neeager in their flight, were borne down by clods of the earth.cessary, never caused in Schiller that distaste for society, But above the depressing trials of his lot, his mind rose which years passed in loneliness frequently produce on triumphant; and some of his finest compositions were minds too susceptible, and too dependent on excitement to traced when pain had rested heavily upon him, and sick-be philosophical. Intellectual superiority, from the very ness had striven in vain to still his aspirations. The fair character of its being, is isolated. The man of genius visions of his childhood went with him through life. He rarely meets the appreciating friendship he is so willing to worshipped the ideal in his boyhood,—and in his older bestow. To be permanently successful in his exertions, years it blessed him. He followed, in his fate, the maxim he must abandon the common and distracting enjoyments he wrote for anotheraround him, and let his soul turn inward upon itself. This ordeal is a stern one; and many, who have passed through it, have deemed even fame a poor reward for an existence Ihm, dass er fur die Träume seiner jugend of seclusion and sacrifice. The regret for time, whose Soll Achtung tragen, wenn er mann seyn wird."* gloom at last was endured in vain, or whose recompense The dreams of his youth Schiller never forsook, and their was inadequate to repay the trials that procured it, has freloveliness was around him when all else had faded. Schil-quently produced bitterness and melancholy. Milton, the ler's singular freedom from the vanity that is almost inseparable from successful authorship, displayed itself even in the common occurrences which attended his intercourse with society. Madame de Staël, in her work on Germany, gives an instance of it; and there is something very characteristic in the inconsistency with which she lauds the absence of the very quality that ruled even her genius, and whose workings are betrayed so clearly in the events of her destiny. She says:

"Sagen Sie

lonely, the darkened, the sublime among men, was saddened by such solitude; and he speaks with mournful regret of the studious watchings and unshared toilings that "tired out his youth." Cowley and Shenstone, enthusiasts though they were, lamented the seclusion that celebrity rewarded,-and Gresset forgets his accustomed mildness, to talk with querulous disappointment of

66

Vingt ans d'ennuis, pour quelques jours de gloire." "La première fois que j'ai vu Schiller, c'était dans le sallon On Schiller, retirement left no such trace: to him, it was du Duc et de la Duchesse de Weimar, en présence d'une no sorrow to live alone with his dreams. He carried comsociété aussi éclairée qu'imposant il lisoit très-bien le panions and friends in his thoughts. All life to him was français, mais il ne l'avoit jamais parlé; je soutins avec eloquent. Melody was ever murmuring in his heart, and chaleur la supériorité de notre système dramatique, sur tous in the loneliness of nature he found an echo and an answer. les autres; il ne se refusa point à me combattre, et sans He knew not what it was to be solitary;-the beauty of his F'inquiéter des difficultés et des lenteurs qu'il éprouvoit en being was around him wherever he lingered; and beneath s'exprimant en français, sans redouter non plus l' opinion the spell of his fancy, the wilderness blossomed as the rose, des auditeurs, qui étoit contraire à la sienne, sa conviction and fountains sprung up in the desert. To his gaze, the intime le fit parler. Je me servis d'abord, pour le réfuter, moonlight was a throne for angels-voices whispered in the des armes françaises, la vivacité et la plaisanterie: mais wind, and the word they spoke was "peace!" He heard bientôt je démêlai, dans ceque disoit Schiller, tant d'idées the long waving grass tell secrets to the sunshine, and he à travers l'obstacle des mots; je fus si frappée de cette saw gleaming eyes looking love from the dew-drops. Solisimplicité de caractère, qui portoit un homme de génie à tude for him was a blessing, and he came forth to the world l'engager ainsi dans une lutte où les paroles maquoient à again better and wiser, for the silent communion with his ses pensées; je le trouvai si modeste et si insouciant dans own soul. His sympathy with humanity was unchilled by ce qui ne concernoit que ses propres succès, si fier et si seclusion. With all his adoration for loveliness, he knelt animé dans la défense de ce qu'il croyoit la vérité, que je lowest to the moral loveliness of active life. His philosoIm vouai, dès cet instant, une amitié pleine d'admiration." phy was the happy practical one, which sees wisdom and Schiller's literary career was beautiful in its purity, its goodness in our daily paths. He had none of the morbid utter freedom from selfishness, and its continued, conscien-gloom that seeks for darkness in light; that would find the tinus labors, in the cause of right. It has been well said decay of autumn written on the bursting flowers of spring. that conscience was his muse; and the chief charm in his He knew nothing of the dark code of egotism, whose theory poetry is the deep, fixed vein of enthusiasm it reveals.is peevishness, and whose practice is scorn. We see the perfect conviction of the author, that what he

Tell him, when he shall be a man, to reverence the dreams of his youth.

His was a

mind blest in its loftiness, and it gave gladness wherever it shone. His disposition was equally apart from the daring presumption that would "trample on impossibilities," and the self-summoned weariness, which the French have im

piously called "le malheur d'être." Schiller's confidence | has little bunches of roses, to crown the heads of his favo in the purity of human nature was firm and steadfast: he rite children, and horrid bundles of thorns to tie upon the looked on the world through an enchanted medium, and all backs of those who treat him badly. was good in his sight. It seemed impossible for him to realize the existence of evil. As a cloud flits over a mirror and leaves no dimness, so the shades of earthly darkness passed across his mind. His life was one long crusade to the holy land of Truth, and he honored the cross he bore.

vate.

