LESSON XVII.

1. THE ORDER OF NATURE.-Pope.

All are but párts of one stupendous whóle, Whose body nature is, and Gód the soul; That, changed through áll, and yet in áll the same, Great in the earth, as in the ethereal ' fràme, | Warms in the sún, refreshes in the breeze, Glóws in the stárs, and blossoms in the trèes, | Lives through all life, extends through all extént, Spreads undivided, óperates unspènt;

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Breathes in our soul, informs our mortal párt,
As fúll, as perfect, in a háir as heart;
As fúll, as pérfect, in vile mán that mourns,
As the rapt sèraph | that adóres and bùrns.
To Him, no high, no lów, no great, no smáll;
He fills, He boúnds, connects, and equals ' àll.
Cease, thén, nor Order Impérfection 'náme,—
Our proper
blíss depends on what we blame.
Know thy own point: This kind, this dúe degree
Of blindness, weakness, Heaven bestows on thee.
Submit ;-in thís, or any other sphére,

Secure to be as blést | as thou canst beár,-
Safe in the hand of one Disposing Power,
Or in the natal, or the mòrtal | hòur.

All Nature is but Art, unknown to thee;
All Chánce, Direction, which thou canst not sée;

All Discord, Harmony | not understood;
All pártial Evil, universal Good:

And, spite of Pride, in erring Reason's spite,
One truth is cléar: whatever ís, is right.

2. THE DAISY.-John Mason Good. B. 1764, d. 1828.

Not worlds on worlds in phalanx déep,
Néed we to prove a God is hére,
The daisy, fresh from Nature's sleep,
Tells of his name | in lines as clear:

For who ' but Hê, who arched the skiès,
And pours the dayspring's living flood,
Wondrous alike in all he triés,
Could raise the daisy's purple bud?
Mould its green cùp, its wiry stèm,
Its fringed border nicely spìn,
And cút the gold-embossed gém,
That, set in silver, gleams within ?

And fling it, unrestrained and frèe, |
O'er hill, and dále, and désert sód,

That mán | whereè'er he walks may sée,
In every step, the stamp

of Gòd.

3. THE DYING CHRISTIAN TO HIS SOUL.-Pope.

Vital spark of heavenly fláme,
Quit, O, quit this mortal frame !
Trémbling, hóping, lingering, flyìng, |
O, the pain, the blìss of dying!
Cèase, fond Nature, cease thy strife, |
And let me lánguish into life!

Hark! they whisper; angels sáy,
Sister spírit, come awày;

Whát is this absorbs me quite,-
Steals my senses, shúts my sight, |
Drówns my spirits,-dráws my breath?
Tell me, my soul, can this be deáth ?

The world recèdes,-ít disappears!
Heaven opens on my eyes! my ears
With sounds seráphic ring.

Lènd, lénd your wings! I móunt, I fly !
O Grave! whére is thy victory ?

O Death! whère is thy sting?

4. THE DESTRUCTION OF SENNACHERIB.-Lord Byron. B. 1788, d. 1824.

The Assyrian came down | like a wolf on the fold, And his cohorts were gleaming in púrple and gold; And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the séa, When the blue wáve rolls nightly on deep Galilée.

Like the leaves of the forest when summer is gréen, That host, with their bánners, at sunset were seèn; Like the leaves of the forest when Autumn hath blown, That host, on the morrow, lay withered and stròwn.

For the Angel of Death | spread his wings on the blast, And breathed in the face of the foe as he passed; And the eyes of the sleepers waxed deadly | and chill,

And their hearts but once heáved, and for ever

grew

And there lay the stèed with his nostrils all wide,
But through them there rolled not the breath of his
príde ;
And the foam of his gasping lay white on the túrf,
And cold as the spray of the rock-beating sùrf.

And there lay the rider | distorted and pàle, |
With the dew on his brów, and the rúst on his mail;
And the tents were all silent, the bánners alóne,
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The lances unlífted, the trumpets unblòwn.

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And the widows of Ashúr are loud in their wáil,
And the idols are broke in the temple of Bàal;
And the might of the Géntile, unsmóte by the sword,
Hath melted like snów | in the glance of the Lord!

5. CONJUGAL FELICITY.-Thomson.

But happy they! the happiest of their kind!
Whom gentler stars uníte, and in one fáte |

Their hearts, their fortunes, and their beings blend.

And mingles both their gràces. By degrees,
The human blossom blóws; and every dáy,

Sóft as it rolls along, shows some new charm,
The father's lústre, and the mother's bloom.

Then infant réason grows apáce, and calls
For the kind hand of an assiduous càre.

Delightful task! to rear the tender thought,
To teach the young idea how to shoot,

To pour the fresh instruction o'er the mind,
To breathe the enlivening spírit, and to fix '

The generous purpose in the glowing breast.
Oh, speak the joy! yé, whom the sudden teár
Surprises often, while you look
And nothing strikes your eye

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around,

but sights of bliss,
All various Nature pressing on the heart;
An elegant sufficiency, contènt,

Retirement, rural quiet, friendship, books,
Eáse and alternate làbor, useful life,
Progressive virtue, and appròving Heaven.
Thése are the matchless joys

of virtuous love, And thus their moments fly. The seasons thús, As ceaseless round a jarring world they róll, Still find them happy, and consénting spring | Sheds her own rosy garland on their heads: Till évening comes at last, serene and míld : When, after the long vernal day of life, Enamored more as more remembrance swélls With many a proof of recollected love, Together down they sink in social sleep; Together fréed, their gentle spirits fly |

To scenes where love and bliss immórtal reign.

LESSON XVIII.

EXAMINATION ON FIGURES OF SPEECH AND POETIC LICENSE.

Teacher.-What is a figure of speech?

A.—A mode of speaking, in which a word or sentence is to be understood in a sense different from its most literal meaning.