bird of night, the only tenant of those forsaken abodes of a stern despotism, and of a still more stern superstition.

But not the products of the earth, nor yet the works of man, alone change and pass away. In many particulars, the great mass of earth itself is liable to change, and has been moulded into different forms. Hills have been sunk beneath the depths of the sea, and the depths of the sea, in their turn, have been laid bare, or thrown up into stupendous mountains. Of most of these wonderful changes, it is true, history gives us no account. But that they have occurred, the deep places of the earth, its hardest rocks, its gigantic hills, alike bear witness.

Many of us have seen, with our own eyes, those creatures, that were once passing through the paths of the seas," taken from their marble beds in the mountain's bosom, hundreds of miles from those bars and doors, within which the sea is now shut up, and by which its proud waves are now stayed we cannot say forever stayed; for the regions of the earth, that, by one mighty convulsion, have been rescued from the deep, may, by other mighty convulsions, be given back to its dominion; and those rich plains, that are now the theatre of vegetative life and beauty, may, in time, be sunk under the weltering deep, as other fertile plains have been before them.

In a moral, not less than in a physical sense, the fashion of this world passeth away. The passions of mankind, it is true, remain the same in their general character; but in different ages and nations, under different systems of morals, philosophy and religion, they are subjected to a very different discipline, and are directed towards different objects. But, if we except his general moral nature, what is there in man, in which the caprices of fashion are not continually displayed?

If, then, the beauties of the year are so fading, and its bounties so soon perish; if the loveliest scenes of nature lose their power to charm, and a few revolving years break the spell, that binds us to those whom we love best; if the very figure of the earth is changed by its own convulsions;

if the forms of human government, and the monuments of human power and skill, cannot endure; if nothing on "the earth beneath, or the waters under the earth," preserves its form unchanged, what is there that remains forever the same? What is there, over which autumnal winds and wintry frosts have no power? what, that does not pass away, while we are contending with wayward fortune, or struggling with calamity? what, that is proof against the fluctuations of human opinion, and the might of ocean's waves, and the convulsions, by which mountains are heaved up from the abyss, or thrown from their deep foundations?

It is the God by whom these mighty works are done; by whose hand this great globe was first moulded, and has ever since been fashioned according to his will. "Hast thou not

known, hast thou not heard, that the Everlasting God, Jehovah, the Creator of the ends of the earth, fainteth not, neither

To him, then, we can go, and to him let us go, in a filial assurance that there is no variableness in him. Though the glories of the year fade, though our young affections are blighted, and our expectations from this world are disappointed, we know that he has the power to make all these melancholy scenes of salutary influence, and conducive to "the soul's eternal health." Though the opinions of the world, and our own opinions in respect to him, may change, there is no change in the love with which he regards and forever embraces us. God passeth not away, nor do his laws. Those laws require, that we, and all that is around us, should change and pass away. Those laws govern us, and will do so forever. They bind us to our highest good. Then let us yield them a prompt and a perpetual obedience.

"The Creator of the ends of the earth fainteth not, neither is weary." Nor does that faith in him grow weary, which he demands and deserves from us; faith in his wisdom to guide and govern us, faith in his gracious promises to crown our efforts, in his service, with a reward that is glorious and enduring. Though "the mountain falling cometh to naught," though the solid globe be shaken in its course, the hand that heaved the mountains to the heavens, and upholds them there, and that curbs the earth in its bright career is estûnd•

ed to uphold all, who cast themselves upon it with the prayer that they may be protected, and with the belief that they shall be.

LESSON XV.

Passing away.-Maria J. Jewsbury.

I ASKED the stars, in the pomp of night,
Gilding its blackness with crowns of light,
Bright with beauty, and girt with power,
Whether eternity were not their dower;
And dirge-like music stole from their spheres,
Bearing this message to mortal ears:—

"We have no light that hath not been given;
We have no strength but shall soon be riven;
We have no power wherein man may trust;
Like him are we, things of time and dust;
And the legend we blazon with beam and ray,
And the song of our silence, is-Passing away.'

"We shall fade in our beauty, the fair and bright,
Like lamps that have served for a festal night;
We shall fall from our spheres, the old and strong,
Like rose-leaves swept by the breeze along;
The worshipped as gods in the olden day,
We shall be like a vain dream-Passing away."

From the stars of heaven, and the flowers of earth,
From the pageant of power, and the voice of mirth,
From the mists of morn on the mountain's brow,
From childhood's song, and affection's vow,-
From all, save that o'er which soul bears sway,
Breathes but one record-Passing away.'

'Passing away,' sing the breeze and rill,

As they sweep on their course by vale and hill ;

Through the varying scenes of each earthly clime,
'Tis the lesson of nature, the voice of time;
And man at last, like his fathers gray,
Writes in his own dust-Passing away.'

LESSON XVI.

The Death of the Flowers.-BRYANT.

THE melancholy days are come, the saddest of the year,
Of wailing winds, and naked woods, and meadows brown and

sere.

Heaped in the hollows of the grove, the withered leaves lie dead; They rustle to the eddying gust, and to the rabbit's tread. The robin and the wren are flown, and from the shrub the jay, And from the wood-top calls the crow, through all the gloomy day.

Where are the flowers, the fair young flowers, that lately sprung and stood

In brighter light and softer airs, a beauteous sisterhood? Alas! they all are in their graves; the gentle race of flowers Are lying in their lowly beds, with the fair and good of ours. The rain is falling where they lie; but the cold November rain Calls not, from out the gloomy earth, the lovely ones again.

The wind-flower and the violet, they perished long ago,
And the wild-rose and the orchis died amid the summer glow;
But on the hill the golden-rod, and the aster in the wood,
And the yellow sun-flower by the brook, in autumn beauty stood,
Till fell the frost from the clear cold heaven, as falls the
plague on men,

And the brightness of their smile was gone from upland, glade and glen.

And now, when comes the calm, mild day, as still such days will come,

To call the squirrel and the bee from out their winter home,

When the sound of dropping nuts is heard, though all the trees are still,

And twinkle in the smoky light the waters of the rill, The south wind searches for the flowers, whose fragrance late he bore,

And sighs to find them in the wood and by the stream no more.

And then I think of one who in her youthful beauty died, The fair, meek blossom that grew up and faded by my side? In the cold, moist earth we laid her when the forest cast the leaf, And we wept that one so lovely should have a life so brief; Yet not unmeet it was, that one, like that young friend of ours, So gentle and so beautiful, should perish with the flowers.

LESSON XVII.

The Autumn Evening.-PEABODY.

BEHOLD the western evening light!
It melts in deepening gloom:
So calmly Christians sink away,
Descending to the tomb.

The winds breathe low, the withering leaf
Scarce whispers from the tree:

So gently flows the parting breath,
When good men cease to be.

How beautiful on all the hills

The crimson light is shed!

"Tis like the peace the Christian gives
To mourners round his bed.

How mildly, on the wandering cloud,
The sunset beam is cast!

Tis like the memory left behind,

When loved ones breathe their last.