guage of poetry is so well calculated to impress truths on the mind. In addition to the extract from Dr. Arnott, I have one from Lord Jeffrey on the same subject, the steam-engine, which I will read to you.

12. The Steam-engine.-"It has become a thing stupendous alike for its force' and its flexibility'; for the prodigious power which it can exert', and the ease, precision, and ductility with which it can be varied, distributed, and applied'. The trunk of an elephant, that can pick up a pin' or rend an oak', is as nothing to it. It can engrave a seal', and crush masses of obdurate metal before it'; draw out, without breaking, a thread as fine as gossamer', and lift up a ship of war like a bauble in the air'. It can embroider muslin' and forge anchors'; cut steel into ribbons', and impel loaded vessels against the fury of the winds and waves'.

But I perceive, George, that you also have something which you wish to read. If it has any connection with this subject, we will near it if you please, and let it conclude this lesson. George. It is a few verses from a little poem entitled

13.

14.

15.

16.

11.

THE SONG OF STEAM, by G. W. CUTTER,

Harness me down with your iron bands,

Be sure of your curb and rein,

For I scorn the power of your puny hands
As the tempest scorns a chain.

How I laughed, as I lay concealed from sight
For many a countless hour,

At the childish boast of human might,

And the pride of human power.

Ha ha ha! they found me at last,

They invited me forth at length,

And I rushed to my throne with a thunder-blast,

And laughed in my iron strength.

Oh then ye saw a wondrous change
On earth and ocean wide,

Where now my fiery armies range,
Nor wait for wind nor tide.

Hurra! hurra! the waters o'er

The mountain's steep decline;
Time, space, have yielded to my power,
The world! the world is mine!
The rivers the sun hath earliest bless'd,
And those where his beams decline,
The giant streams of the queenly west,
And the orient floods divine.

I blow the bellows, I forge the steel,

In all the shops of trade;

I hammer the ore, and turn the wheel

Where my arms of strength are made ;

I manage the furnace, the mill, the mint,

I carry, I spin, I weave;

And all my doings I put in print

On every Saturday eve.

I've no muscle to weary, no breast to decay,
No bones to be laid on the shelf;

And soon I intend you may go and play,
While I manage this world myself.

But, harness me down with your iron bands,
Be sure of your curb and rein,

For I scorn the strength of your puny hands,
As the tempest scorns a chain.

LESSON I-BLESSINGS ON CHILDREN.

1. BLESSINGS on the blessing children, sweetest gifts of Heaven to earth,
Filling all the heart with gladness, filling all the house with mirth;
Bringing with them native sweetness, pictures of the primal bloom
Which the bliss forever gladdens, of the region whence they come;
Bringing with them joyous impulse of a state withouten care,
And a buoyant faith in being, which makes all in nature fair;
Not a doubt to dim the distance, not a grief to vex the nigh,
And a hope that in existence finds each hour a luxury;
Going singing, bounding, brightening-never fearing as they go,
That the innocent shall tremble, and the loving find a foe;

In the daylight, in the starlight, still with thought that freely flies,
Prompt and joyous, with no question of the beauty in the skies;
Genial fancies winning raptures, as the bee still sucks her store,
All the present still a garden glean'd a thousand times before;
All the future but a region where the happy serving thought,
Still depicts a thousand blessings, by the winged hunter caught;
Life a chase where blushing pleasures only seem to strive in flight,
Lingering to be caught, and yielding gladly to the proud delight;
As the maiden, through the alleys, looking backward as she flies,
Woos the fond pursuer onward, with the love-light in her eyes.
2. Oh! the happy life in children, still restoring joy to ours,
Making for the forest music, planting for the wayside flowers;
Back recalling all the sweetness, in a pleasure pure as rare,
Back the past of hope and rapture bringing to the heart of care.
How, as swell the happy voices, bursting through the shady grove,
Memories take the place of sorrows, time restores the sway to love!
We are in the shouting comrades, shaking off the load of years,
Thought forgetting, strifes and trials, doubts, and agonies, and tears;
We are in the bounding urchin, as o'er hill and plain he darts,
Share the struggle and the triumph, gladdening in his heart of hearts;
What an image of the vigor and the glorious grace we knew,
When to eager youth from boyhood at a single bound we grew!
Even such our slender beauty, such upon our cheek the glow,
In our eyes the life of gladness-of our blood the overflow,
Bless the mother of the urchin! in his form we see her truth:
He is now the very picture of the memories in our youth;
Never can we doubt the forehead, nor the sunny flowing hair,
Nor the smiling in the dimple speaking chin and cheek so fair:
Bless the mother of the young one! he hath blended in his grace,
All the hope, and joy, and beauty, kindling once in either face!

