finger of the Divinity has inscribed on it were extinguished forever-an event so awful to us, and to every world in our vicinity, by which so many suns would be extinguished, and so many varied scenes of life and population would rush into forgetfulnèss-what is it in the high scale of the Almighty's workmanship? A mere shred, which, though scattered into nothing, would leave the universe of God one entire scene of greatness and of majesty. 2. Though the earth and the heavens were to disappear, there are other worlds which roll afar; the light of other suns shines upon them; and the sky which mantles them is garnished with other stars. Is it presumption to say that the moral world extends to these distant and unknown regions? that they are occupied with people? that the charities of hōme and of neighborhood flourish there? that the praises of God are there lifted up, and his goodness rejoiced in? that there piety has its temples and its offerings? and the richness of the divine attributes is there felt and admired by intelligent worshippers? 3. And what is this world in the immensity which teems with them; and what are they who occupy it? The universe at large would suffer as little in its splendor and variety by the destruction of our planet, as the verdure and sublime magnitude of a forest would suffer by the fall of a single leaf. The leaf quivers on the branch which supports it. It lies at the mercy of the slightest accident. A breath of wind tears it from its stem, and it lights on the stream of water which passes underneath. In a mōmènt of time the life, which we know by the microscope it teems with, is extinguished; and an occurrence so insignificant in the eye of man, and on the scale of his observation, carries in it to the myriads which people this little leaf an event as terrible and as decisive as the destruction of a world. 4. Now, on the grand scale of the universe, we, the occupiers of this ball, which performs its little round among the suns and the systems that astronomy has unfolded-we may feel the same littleness and the same insecurity. We differ from the leaf only in this circumstance, that it would require the operation of greater ělemènts to destroy us. 5. But these elements exist. The fire which rages within may lift its devouring energy to the surface of our planet, and trans form it into one wide and wasting volcano. The sudden formation of elastic matter in the bowels of the earth-and it lies within the agency of known substances to accomplish this-may explode it into fragments. The exhalation of noxious air from below may impart a virulence to the air that is around us; it may affect the delicate proportion of its ingredients; and the whole of animated nature may wither and die under the malignity of a tainted atmosphere. A blazing comet may cross this fated planet in its orbit, and realize all the terrors which superstition has conceived of it. 6. We can not anticipate with precision the consequences of an event which every astronomer must know to lie within the limits of chance and probability. It may hurry our globe toward the sun, or drag it to the outer regions of the planetary system, or give it a new axis of revolution-and the effect, which I shall simply announce without explaining it, would be to change the place of the ocean, and bring another mighty flood upon our islands and continents. 7. These are changes which may happen in a single instant of time, and against which nothing known in the present system of things provides us with any security. They might not annihilate the earth, but they would unpeople it, and we, who tread its surface with such firm and assured footsteps, are at the mercy of devouring elements, which, if let loose upon us by the hand of the Almighty, would spread solitude, and silence, and death over the dominions of the world. 8. Now it is this littleness and this insecurity which make the protection of the Almighty so dear to us, and bring with such emphasis to every pious bosom the holy lessons of humility and gratitude. The God who sittèth above, and presides in high authority over all worlds, is mindful of man; and though at this moment his energy is felt in the remōtèst provinces of creation, we may feel the same security in his providence as if we were the objects of his undivided care. 9. It is not for us to bring our minds up to this mysterious agency. But such is the incomprehensible fact, that the same Being, whose eye is abroad over the whole universe, gives vegetation to every blade of grass, and motion to every particle of blood which circulates through the veins of the minūtèst animal; that though his mind takes into his comprehensive grasp immensity and all its wonders, I am as much known to him as if I were the single object of his attention; that he marks all my thoughts; that he gives birth to every feeling and every movement within me; and that, with an exercise of power which I can neither describe nor comprehend, the same God who sits in the highèst heaven, and reigns over the glōries of the firmament, is at my right hand to give me every breath which I draw, and every comfort which I enjoy. CHALMERS. THOMAS CHALMERS, D.D., LL.D., the celebrated pulpit orator and divine, was born the 17th of March, 1780, at Anstruther, in Fifeshire, Scotland, of respectable and pious, though humble, parents. He was entered a student in St. Andrews College at the early age