thinking of others as well as themselves. Care should be taken, that their intercourse with each other be in a spirit of courtesy and mildness. He, who has been reared in a brawling and ill-mannered nursery, can hardly be expected to ripen into a polite man.

The elder members of a family should bear in mind, that the influence of their own conduct will encircle the children, like an atmosphere. There can be little happiness in that household, in which the minutest offices are not dictated by a spirit of thoughtful courtesy, and delicate consideration for others. How many marriages are made wretched by a neglect of those little mutual attentions, so scrupulously paid in the days of courtship! Let it be borne in mind, that the cords of love, which bind hearts so closely together, that neither Life, nor Death, nor Time, nor Eternity, can sever them, are woven of threads no bigger than a spider's web.

EXERCISE CXVIII.

THE SHOWER. -James W. Miller.

The pleasant rain!— the pleasant rain!
By fits it plashing falls

On twangling leaf and dimpling pool, -
How sweet its warning calls!
They know it, all the lowly vales,
High slopes, and verdant meads!
The queenly elms and princely oaks,
Bow down their grateful heads.

The withering grass, and fading flowers,
And drooping shrubs look gay;
The bubbling brook, with gayer song,
Hies on its endless way;

All things of earth, the grateful things!
Put on their robes of cheer;

They hear the sound of the warning burst,
And know the rain is near.

I drink its cooler breath;

It is rich with sighs of fainting flowers
And roses' fragrant death;

It hath kissed the tomb of the lily pale,
The beds where violets die;

And it bears their life on its living wings,
I feel it wandering by.

And, yet it comes! The lightning's flash
Hath torn the lowering cloud;

With a distant roar, and a nearer crash,
Out bursts the thunder loud.

It comes, with the rush of a god's descent,
On the hushed and trembling earth,
To visit the shrines of the hallowed groves,
Where a poet's soul had birth.

With a rush, as of a thousand steeds,
Is the mighty god's descent;
Beneath the weight of his passing tread
The conscious groves are bent.
His heavy tread, - it is lighter now,
And yet it passeth on;

And now it is up, with a sudden lift,
The pleasant rain hath gone.

The pleasant rain! - the pleasant rain!
It hath passed above the earth;
I see the smile of the opening cloud,
Like the parted lips of mirth.
The golden joy is spreading wide,
Along the blushing west;

And the happy earth gives back her smiles,
Like the glow of a grateful breast.

As a blessing sinks in a grateful heart,
That knoweth all its need,

So came the good of the pleasant rain,
O'er hill and verdant mead.

It shall breathe this truth on the human ear,
In hall and cotter's home,

That to bring the gift of a bounteous heaven, The pleasant rain hath come.

I have a pleasant friend, who has journeyed through the mountainous region of Cordova; and he has often lightened for me the burthen of a sombre evening, by his vivid description of the wild and picturesque scenery, which lay everywhere spread before his path; and by his glowing recitals of the legendary tales which flow like fountains from the lips of the Spanish peasant.

There occurred one day a severe thunder storm, among the mountains. Near the close of a sultry afternoon, an enormous black cloud rose slowly from the verge of the horizon, and gradually unrolled its immense volumes over the western sky. Only a few rays of sunlight struggled through the gloom of the tempest; and it seemed as if the firmament were about to be rent asunder like a scroll. There had been no rain for several days; and though thunder showers were the frequent precursors of the setting sun, yet the heavens had long worn the silvery veil of a summer mist; and no sound of the elements had been heard louder than the whisper of a gentle breeze. Storms, whose coming we should have regarded with terror, are gazed upon by the Spanish peasant with little apprehension; but when this immense cloud rolled upward, so fearfully dark, every eye quailed, and every form trembled; and men looked one upon another, as if expecting to hear, with the first crash of the thunder, the shrill blast of the archangel's trumpet..

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The trees upon the mountains were dry and withered, yet no drop fell! The sultriness was insupportable. The slightest shrub stood motionless; and the tall cedars lifted up their noble forms, unmoved and majestic, like proud victims awaiting the sentence of their destruction. Suddenly, the lightning leaped gloriously from the firmament; and the dark cloud seemed a heaving mass of fire. A moment, and the live thunder burst from its prison-house; and the echoes among the mountains sent it back, in a continuous roar, like the voices of a thousand unchained lions. Another burst succeeded, and another, — yet no rain fell. One more, and a noise was heard, like the crash of an unsphered planet. A large mass of rock was hurled from the side of a mountain

into the ravine below. Then the flood rushed from the 'windows of heaven;' and the waters poured unremittingly down, for the space of half an hour, accompanied with the gleams of the lightning, and the constant reverberations of the thunder.

In ten minutes more, -'the sky seemed never to have borne a cloud,' and softly flowed in the beautiful drapery of its Eden hours. And upon those wild, gray rocks, which so lately seemed altars burning with fire,' the richest incense of heaven descended. The cool breeze sprang up delightfully, and wafted a delicious fragrance, sweet as that which which lingers amid

'The flowery gardens of enchanted Gul.

EXERCISE CXX.

NEW ENGLAND. - Mrs. E. T. Daniels.

New England's soil, our happy home,
The land of hardy worth,

Where plenty crowns the social board,
And love lights up the hearth;
The land of rock, and mount, and glen,
Of noble streams that sweep
Through valleys rich with verdure,
In gladness to the deep; -
Blue are the arching skies above,
And green the fields below;

And autumn fruits and summer flowers

In wild profusion grow.

The towering oak and ancient pine

The noble forests bear;

The maple bough its blossoms

Flings on the scented air;

And flock, and herd, and waving grain
Each slope and upland crown;

And autumn winds from laden bough
The mellow fruits shake down;

The waving wild flower tempts the bee,
With soft and fragrant sigh;
And in tall ranks the glossy maize
Points upward to the sky.

No tyrant landlord wrings our soil,
Or rends its fruit away;

The flocks upon our own green hills,
Secure from plunder stray;
No bigot's scourge or martyr's fires
A barbarous creed fulfil;

For the spirit of our stern old sires
Is with their children still.

And pure to heaven our altars rise,
Upon a bloodless sod,

Where man, with free unfettered faith,
Bows down and worships God.

Our homes! our dear New England homes!
Where sweet affections meet;

Where the cool poplar spreads its shade,
And flowers our senses greet;

The lily rears her polished cup,
The rose as freshly springs,
And to the sky looks gaily up,
As in the courts of kings;

And the vine that climbs the window,
Hangs drooping from above,
And sends its grateful odors in,
With messages of love.

Then hail to thee! New England!
Thou cherished land of ours ;
Our sons are like the granite rocks,
Our daughters like the flowers.
We quail to none, of none we crave,
Nor bend the servile knee;
The life-blood that our fathers gave
Still warms the firm and free.
Free as our eagle spreads his wings,
We own no tyrant's rod,

No master but the King of kings,
No monarch but our God!