but when they marked how she wasted away every time they met, compassion succeeded; and on the three last nights, (like a human fair one in the latest stage of decline, growing lovelier and dearer to her friends till the close,) she disarmed hostility, conciliated kindness, and secured affection; she was admired, beloved, and unenvied by all.

At length there came a night when there was no moon. There was silence in heaven all that night. In serene meditation on the changes of a month, the stars pursued their journey from sunset to daybreak. The comet had likewise departed into unknown regions. His fading lustre had been attributed at first to the bolder radiance of the moon in her meridian; but during her wane, while inferior luminaries were brightening around her, he was growing fainter and smaller every evening, and now he was no more. Of the rest, planets and stars, all were unimpaired in their light, and the former only slightly varied in their positions. The whole multitude, wiser by experience, and better for their knowledge, were humble, contented, and grateful, each for his lot, whether splendid or obscure.

Next evening, to the joy and astonishment of all, the moon, with a new crescent, was descried in the west; and instantly, from every quarter of the pole, she was congratulated on her happy resurrection. Just as she went down, while her bow was yet recumbent on the dark purple horizon, it is said that an angel appeared, standing between her horns. Turning his head, his eye glanced rapidly over the universe, the sun sunk far behind him, the moon under his feet, the earth spread in prospect before him, and the firmament all glittering with constellations above. He paused a moment, and then, in that tongue wherein, at the accomplishment of creation, "the morning stars sang together, and all the sons of God shouted for joy," he thus broke forth: "Great and marvellous are thy works, Lord God Almighty! in wisdom hast thou made them all. Who would not fear thee, O

Lord, and glorify thy name, for thou only art holy?" He ceased, and from that hour there has been harmony in heaven.

LESSON XXXV.

An Evening Scene. MRS. SOUTHEY.

I NEVER saw a more perfect picture of beautiful repose than presented itself to me in one of my evening walks. I came abruptly upon a small church, and burial-ground, and rectory all combined and embowered within a space that the eye could take in at one glance, and a pleasant glance it was.

The west window of the church was lighted up with red and glowing refulgence - not with the gorgeous hues of arti ficial coloring, but with the bright beams of the setting sun; and strongly defined shadows, and mouldings of golden light, marked out the rude tracery of the low ivied tower, and the heavy stone-work of the deep narrow windows, and the projections of the low massy buttresses, irregularly applied, in defiance of all architectural proportion, as they had become necessary to the support of the ancient edifice. And here and there, on the broken slanting of the buttresses, and on their projecting ledges, might be seen patches of green and yellow moss, so exquisitely bright, that methought the jewellery with which Aladdin enchased the windows of his enchanted palace was dull and colorless, compared with the vegetable emeralds and topazes wherewith "Nature's own sweet and cunning hand" had blazoned that old church And the low headstones also, some half sunk into the church yard mould, many carved out into cherubim with their trum. peters' cheeks and expanded wings, or with the awful em. blems of death's heads, cross-bones, and hour-glasses! The

low headstones, with their rustic scrolls, "that teach us to live and die," those also were edged and tinted with the golden gleam, and it stretched in long floods of amber light. athwart the soft green turf, kissing the nameless hillocks; and on one little grave in particular (it might have been that of an infant) methought the departing glory lingered with peculiar brightness.

It was a beautiful churchyard. A stream of running water intersected it almost close to the church wall. It was clear as crystal, running over gray pebbles with a sound that chimed harmoniously in with the general character of the scene, low, soothing, monotonous; dying away into a liquid whisper, as the rivulet shrank into a shallower and still shallower channel, matted with moss and water-plants, and closely overhung by the low underwood of an adjoining coppice, within whose leafy labyrinth it stole at last silently away. It was an unusual and a lovely thing to see the gravestones and the green hillocks, with the very wild-flowers (daisies and buttercups) growing on them, reflected in the little rill as it wound among them- the reversed objects, and glancing colors, shifting, blending, and trembling in the broken ripple. That and the voice of the water! It was "life in death." One felt that the sleepers below were but gathered for a while into their quiet chambers. Nay, their very sleep was not voiceless. On the edges of the graves — on the moist margin of the stream grew many tufts of the beautiful "forget-me-not." Never, sure, was such appropriate station for that meek, eloquent flower!