Thus you see what a strange old man there is among us, with his frosty pate, withal so nimble. You will know him, one day, if you have never heard of him already. When you hear him whet his scythe, and see the herbs and flow. ers fall, let it be a little whisper in your ears, to be ready when he comes in your way; that you can tell him to cut

There is proud sublimity in the picture of a career like this-where genius is blent with all that is winning and at-away if he chooses. tractive in the relations of friendship and kindred; where the imagination mingles with the real, to hallow and to eleSchiller sought in his toil the honor of literature, not the advancement of self; and the towering love of glory that accompanies gifts like his, never degenerated into mere literary vanity. His writings are of a character to endure; they are in themselves " 'essentially immortal." The seal of improbability stamped upon his earliest works, the more correct taste of his maturer years taught him to erase; and we see in his later compositions quieter and wiser views of destiny, and life. We miss those highwrought delineations, that woke feverish and unnatural interest; and we greet in their place the more accurate sketching that combines lights and shadows as they are; that, in portraying virtues, does not conceal follies, but induces us to sympathize with very weaknesses and failings. His poetry is the melody of goodness; his verses are the echoes of religion. He wrote for the future, for the world; and the praises of the world were his reward.

There are children of the old fellow, of whom I know you will be glad to hear,-for they are all good children, and their fate is sad. They all call upon us to mourn for them. Some die so soon that they are hardly known, and, I am sorry to say, are not valued with their larger brothers as they should be. The little Seconds and Minutes hold up their hands for mercy, but before their voice is heard, they are swallowed up in the mighty rushing waters. Men and women, and, sad to tell, little children, take no care of these feeble monitors, who cry out to tell us they die that we may live, and warn us of our fate. They are mournful little beings, and should be heard. Hannah should hear them, because they are her young companions,-old men and women should hear them, because they will know but few more, before the old man Time, will come with his scythe, and cut them down. Our mower cuts down the ripe grain and the flower at one blow.

Father Time has other children, daughters, called Hours. They are rosy-cheeked, bright-eyed little sprites, and laugh away their being without care or trouble. They live just

We turn from Schiller's pages with profounder reverence for the beautiful and the pure around us; and the silent les-long enough to grow into a happy playful existence, and die, son his life has left goes with us through the world. We recall him as a friend, who has instructed us with the prophet-voice of poetry, and whose guidings have given us the philosophy of contentment. His name is hallowed in our hearts; his precepts are written in our memories; and his example lives in our love. Watertown, Mass.

LITTLE HANNAH'S NEW-YEAR.

"He lived, he died,-behold the scene,-
The abstract of the historian's page ;-
Alike, in God's all-seeing eye,

The infant's day, the patriarch's age."

There is an old man, with whom little girls may be acquainted, and Hannah among the rest, who is very well known to their fathers and mothers, with a white head and wrinkled brow, and bearing in his hand a huge scythe, sharp and strong. He is a stout old fellow, in spite of his age, and swings his scythe, with his long arms, as briskly as the jolly mower does, in the dewy morning, through the clover field. Dreadful slashing does the old man make, wherever he goes; and good people, who are full of maxims, have one, which says, his scythe "cuts down all, both great and small." He often swings away among little girls and boys, and, just as the mower cuts down the flowers of the meadows, so does he cut down these little human flowers. Oh! cruel old man. He is called Time, and from his power and his producing every thing, is named Father Time. This is the old man, whom Hannah should know, and to whom all children should be very good, for he is kind to them, if they behave well, and are diligent in improving what he gives them. Their fathers and mothers know him well, and I often hear them tell how the old chap has punished them, for their disobedience, when they were young, and how much they wish they had done better. He

one by one, as the bells chime out their funeral knell. They do not grow very old, and never totter with the fatigues of age, but having arrived at a nice kind of importance in the world, die, and make men, old and young, mourn their loss. These are the merry little children of Time, who bring so many joys to us, and sat, when this old world was new, at heaven's gate, to roll round the seasons. The rosy Hours bring us songs and dances,-play-hours and school-hours,sweet dreams, and pleasant slumbers,-and how often has Hannah shouted and clapped her hands, at the funny little games, the leisure Hours brought her. They were made for her; and know as little of the cares of life as she does, and think as little of the certainty of death. Little girls are not sad at their departure. But their wiser fathers grow very sorrowful at times, to see these bright little daughters of Time fly away so fast. And, growing tearful, they bring up cares and mournings, until the merry Hours themselves look sad too, and all is sighing and tears. How much better do laughing little girls treat the Hours! Herein Hannah might teach her mother.

These are all the little children of this hoary old man, who is so ceaseless in his work,-so busy that no little girl can be busier. How soon they die and go, like children, into eternity. "No grating of their vessel's keel" is heard, but a "strip of yellow sand, mingling the waters with the land,”—is the beautiful changing of their lives into a quiet union with the great sea,

But older children grow up to manhood, and decline and fall as the Father passes on. They come into the world with singing, and go cheerily on until they are cut down with a sad and warning certainty. Oh! what a long life has the Year, to a little child-so full of incidents-so neverending! He gets to be a favorite, and such an one, that I used to weep myself when a New-Year came, with its strange name, to take the place of my kind friend. Forl had seen him born, and cherished through the wintry months of infancy, and growing brisk and strong as Spring came, crown himself with flowers and garlands. He went on to Summer, and lay calm and quiet in the glowing days, as if sure of his existence, caring nothing for the passage of Time,