exalted nature still, to which these powers are but subordinate agents. Such are the facts of science, which, indeed, draw 66 sermons from stones," and find "tongues in trees." Science alone can interpret the mysterious whisperings of Nature, and in this consists its poetry.

8. How weak are the creations of romance when viewed beside the discoveries of science. One affords matter for meditation, and gives rise to thoughts of a most ennobling character; the other excites for a moment, and leaves the mind vacant or diseased. The former, like the atmosphere, furnishes a constant supply of the most healthful matter; the latter gives an unnatural stimulus, which compels a renewal of the same kind of excitement to maintain the continuation of its pleasurable sensations.

1 MEM -NON. The famous vocal statue of Memnon, in Egypt, was said to utter, when it was struck by the first beams of the rising 2 sun, a sound like the snapping asunder of

a musical string; an historical fact, but
the cause of which remains a mystery.
IN-TER-STI-CES, spaces between the parts
which compose a body.

--

LESSON XIV. THE EXTENT OF CHEMICAL ACTION.
ROBERT HUNT.

1. It is evident that in all chemical phenomena we have the combined exercise of the great physical forces and evidences of some powers which are, as yet, shrouded in the mystery of our ignorance. The formation of minerals within the clefts of the rocks, the germination of seeds, the growth of the plant, the developments of its fruit and its ultimate decay, the secret processes of animal life, assimilation, digestion, and respiration, and all the changes of external form which take place around us, are the result of the exercise of that principle which we call chemical.

2. By chemical action plants take from the atmosphere the elements of their growth; these they yield to animals, and from these they are again returned to the air. The viewless atmosphere is gradually formed into an organized being, which as gradually is again resolved into the thin air, and all through chemical processes. The changes of the mineral world are of an analogous character, but we can not trace them so clearly in all their phenomena.

3. An eternal round of chemical action is displayed in nature. Life and death are but two phases of its influences. Growth and decay are equally the result of its power.

NINTH MISCELLANEOUS DIVISION.

ELEGY WRITTEN IN A COUNTRY CHURCH-YARD.THOS. GRAY. ["Gray's Elegy" is generally conceded to be one of the most finished poems ever written. It supposes the poet to be musing in a country church-yard at the close of a tranquil summer's day, when the scene calls up a train of reflections upon the character and occupations of the "rude forefathers of the peaceful hamlet" who sleep beneath him. Reflecting that they shall wake no more at morn to pursue their daily avocations, he passes in review before him the industrious, contented, unambitious life they led, while both their virtues and their crimes were circumscribed by the humble lot in life which Providence had assigned them. The poet then fancies some one, after years had passed away, inquiring into his fate, and he puts into the mouth of "some hoary-headed swain" a simple relation of the little that might then be told of his, the poet's, humble history; and this is followed, in the last three verses, by his own epitaph. The artist has pictured every scene described, as it is supposed to have arisen in the mind of the poet.]

1. THE curfew tolls the knell of parting day;
The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea;
The plowman homeward plods his weary way,
And leaves the world to darkness and to me.

2. Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight,
And all the air a solemn stillness holds,
Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight,
And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds:

3. Save that, from yonder ivy-mantled tower,
The moping owl does to the moon complain
Of such as, wandering near her secret bower,
Molest her ancient solitary reign.

4. Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree's shade, Where heaves the turf in many a mouldering heap, Each in his narrow cell forever laid,

The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep.

5. The breezy call of incense-breathing morn,
The swallow twittering from the straw-built shed,
The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing horn,
No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed.

6. For them, no more the blazing hearth shall burn,
Or busy housewife ply her evening care;
No children run to lisp their sire's return,
Or climb his knees, the envied kiss to share.

7. Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield;

Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke; How jocund did they drive their team a-field! How bow'd the woods beneath their sturdy stroke!

9. The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power,
And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave,
Await, alike, th' inevitable hour-

The paths of glory lead but to the grave.

10. Nor you, ye proud! impute to these the fault,
If Memory o'er their tomb no trophies raise;
Where, through the long-drawn aisle and fretted vault,
The pealing anthem swells the note of praise.

11. Can storied urn, or animated bust,

Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath?
Can Honor's voice provoke the silent dust?
Or Flattery soothe the dull, cold ear of Death?