Such was the churchyard from which, at about ten yards' distance from the church, a slight low railing, with a latch wicket, divided off a patch of the loveliest greensward, (yet but a continuation of the churchyard turf,) backed with tall elm and luxuriant evergreens, amongst which peeped modestly out the little neat rectory. It was constructed of the same rough gray stone with the church; long, low, with far-projecting eaves, and casement windows facing that large west

window of the church still flaming with the reflected splendor of the setting sun. His orb was sinking to rest behind the grove, half-embowering the small dwelling which stood in the perfect quietness of its own shadow; the dark green masses of jasmine, clustering round its porch and windows, scarcely revealing (but by their exquisite odor) the pure white blossoms that starred its lovely gloom."

But their fragrance floated on the gentle breath of evening, mingled with the perfume of mignonette, and the long-fingered marvels of Peru, (the pale daughters of twilight,) and innu merable sweet flowers, blooming in their beds of rich black mould, close under the lattice windows. These were all flung wide open, for the evening was still and sultry; and one, opening down to the ground, showed the interior of a very small parlor, plainly and modestly furnished, but panelled all round with well-filled book-cases. A lady's harp stood in one corner, and in another two fine globes and an orrery. Some small flower-baskets, filled with roses, were dispersed about the room; and at a table near the window sat a gentleman writing, or, rather, leaning over a writing-desk with a pen in his hand, for his eyes were directed towards the gravel-walk before the window, where a lady-an elegant-looking woman, whose plain white robe and dark uncovered hair well became the sweet matronly expression of her face and figure was anxiously stretching out her encouraging arms to her little daughter, who came laughing and tottering towards her on the soft green turf; her tiny feet, as they essayed their first independent steps in the eventful walk of life, twisting and turning with graceful awkwardness, and unsteady pressure, under the disproportionate weight of her fair fat person. It was a sweet heart-thrilling sound, the joyous, crowing laugh of that little creature, when, with one last, bold, mighty effort, she reached the maternal arms, and was caught up to the maternal bosom, and half-devoured with kisses, in an ecstasy of unspeakable love.

vant ear.

As if provoked to emulous loudness by that mirthful outcry, and impatient to mingle its clear notes with that young, innocent voice, a blackbird, embowered in a tall neighboring baytree, poured out forthwith such a flood of full, rich melody as stilled the baby's laugh, and for a moment arrested its obserBut for a moment. The kindred natures burst out into full chorus; the baby clapped her hands, and laughed aloud, and after her fashion mocked the unseen songstress. The bird redoubled her tuneful efforts; and still the baby laughed, and still the bird rejoined: and both together raised such a melodious din, that the echoes of the old church rang again; and never since the contest of the nightingale with her human rival was heard such an emulous conflict of musical skill.

I could have laughed for company, from my unseen lurk. ing-place within the dark shadow of one of the church but tresses. It was altogether such a scene as I shall never forget one from which I could hardly tear myself away. Nay, I did not. I stood motionless as a statue in my dark gray niche, till the objects before me became indistinct in twilight - till the last slanting sunbeams had withdrawn from the highest panes of the church window-till the blackbird's song was hushed, and the baby's voice was still, and the mother and her nursling had retreated into their quiet dwelling, and the evening taper gleamed through the fallen white curtain and still open window. But yet, before that curtain fell, another act of the beautiful pantomime had passed in review before me. The mother, with her infant in her arms, had seated herself in a low chair within the little parlor. She untied the frockstrings, drew off that and the second upper garments dexterously and at intervals, as the restless frolics of the still unwearied babe afforded opportunity; and there it was in its little coat and stay, the fat white shoulders shrugged up in antic merriment far above the slackened shoulder-straps. Then the mother's hand slipped off one soft red shoe; and,