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Had moralized on this, and other truths Of kindred import, pleased and satisfied Was forced to vent his wisdom with a sigh Heaved from the heart in fortune's bitterness, When he had crushed a plentiful estate By ruinous contest, to obtain a seat In Britain's senate. Fruitless was the attempt. And while the uproar of that desperate strife Continued yet to vibrate on his ear, The vanquished Whig, under a borrowed naine, (For the mere sound and echo of his own Haunted him with sensations of disgust That he was glad to lose,) slunk from the world To the deep shade of those untravelled Wilds; In which the Scottish Laird had long possessed An undisturbed abode. Here, then, they met, Two doughty champions; flaming Jacobite And sullen Hanoverian! You might think That losses and vexations less severe Than those which they had severally sustained Would have inclined each to abate his zeal For his ungrateful cause ; no, I have heard My reverend Father tell, that, ’mid the calm Of that small town encountering thus, they filled, Daily, its bowling-green with harmless strife ; Plagued with uncharitable thoughts the church ; And vexed the market-place. But in the breasts 1)f these opponents gradually was wrought, With little change of general sentiment, Such leaning towards each other, that their daya

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By choice were spent in constant fellowship; And if, at times, they fretted with the yoke, Those very bickerings made them love it more.

"A favorite boundary to their lengthened walks This churchyard was. And, whether they hail

come

Treading their path in sympathy and linked
In social converse, or by some short space
Discreetly parted to preserve the peace,
One spirit seldom failed to extend its sway
Over both minds, when they awhile had marked
The visible quiet of this holy ground,
And breathed its soothing air;—the spirit of hope
And saintly magnanimity; that, spurning
The field of selfish difference and dispute,
And every care which transitory things,
Earth and the kingdoms of the earth, create,
Doth, by a rapture of forgetfulness,
Preclude forgiveness, from the praise debarred
Which else the Christian virtue might have claimed.

“ There live who yet remember here to have seen Their courtly figures, seated on the stump Of an old yew, their favorite resting-place. But as the remnant of the long-lived tree Was disappearing by a swift decay, They, with joint care, determined to erect, Upon its site, a dial, that might stand For public use preserved, and thus survive

As their own private monument: for this
Was the particular spot in which they wichsu
(And Heaven was pleased to accomplish the desire)
That, undivided, their remains should lie.
So, where the mouldered tree had stood, was raised
Yon structure, framing, with the ascent of steps
That to the decorated pillar lead,
A work of art more sumptuous than might seem
To suit this place ; yet built in no proud scorn
Of rustic homeliness; they only aimed
To insure for it respectful guardianship.
Around the margin of the plate, whereon
The shadow falls to note the stealthy hours,
Winds an inscriptive legend.”. · At these words
Thither we turned ; and gathered, as we read,
The appropriate sense, in Latin numbers couched:
" Time flies; it is his melancholy task
To bring, and bear away, delusive hopes,
And reproduce the troubles he destroys.
But while his blindness thus is occupied,
Discerning Mortal! do thou serve the will
Of Time's eternal Master, and that peace
Which the world wants shall be for thee confirmed!

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“Smooth verse, inspired by no unlettered Musc," Exclaimed the Sceptic, “and the strain of thoughi Accords with nature's language ;- the soft voice Of yon white torrent falling down the rocks Speaks, less distinctly, to the same effect. If, then, their blended influence be not lost

Upon our hearts, not wholly lost, I grant,
Even upon mine, the more are we required
To feel for those among our fellow-men,
Who, offering no obeisance to the world,
Are yet made desperate by too quick a sepse
Of constant infelicity,' cut off
From peace like exiles on some barren rock,
Their life's appointed prison ; not more free
Than sentinels between two armies set,
With nothing better, in the chill night air,
Than their own thoughts to comfort them. Say why
That ancient story of Prometheus chained
To the bare rock, on frozen Caucasus,
The vulture, the inexhaustible repast
Drawn from his vitals ? Say what meant the woes
By Tantalus entailed

upon

his

race, And the dark sorrows of the line of Thebes ? Fictions in form, but in their substance truths, Tremendous truths ! familiar to the men Of long past times, nor obsolete in ours. Exchange the shepherd's frock of native gray For robes with regal purple tinged ; convert The crook into a sceptre; give the pomp Of circumstance; and here the tragic Muse Shall find apt subjects for her highest art. Amid the groves, under the shadowy hills, The generations are prepared ; the pangs, The internal pangs, are ready; the dread strife Of poor humanity's afflicted will Struggling in vain in ruthless destiny."

6 Though,” said the Priest in answer, “these be

terms Which a divine philosophy rejects, We, whose established and unfailing trust Is in controlling Providence, admit That, through all stations, human life abounds With mysteries ; for, if Faith were left untried, How could the might that lurks within her then Be shown? her glorious excellence, that ranks Among the first of Powers and Virtues, proved ? Our system is not fashioned to preclude That sympathy which you for others ask ; And I could tell, not travelling for my

theme Beyond these humble graves, of grievous crimes And strange disasters ; but I pass

them by, Loth to disturb what Heaven hath hushed in peace.

Still less, far less, am I inclined to treat Of Man degraded in his Maker's sight By the deformities of brutish vice : For, in such portraits, though a vulgar face And a coarse outside of repulsive life And unaffecting manners might at once Be recognized by all — " " Ah! do not think,” The Wanderer somewhat eagerly exclaimed, “ Wish could be ours that you, for such poor gain, (Gain shall I call it? --- gain of what?--for whom?) Should breathe a word tending to violate Your own pure spirit. Not a step we look for In slight of that forbearance and reserve Which common human-heartedness inspires,

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