tion; but who can climb his ascending way, among the obscurities of that infinite which is behind him?

2. Who can travel in thought, along the track of generations gone by, till he has overtaken the eternity, which lies in that direction? Who can look across the millions of ages which have elapsed, and from an ulterior post of observation, look again to another, and another succession of centuries; and from each further extremity in this series of retrospects, stretch backward his regards on an antiquity, as remote and indefinite as ever? Could we, by any number of successive strides over these mighty intervals, at length, reach the fountainhead of duration, our spirits might be at rest.

3. But to think of duration, as having no fountain-head; to think of time, with no beginning; to uplift the imagination along the heights of an antiquity, which hath positively no summit; to soar these upward steeps, till, dizzied by the altitude, we can keep no longer on the wing; for the mind to make these repeated flights from one pinnacle to another, and instead of scaling the mysterious elevation, to lie baffled at its foot, or lose itself among the far, the long-withdrawing recesses of that primeval distance, which at length, merges away into a fathomless unknown-this is an exercise, utterly discomfiting to the puny faculties of man.

This extract is from the works of Rev. Thomas Chalmers, LL. D., of Edinburgh, on "Natural Theology."

69. MISSIONARY HYMN.-Bishop Heber.

1. From Greenland's icy mountains,
From India's coral strand;
Where Afric's sunny fountains
Roll down their golden sand;
From many an ancient river,
From many a palmy plain,
They call us to deliver

Their land from error's chain.

2. What though the spicy breezes
Blow soft o'er Ceylon's isle,

This popular hymn was written by the bishop, just before he left England for India. Like all other solemn pieces of poetry, it requires long quantity, and rather a low key. The voice should, however, be somewhat elevated on the words in italic, and yet not enough to be disagreeable to the ear.

70. SOLILOQUY ON THE PRINCESS THEKLA.-Frederic Schiller

1. It is his spirit calls me! 'Tis the host
Of faithful souls that sacrificed themselves
In fiery vengeance for him. They upbraid me
For this loit'ring, they in death forsook him not
Who in their life had led them; their rude hearts
Were capable of this; and I can live;-
No! No! That laurel garland which they laid
Upon his bier was twined for both of us!

What is this life without the light of love?
I cast it from me since its worth is gone.
Yes, when we found and loved each other, life
Was something! Glittering lay before me
The golden morn; I had two hours of heaven.

2. Thou stoodest at the threshold of the scene
Of busy life; with timid steps it cross'd it:
How fair it lay in solemn shade and sheen!
And thou beside me, like some angel, posted
To lead me out of childhood's fairy land,
On to life's glancing summit, hand in hand!
My first thought was of joy no tongue can tell,
My first look on thy spotless spirit fell.

And Fate put forth its hand,-inexorable, cold,
My friend it grasp'd, and clutch'd with iron hold,—
And- -under the hoofs of their wild horses hurl'd,—
Such is the fate of loveliness i' th' world!

This beautiful Soliloquy is from the tragedy of Wallenstine, written by the celebrated German poet, Schiller. He died in the year 1805 in the 45th year of his age. The Princess Thekla had been married, it seems, but two hours before her husband was killed. The Soliloquy requires to be given on a low key, with quantity, and rhetorical pauses.

71. LINES FOR THE FOURTH OF JULY.-Anonymous.

1. Hail our country's natal morn!
Hail our spreading kindred born!
Hail thou banner not yet torn!
Waving o'er the free!

2. While this day in festal throng.
Millions swell the patriot song,
Shall not we thy notes prolong,
Hallowed jubilee?

3. Who would sever freedom's shrine?
Who would draw the invidious line?

Though by birth one spot be mine,
Dear is all the rest.

4. Dear to me the South's fair land,
Dear the central mountain band,
Dear New England's rocky strand,
Dear the prairied West.

5. By our altars, pure and free,
By our law's deep rooted tree,
By the past dread memory,

By our WASHINGTON !

6. By our common parent tongue,
By our hopes, bright, buoyant, young,
By the tie of country, strong,

We will still be one.

7. Fathers! have ye bled in vain ?
Ages! must ye droop again?
Maker! shall we rashly stain

Blessings sent by thee?

8. No! receive our solemn vow,
While below thy throne we bow,
Ever to maintain as now,
UNION, LIBERTY.

These truly patriotic lines are admirably suited to each returning anni versary of our national independence, in all parts of the United States.

72. A BEAUTIFUL GEM.-E. K. Hervey.

1. I know thou art gone to the land of thy rest;
Then why should my soul be so sad?

I know thou art gone where the weary are blest,
And the mourner looks up and is glad;

Where Love has put off in the land of its birth,
The stain it has gathered in this,

And Hope, the sweet singer that gladden'd the earth,
Lies asleep in the bosom of bliss.

2. I know thou art gone where thy forehead is starr'd With the beauty that dwelt in thy soul,

Where the light of thy loveliness cannot be marred,
Nor thy heart be flung back from its goal;
I know thou hast drunk of the Lethe that flows
Through a land where they do not forget;
That sheds over memory only repose,
And takes from it only regret..

3. This eye must be dark that so long has been dim,
Ere again it may gaze upon thine;

But my heart has revealings of thee and thy home,
In many a token and sign;

I never look up with a vow, to the sky,

But a light like thy beauty is there;
And I hear a love murmur, like thine, in reply,
When I pour out my spirit in prayer.

4. In the far-away dwelling, wherever it be,
I believe thou hast visions of mine;

And the love that made all things as music to me,
I have not yet learned to resign.

In the hush of the night, on the waste of the sea,
Or alone with the breeze on the hill,

I have ever a presence that whispers of thee,
And my spirit lies down and is still.

5. And though like a mourner that sits by a tomb,
I am wrapped in a mantle of care,

Yet the grief of my bosom-oh! call it not gloom,
Is not the black grief of despair.

By sorrow revealed as the stars are by night
Far off a bright vision appears;

And Hope, like the rainbow-a creature of light,

Is born, like the rainbow, in tears.

The proper elocution of this "beautiful Gem," will readily occur to the reader, especially to the bereaved husband or wife.

1. Costly apparatus and splendid cabinets have no magical power to make scholars. In all circumstances, as a man is,