presented a revolting spectacle. The ground was thickly strowed with dead bodies; and from many of the half-burnt trees were suspended the carcasses of incendiaries.

In the midst of these horrors were seen many of the un fortunate inhabitants, who, destitute of every asylum, were collecting the charred planks, to construct a cabin in some unfrequented place, or ravaged garden. Having nothing to eat, they eagerly dug the earth, to find the roots of those vegetables which the soldiers had gathered; or, wandering among the ruins, they diligently searched among the cinders for any food which the fire had not entirely consumed. Pale, emaciated, and almost naked, the very slowness of their walk announced the excess of their sufferings.

LESSON CX.

View of Mont Blanc at Sunset.-GRISCOM.

We arrived, before sundown, at the village of St. Martin, where we were to stay for the night. The evening being remarkably fine, we crossed the Arvé on a beautiful bridge, and walked over to Salenche, a very considerable village, opposite to St. Martin, and ascended a hill to view the effect of the sun's declining light upon Mont Blanc. The scene was truly grand. The broad range of the mountain was fully before us, of a pure and almost glowing white, apparently to its very base; and which, contrasted with the brown tints of the adjoining mountains, greatly heightened the novelty of the scene. We could scarcely avoid the conclusion, that this vast pile of snow was very near us; and yet its base was not less than fifteen, and its summit, probably, more than twenty miles from the place where we stood.

The varying rays of light, produced by reflection from the snow, passing, as the sun's rays declined, from a bril ant white through purple and pink, and ending in the gentle light, which the snow gives after the sun has set, afforde an exhibition in optics upon a scale of grandeur, which no her

region in the world could probably excel. Never, in my life, have my feelings been so powerfully affected by mere scenery as they were in this day's excursion. The excitement, though attended by sensations awfully impressive, is, nevertheless, so finely attempered by the glow of novelty, incessantly mingled with astonishment and admiration, as to produce, on the whole, a feast of delight.

A few years ago, I stood upon Table Rock, and placed my cane in the descending flood of Niagara. Its tremendous roar almost entirely precluded conversation with the friend at my side; while its whirlwind of mist and foam filled the air to a great distance around me. The rainbow sported in its bosom; the gulf below exhibited the wild fury of an immense boiling caldron; while the rapids above, for the space of nearly a mile, appeared like a mountain of billows, chafing and dashing against each other with thundering impetuosity, in their eager strife to gain the precipice, and take the awful leap.

In contemplating this scene, my imagination and my heart were filled with sublime and tender emotions. The soul seemed to be brought a step nearer to the presence of that incomprehensible Being, whose spirit dwelt in every feature of the cataract, and directed all its amazing energies. Yet, in the scenery of this day, there was more of a pervading sense of awful and unlimited grandeur; mountain piled upon mountain, in endless continuity, throughout the whole extent, and crowned by the brightest effulgence of an evening sun, upon the everlasting snows of the highest pinnacle of Europe.

LESSON CXI.

To the Stars.-CROLY.

YE stars, bright legions, that, before all time,
Camped on yon plains of sapphire,—what shall tell
Your burning myriads, but the eye of Him

Who bade through heaven your golden chariots wheel?

Yet who, earthborn, can see your hosts, nor feel Immortal impulses-Eternity?

What wonder if the o'erwrought soul should reel With its own weight of thought, and the wild eye See fate within your tracks of sleepless glory lie?

For ye behold the Mightiest.-From that steep,
What ages have ye worshipped round your King!
Ye heard his trumpet sounding o'er the sleep
Of earth; ye heard the morning angels sing.
Upon that orb, now o'er me quivering,
The gaze of Adam fixed from Paradise;

The wanderers of the deluge saw it spring Above the mountain surge, and hailed its rise, Lighting their lonely track with Hope's celestial dyes.

On Calvary shot down that purple eye,
When, but the soldier and the sacrifice,
All were departed-Mount of Agony!

But Time's broad pinion, ere the giant dies,
Shall cloud your dome :-ye fruitage of the skies,
Your vineyard shall be shaken. From your urn,

Censers of heaven, no more shall glory rise,

Your incense to the throne. The heavens shall burn! For all your pomps are dust, and shall to dust return '

LESSON CXII.

Sabbath Morning.—GRAHAME.

How still the morning of the hallowed day!
Mute is the voice of rural labor, hushed
The ploughboy's whistle, and the milkmaid's song.
The scythe lies glittering in the dewy wreath
Of tedded grass, mingled with fading flowers,
That yester-morn bloomed, waving in the breeze.
Sounds, the most faint, attract the ear,—the hum
Of early bee, the trickling of the dew,

The distant bleating, midway up the hill.
Calmness sits throned on yon unmoving cloud.
To him who wanders o'er the upland leas,

The blackbird's note comes mellower from the dale;
And sweeter from the sky the gladsome lark
Warbles with heaven-tuned song; the lulling brook
Murmurs more gently down the deep-worn glen ;
While, from yon lowly roof, whose curling smoke
O'ermounts the mist, is heard, at intervals,
The voice of psalms,-the simple song of praise.

With dove-like wings, Peace o'er yon village broods: The dizzying mill-wheel rests; the anvil's din Hath ceased; all, all around is quietness.

Less fearful, on this day, the limping hare

Stops, and looks back, and stops, and looks on man,
Her deadliest foe. The toil-worn horse, set free,
Unheedful of the pasture, roams at large;

And as his stiff, unwieldy bulk he rolls,
His iron-armed hoofs gleam in the morning ray.

But chiefly man the day of rest enjoys. Hail, Sabbath! thee I hail, the poor man's day. On other days, the man of toil is doomed To eat his joyless bread lonely,—the ground Both seat and board, screened from the winter's cold And summer's heat, by neighboring hedge or tree; But on this day, embosomed in his home, He shares the frugal meal with those he loves; With those he loves, he shares the heart-felt joy

Of giving thanks to God,-not thanks of form,

A word and a grimace; but reverently,

With covered face, and upward, earnest eye.

Hail, Sabbath! thee I hail, the poor man's day:
The pale mechanic now has leave to breathe
The morning air, pure from the city's smoke;
While, wandering slowly up the river's side,
He meditates on Him, whose power he marks
In each green tree that proudly spreads the bough,

As in the tiny dew-bent flowers that bloom
Around its roots; and while he thus surveys,
With elevated joy, each rural charm,

He hopes,-yet fears presumption in the hope,-
That heaven may be one Sabbath without end.

LESSON CXIII.

The Evening Cloud: a Sonnet.-WILSON.

A CLOUD lay cradled near the setting sun-
A gleam of crimson tinged its braided snow;
Long had I watched the glory moving on,

O'er the still radiance of the lake below.
Tranquil its spirit seemed, and floated slow;
E'en in its very motion there was rest,
While every breath of eve, that chanced to blow,
Wafted the traveller to the beauteous west-
Emblem, methought, of the departed soul,

To whose white robe the gleam of bliss is given, And by the breath of mercy made to roll

Right onward to the golden gates of heaven;
Where, to the eye of faith, it peaceful lies,
And tells to man his glorious destinies.

LESSON CXIV.

Twilight,-Hope.-HALLECK.

THERE is an evening twilight of the heart,
When its wild passion waves are lulled to rest,

And the eye sees life's fairy scenes depart,
As fades the day-beam in the rosy west.