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LESSON I.-INDIAN SUMMER.

1. WHEN was the red man's summer'?

2.

When the rose

Hung its first banner out'? When the gray rock,

Or the brown heath, the radiant kalmia clothed'?
Or when the loiterer by the reedy brooks

Started to see the proud lobelia glow

Like living flame'? When through the forest gleam'd The rhododendron' ? or the fragrant breath

Of the magnolia swept deliciously

O'er the half laden nerve'?

No. When the groves

In fleeting colors wrote their own decay,

And leaves fell eddying on the sharpen'd blast

That sang their dirge'; when o'er their rustling bed
The red deer sprang', or fled the shrill-voiced quail,

Heavy of wing and fearful'; when, with heart
Foreboding or depress'd', the white man mark'd
The signs of coming winter': then began

The Indian's joyous season.

Then the haze,

Soft and illusive as a fairy dream',

Lapp'd all the landscape in its silvery fold.

3. The quiet rivers that were wont to hide

'Neath shelving banks', beheld their course betray'd By the white mist that o'er their foreheads crept', While wrapp'd in morning dreams', the sea and sky

4.

Slept 'neath one curtain', as if both were merged'
In the same element'. Slowly the sun,
And all reluctantly, the spell dissolved',
And then it took upon its parting wing
A rainbow glory.

Gorgeous was the time,
Yet brief as gorgeous. Beautiful to thee,
Our brother hunter', but to us replete
With musing thoughts in melancholy train.
Our joys, alas! too oft were woe to thee';

Yet ah! poor Indian', whom we fain would drive

Both from our hearts, and from thy father's lands',

The perfect year doth bear thee on its crown',

And when we would forget', repeat thy name'.-MRS. SIGOURNEY.

LESSON II.-FORGIVENESS OF INJURIES.

1. THE most plain and natural sentiments of equity concur with divine authority to enforce the duty of forgiveness. Let him who has never, in his life, done wrong, be allowed the privilege of remaining inexorable. But let such as are conscious of frailties and crimes consider forgiveness as a debt which they owe to others. Common failings are the strongest lesson of mutual forbearance. Were the virtues unknown among men, order and comfort, peace and repose, would be strangers to human life.

2. Injuries retaliated according to the exorbitant measure which passion prescribes would excite resentment in return. The injured person would become the injurer; and thus wrongs, retaliations, and fresh injuries would circulate in endless succession, till the world was rendered a field of blood.

3. Of all the passions which invade the human breast, revenge is the most direful. When allowed to reign with full dominion, it is more than sufficient to poison the few pleasures which remain to man in his present state. How much soever a person may suffer from injustice, he is always in hazard of suffering more from the prosecution of revenge. The violence of an enemy can not inflict what is equal to the torment he creates to himself by means of the fierce and desperate passions which he allows to rage in his soul.

4. Those evil spirits that inhabit the regions of misery are represented as delighting in revenge and cruelty. But all that is great and good in the universe is on the side of clemency and mercy. The almighty Ruler of the world, though for ages offended by the unrighteousness and insulted by the impiety of men, is "long-suffering and slow to anger."

5. His Son, when he appeared in our nature, exhibited, both in his life and his death, the most illustrious example of forgiveness which the world ever beheld. If we look into the history of mankind, we shall find that, in every age, they who have been respected as worthy, or admired as great, have been distinguished for this virtue.

6. Revenge dwells in little minds. A noble and magnanimous spirit is always superior to it. It suffers not, from the injuries of men, those severe shocks which others feel. Collected within itself, it stands unmoved by their impotent assaults; and with generous pity, rather than with anger, looks down on their unworthy conduct. It has been truly said that the greatest man on earth can no sooner commit an injury, than a good man can make himself greater by forgiving it. BLAIR.

LESSON III.-PASSING AWAY.

1. WAS it the chime of a tiny bell,

That came so sweet to my dreaming ear,
Like the silvery tones of a fairy's shell,

JOHN PIERPONT.

That he winds on the beach, so mellow and clear,
When the winds and the waves lie together asleep,
And the moon and the fairy are watching the deep,
She dispensing her silvery light,

And he his notes as silvery quite,

While the boatman listens and ships his oar,

To catch the music that comes from the shore'?
Hark! the notes, on my ear that play,
Are set to words': as they float, they say,
"Passing away! passing away!"