of 12; and soon gave indications of that strong predilection for the physical sciences which he retained through life. He obtained license to preach in connection with the Established Church of Scotland, while only 19, on the express ground that he was “a lad of pregnant parts;" though, at that early age, he considered the functions of the sacred office to be subordinate to scientific pursuits. By long personal illness, and severe domestic bereavements, he was brought from making religion a secondary concern with him, to regard it as a subject of paramount importance. In 1815 he took charge of the Tron Church and parish, Glasgow, from which time his reputation continued to advance until the sensation produced by his preaching surpassed all that was ever known or heard of in the annals of pulpit eloquence. In 1824 he became professor of moral philosophy in the University of St. Andrews; and in 1828 he was translated to the chair of divinity in the university at Edinburgh. Dr. Chalmers now commenced a career of authorship by which he still further extended his reputation as a divine. The most flattering honors were now heaped upon him; for he was chosen President of the Royal Society of Edinburgh, created Doctor of Laws by the University of Oxford, and appointed corresponding member of the Royal Institute of France-a compliment which no clergyman in Britain had ever previously enjoyed. His collected works, including sermons, theological lectures, etc., amount to 25 volumes. He died May 30, 1847. SECTION VI. I. 23. THE DESERTED ROAD. ANG NCIENT road, that wind'st deserted 2. Standing by thee, I look backward, 3. Here I stroll ǎlong the village As in youth's departèd morn; 4. Miss the crowd of jovial teamsters 5. To the mossy way-side tavern Comes the noisy thròng no mōre, 7. Ancient highway, thou art vanquished; Rolls, in fiery, iron rattle, 8. Thou art vanquished and neglected; Shall be deathlèss as the sun. 9. Though neglected, gray, and grassy, May be through as vernal valleys And as blest a calm as thine. READ. THOMAS BUCHANAN READ was born in Chester County, Pennsylvania, March 12th, 1822. In 1839 he went to Cincinnati, where he was employed in the studio of Clevenger, the sculptor, and here his attention was first called to painting, which he chose for his profession, and soon practiced with marked skill and success. He settled in New York City in 1841. After a few months he removed to Boston, where he remained until 1846, and then went to Philadelphia, where he practiced his profession, writing occasionaliy for periodicals, until 1850, when he first visited Europe. In the summer of 1853 he went abroad a second time, and settled in Florence, where until recently he has resided. In 1853 he issued an illustrated edition of his poems, comprising, with some new pieces, all he wished to preserve of volumes previously printed. In 1855, he published "The House by the Sea" and "The New Pastoral," the latter, in thirty-seven books, being the longest of his poems; and, in 1865, "A Summer Story, and Other Poems." Mr. Read's distin guishing characteristic is a delicate and varied play of fancy. His verse, though sometimes irregular, is always musical. He excels in homely descriptions. The flowers by the dusty wayside, the cheerful murmur of the meadow brook, the village tavern, and rustic mill, are his choice sources of inspiration. He died May 11, 1872. IN II. 24. SLEEPY HOLLOW. N the bosom of one of those spacious coves which indent the eastern shore of the Hudson, at that broad expansion of the river denominated by the ancient Dutch navigators the Tappan Zee, and where they always prudently shortened sail, and implored the protection of St. Nicholas' when they crossed, there lies a small market-town or rural pōrt, which by some is called Greensburg, but which is more generally and properly known by the name of Tarrytown. This name was given, we are told, in former days, by the good housewives of the adjacent country, from the inveterate propensity of their husbands to linger about the village tavern on market-days. Be that as it may, I do not vouch for the fact, but merely advert to it for the sake of being precise and authentic. 2. Not far from this village, perhaps about two miles, there is a little valley, or rather lap of land, among high hills, which is one of the quietest places in the whole world. A small brook glides through it, with just murmur enough to lull one to repose; and the occasional whistle of a quail or tapping of a woodpecker is almost the only sound that ever breaks in upon the uniform tranquillity. 3. I recollect that, when a stripling, my first exploit in squirrelshooting was in a grove of tall walnut-trees that shades one side of the valley. I had wandered into it at noon-time, when all nature is peculiarly quiet, and was startled by the roar of my own gun, as it broke the Sabbath stillness around, and was prolonged and reverberated' by the angry echoes. If ever I should wish for a retreat, whither I might steal from the world and its distractions, and dream quietly away the remnant of a troubled life, I know of none more promising than this little valley. 1 St. Nich' o las, the patron saint of boys. He is said to have been bishop of Myra, and to have died in the year 326. He is the Santa Claus (or Klaus) of the Dutch, and the bearer of Christmas presents. ? Re ver' ber at ed, returned or sent back, as sound; echoed. |