3. Oh! the happy faith of children, that is glad in all it sees,
And with never need of thinking, pierces still its mysteries;
In simplicity profoundest, in their soul abundance bless'd,
Wise in value of the sportive, and in restlessness at rest;
Lacking every creed, yet having faith so large in all they see,
That to know is still to gladden, and 'tis rapture but to be.
What trim fancies bring them flowers; what rare spirits walk their wood
What a wondrous world the moonlight harbors of the gay and good!
Unto them the very tempest walks in glories grateful still,
And the lightning gleams, a seraph, to persuade them to the hill:
'Tis a sweet and loving spirit, that throughout the midnight rains,
Broods beside the shutter'd windows, and with gentle love complains,
And how wooing, how exalting, with the richness of her dyes,
Spans the painter of the rainbow, her bright arch along the skies,
With a dream like Jacob's ladder, showing to the fancy's sight,
How 'twere easy for the sad one to escape to worlds of light!
Ah! the wisdom of such fancies, and the truth in every dream,
That to faith confiding offers, cheering every gloom, a gleam!
Happy hearts, still cherish fondly each delusion of your youth,
Joy is born of well believing, and the fiction wraps the truth.

W. G. SIMMS

LESSON II.-THE SARACEN BROTHERS.

SALADIN-MALEK ADHEL-ATTENDANT.

Attendant. A stranger craves admittance to your highness.

Saladin. Whence comes he?

Attendant. That I know not.

Enveloped with a vestment of strange form,
His countenance is hidden; but his step,
His lofty port, his voice in vain disguised,
Proclaim-if that Ì dare pronounce it—
Saladin. Whom?

Attendant. Thy royal brother!

Saladin. Bring him instantly. [Exit Attendant.] Now, with his specious, smooth, persuasive tongue, Fraught with some wily subterfuge, he thinks

To dissipate my anger.

He shall die!

[Enter Attendant and Malek Adhel.] Leave us together. [Exit Attendant.] [Aside. I should know that form. Now summon all thy fortitude, my soul,

Nor, though thy blood cry for him, spare the guilty!

[Aloud.] Well stranger, speak; but first unveil thyself,

For Saladin must view the form that fronts him.

Malek Adhel. Behold it, then!

Saladin. I see a traitor's visage.

Malek Adhel. A brother's!

Saladin. No!

Saladin owns no kindred with a villain.

Malek Adhel. Oh, patience, Heaven! Had any tongue but thine Uttered that word, it ne'er should speak another.

Saladin. And why not now? Can this heart be more pierced.

By Malek Adhel's sword than by his deeds?
Oh, thou hast made a desert of this bosom !
For open candor, planted sly disguise;
For confidence, suspicion; and the glow
Of generous friendship, tenderness, and love,
Forever banished! Whither can I turn,
When he by blood, by gratitude, by faith,
By every tie, bound to support, forsakes me?
Who, who can stand, when Malek Adhel falls?
Henceforth I turn me from the sweets of love:
The smiles of friendship, and this glorious world,
In which all find some heart to rest upon,
Shall be to Saladin a cheerless void-
His brother has betrayed him!

Malek Adhel. Thou art softened;

I am thy brother, then; but late thou saidst
My tongue can never utter the base title!

Saladin. Was it traitor? True:
Thou hast betrayed me in my fondest hopes!
Villain? "Tis just; the title is appropriate !
Dissembler? "Tis not written in thy face;

No, nor imprinted on that specious brow;

But on this breaking heart the name is stamped,
Forever stamped, with that of Malek Adhel!

Thinkest thou I'm softened? By Mohammed! these hands

Shall crush these aching eyeballs ere a tear

Fall from them at thy fate! Oh monster, monster!

The brute that tears the infant from its nurse

Is excellent to thee; for in his form

The impulse of his nature may be read;
But thou, so beautiful, so proud, so noble,
Oh, what a wretch art thou! Oh, can a term
In all the various tongues of man be found
To match thy infamy?

Malek Adhel. Go on! go on!

"Tis but a little time to hear thee, Saladin; And, bursting at thy feet, this heart will prove Its penitence, at least.

Saladin. That were an end

Too noble for a traitor!

The bowstring is

A more appropriate finish! Thou shalt die!

Malek Adhel. And death were welcome at another's mandate.

What, what have I to live for? Be it so,

If that, in all thy armies, can be found

An executing hand.

Saladin. Oh, doubt it not!

They're eager for the office. Perfidy,

So black as thine, effaces from their minds

All memory of thy former excellence.

Malek Adhel. Defer not, then, their wishes. Saladin,

If e'er this form was joyful to thy sight,

This voice seemed grateful to thine ear, accede

To my last prayer: Oh, lengthen not this scene,

To which the agonies of death were pleasing!
Let me die speedily!

Saladin. This very hour!

[Aside.] For oh! the more I look upon that face,
The more I hear the accents of that voice,
The monarch softens, and the judge is lost

In all the brother's weakness; yet such guilt

Such vile ingratitude-it calls for vengeance;

And vengeance it shall have! What ho! who waits there?

Attendant. Did your highness call?

Saladin. Assemble quickly

My forces in the court. Tell them they come

To view the death of yonder bosom traitor.

And bid them mark, that he who will not spare

His brother when he errs, expects obedience

[Enter Attendant.]

Silent obedience-from his followers. [Exit Attendant.]
Malek Adhel. Now, Saladin,

The word is given; I have nothing more
To fear from thee, my brother. I am not
About to crave a miserable life.

Without thy love, thy honor, thy esteem,