2. But no'; it was not a fairy's shell,

Blown on the beach so mellow and clear';
Nor was it the tongue of a silver bell,

Striking the hour, that fill'd my ear,
As I lay in my dream'; yet was it a chime
That told of the flow' of the stream of time'.
For a beautiful clock from the ceiling hung,
And a plump little girl, for a pendulum, swung
(As you've sometimes seen, in a little ring,
That hangs in his cage, a canary-bird swing);

And she held to her bosom a budding bouquet,
And, as she enjoyed it, she seem'd to say,

"Passing away'! passing away'!"

3. Oh, how bright were the wheels that told
Of the lapse of time as they moved round slow!

1

And the hands, as they swept o'er the dial of gold,
Seemed to point to the girl below.

And, lo! she had changed'; in a few short hours,
Her bouquet had become a garland of flowers,
That she held in her outstretch'd hands, and flung
This way and that, as she, dancing, swung,
In the fullness of grace and womanly pride,
That told me she soon was to be a bride;

Yet then', when expecting her happiest day',
In the same sweet voice I heard her say,
Passing away! passing away'!"

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4. While I gazed at that fair one's cheek, a shade
Of thought, or care, stole softly over,

Like that by a cloud on a summer's day made,
Looking down on a field of blossoming clover.
The rose yet lay on her cheek, but its flush
Had something lost of its brilliant blush;

And the light in her eye, and the light on the wheels,
That marched so calmly round above her,

Was a little dimmed, as when evening steals

Upon noon's hot face: yet one couldn't but love her,
For she look'd like a mother whose first babe lay,
Rock'd on her breast, as she swung all day;
And she seem'd in the same silver tone to say,
"Passing away'! passing away'!"

5. While yet I looked', what a change there came'!
Her eye was quench'd', and her cheek was wan':
Stooping and staffed' was her wither'd frame',
Yet just as busily swung she on';

The garland beneath her had fallen to dust' ;-
The wheels above her were eaten with rust';
The hands that over the dial swept',

Grew crooked and tarnish'd, but on they kept';
And still there came that silver tone,
From the shriveled lips of the toothless crone-
Let me never forget to my dying day
The tone or the burden of her lay-
"Passing away'! passing away'!"

LESSON IV. THE DREAM OF THE TWO ROADS.

1. It was New-Year's night; and Von Arden, having fallen into an unquiet slumber, dreamed that he was an aged man standing at a window. He raised his mournful eyes toward the deep blue sky, where the stars were floating, like white lilies, on the surface of a clear calm lake. Then he cast them on the earth, where few more hopeless beings than himself now moved toward their certain goal-the tomb.

2. Already, as it seemed to him, he had passed sixty of the stages which lead to it, and he had brought from his journey

nothing but errors and remorse. His health was destroyed, his mind vacant, his heart sorrowful, and his old age devoid of comfort.

3. The days of his youth rose up in a vision before him, and he recalled the solemn moment when his father had placed him at the entrance of two roads-one leading into a peaceful, sunny land, covered with a fertile harvest, and resounding with soft sweet songs; the other leading the wanderer into a deep, dark cave, whence there was no issue, where poison flowed instead of water, and where serpents hissed and crawled.

4. He looked toward the sky, and cried out in his agony: "O days of my youth, return! O my father, place me once more at the entrance to life, that I may choose the better way!" But the days of his youth and his father had both passed away.

5. He saw wandering lights floating away over dark marshes, and then disappear. These were the days of his wasted life. He saw a star fall from heaven, and vanish in darkness. This was an emblem of himself; and the sharp arrows of unavailing remorse struck home to his heart. Then he remembered his early companions, who entered on life with him, but who, having trod the paths of virtue and of labor were now honored and happy on this New-Year's night.

6. The clock, in the high church tower, struck, and the sound, falling on his ear, recalled his parents' early love for him, their erring son; the lessons they had taught him; the prayers they had offered up on his behalf. Overwhelmed with shame and grief, he dared no longer look toward that heaven where his father dwelt; his darkened eyes dropped tears, and with one despairing effort he cried aloud, "Come back, my early days! come back!"

7. And his youth did return; for all this was but a dream which visited his slumbers on New-Year's night. He was still young; his faults alone were real. He thanked God fervently that time was still his own; that he had not yet entered the deep, dark cavern, but that he was free to tread the road leading to the peaceful land, where sunny harvests wave.

8. Ye who still linger on the threshold of life, doubting which path to choose, remember that, when years are passed, and your feet stumble on the dark mountain, you will cry bitterly, but cry in vain: "O youth, return! Oh give me back my early days!"-From JEAN PAUL RICHTER.

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