Fair forms have lent their gladdest smile, White hands have waved the conqueror on, And flowers have decked his path the while, By gentle fingers strown.

Soft tones have cheered him, and the brow Of beauty beams uncovered now.

The bard has waked the song for him,
And poured his boldest numbers forth;
The wine-cup, sparkling to the brim,
Adds phrensy to the mirth;

And every tongue, and every eye,
Does homage to the passer by.

The gallant steed treads proudly on;
His foot falls firmly now, as when,
In strife, that iron heel went down,
Upon the hearts of men,

And, foremost in the ranks of strife,
Trod out the last dim spark of life.

Dream they of these, the glad and gay,

That bend around the conqueror's path ?The horrors of the conflict day,

The gloomy field of death,

The ghastly stain, the severed head,

The raven stooping o'er the dead!

Dark thoughts, and fearful! yet they bring
No terrors to the triumph hour,

Nor stay the reckless worshipping
Of blended crime and power.
The fair of form, the mild of mood,

Do honor to the man of blood.

Men, Christians, pause! The air ye breathe

Is poisoned by your idol now;

And will you turn to him, and wreath
Your chaplets round his brow?

call his darkest deeds sublime, smile assent to giant crime?

id it, Heaven!—A voice hath gone
mildness and in meekness forth,
ning, before its silvery tone,
ne stormy things of earth,

whispering sweetly through the gloom
arnest of the peace to come.

LESSON LXXVI.

War.-PORTEUS.

'TWAS man himself

at Death into the world; and man himself eenness to his darts, quickened his pace, ultiplied destruction on mankind. Envy, eldest born of Hell, imbrued

nds in blood, and taught the sons of men ke a death, which nature never made, od abhorred; with violence rude to break read of life, ere half its length was run, b a wretched brother of his being. ɔy Ambition saw, and soon improved ecrable deed. 'Twas not enough, tle fraud, to snatch a single lifempiety! whole kingdoms fell

e the lust of power; more horrid still, ulest stain and scandal of our nature e its boast. One murder made a villain,

s a hero.-Princes were privileged

and numbers sanctified the crime.

why will kings forget that they are men ? en that they are brethren? Why delight ian sacrifice? Why burst the ties

ure, that should knit their souls together soft bond of amity and love?

Il, they breathe destruction, still go on

Inhumanly ingenious to find out

New pains for life, new terrors for the grave, Artificers of death! Still monarchs dream Of universal empire growing up

From universal ruin. Blast the design, Great God of hosts, nor let thy creatures fall Unpitied victims at Ambition's shrine!

LESSON LXXVII.

The Battle of Blenheim.-SOUTHEY.

Ir was a summer evening,—
Old Kaspar's work was done,
And he, before his cottage door,
Was sitting in the sun;

And by him sported, on the green,
His little grand-child, Wilhelmine.

She saw her brother Peterkin

Roll something large and round,
Which he, beside the rivulet,
In playing there, had found:

He came to ask what he had found,
That was so large, and smooth, and round

Old Kaspar took it from the boy,

Who stood expectant by;

And then the old man shook his head,

And, with a natural sigh,

""Tis some poor fellow's skull," said he, "Who fell in the great victory.

"I find them in the garden, for There's many here about; And often, when I go to plough,

The ploughshare turns them out; For many thousand men," said he, "Were slain in the great victory."

ow tell us what 'twas all about" Young Peterkin he cries,

little Wilhelmine looks up With wonder-waiting eyesow tell us all about the war, d what they killed each other for,"

was the English," Kaspar cried, Who put the French to rout; t what they killed each other for, I could not well make out: t every body said," quoth he, That 'twas a famous victory.

My father lived at Blenheim then,
Yon little stream hard by:

ey burned his dwelling to the ground,

And he was forced to fly;

with his wife and child he fled,

or had he where to rest his head.

With fire and sword the country round Was wasted far and wide,

nd many a hapless mother then,

And many an infant, died;

ut things like these, you know, must be every famous victory.

They say it was a shocking sight,

After the field was won;

or many thousand bodies here

Lay rotting in the sun;

ut things like that, you know, must be

fter a famous victory.

Great praise the duke of Marlb'ro' won,

And our good prince Eugene."

Why, 'twas a very wicked thing!"
Said little Wilhelmine.

"Nay, nay, my little girl," quoth he,
"It was a famous victory.

"And every body praised the duke
Who such a fight did win."

"But what good came of it at last?'
Quoth little Peterkin.

"Why, that I cannot tell," said he;
"But 'twas a famous victory"

LESSON LXXVIII.

e Study of History; or a Solid and a Superficial Education contrasted.-From RUHNKEN.

Teacher. I HEAR that you have made great progress in tory, and that you have at home a very able instructress

it.

Pupil. Yes, that is the case; our governess knows all tory; and I have profited much from her instruction. T. But what have you learned? Tell me.

P. All history.

T. But what is all history?

P. (Hesitating.) All history? Why it is-it is—what is

books.

T. Well, I have here many books on history, as Herodo, Livy, Tacitus and others; I suppose you know those hors.

P. No, I do not; but I know the facts related in history. T. I dare say you do; I see, however, that, out of your owledge of all history, we must deduct a knowledge of the hors who have written it. But perhaps that governess yours has informed you who Homer, Hesiod, Plato and other poets and philosophers were?

P. I don't think she has; for, if she had, I should have embered it.