"Lei-gha, lei-gha!" he then cried out, "Lei-gha, lei-gha!" with eager shout: Thus did he cry, and thus did pray,

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And what he meant was, Keep away,
And leave me to myself!"

Alas! and when he felt their hands,
You've often heard of magic wands,
That with a motion overthrow
A palace of the proudest show,

Or melt it into air:

So all his dreams, that inward light

With which his soul had shone so bright, All vanish'd: 'twas a heartfelt cross

To him, a heavy, bitter loss,

As ever he had known.

But, hark! a gratulating voice,

With which the very hills rejoice:

"Tis from the crowd, who tremblingly Have watch'd th' event, and now can see That he is safe at last.

And in the general joy of heart

The blind boy's little dog took part:

He leapt about, and oft did kiss
His master's hands in sign of bliss,
With sound like lamentation.

But, most of all, his mother dear,
She who had fainted with her fear,
Rejoiced when, waking, she espies
The child; when she can trust her eyes,
And touches the blind boy,

She led him home, and wept amain
When he was in the house again :

Tears flow'd in torrents from her eyes;

She kiss'd him, - how could she chastise?

She was too happy far.

SIR WALTER SCOTT AND HIS DOGS.

WASHINGTON IRVING.

As we sallied forth, every dog in the establishment

turned out to attend us. There was the old staghound, Maida, a noble animal; and Hamlet, the black greyhound, a wild, thoughtless youngster, not yet arrived at the years of discretion; and Finette, a beautiful setter, with soft, silken hair, long pendent ears, and a mild eye, the parlour favourite. When in front of the house, we were joined by a superannuated greyhound, who came from the kitchen wagging his tail, and was cheered by Scott as an old friend and comrade. In our walks, he would frequently pause in conversation, to notice his dogs, and speak to them as if rational companions: and, indeed, there appears to be a vast deal of rationality in these faithful attendants on man, derived from their close intimacy with him.

Maida deported himself with a gravity becoming his age and size, and seemed to consider himself called upon to preserve a great degree of dignity and decorum in our society. As he jogged along a little distance ahead of us, the young dogs would gambol about him, leap on his neck, worry at his ears, and endeavour to tease him into a gambol. The old dog would keep on for a long time with imperturbable solemnity, now and then seeming to rebuke the wantonness of his young companions. At length he would make a sudden turn, seize one of them, and tumble him in the dust; then, giving a glance at us, as much as to say, "You see, gentlemen, I can't help giving way to this nonsense," he would resume his gravity, and jog on as before.

Scott amused himself with these peculiarities. "I make no doubt," said he, "when Maida is alone with these young dogs he throws gravity aside, and plays the boy as much as any of them; but he is ashamed to do so in our company, and seems to say, 'Have done with your nonsense, youngsters: what will the laird and that other gentleman think of me if I give way to such foolery?'

Scott amused himself with the peculiarities of another of his dogs, a little shamefaced terrier, with large glassy eyes, one of the most sensitive little bodies to insult and indignity in the world. If ever he whipt him, he said, the little fellow would sneak off and hide himself from the light of day in a lumber-garret, from whence there was no drawing him forth but by the sound of the chopping-knife, as if chopping up his victuals, when he would steal forth with humiliated and downcast look, but would skulk away again if any one regarded him.

While we were discussing the humours and peculiarities of our canine companions, some object provoked their spleen, and produced a sharp and petulant barking from the smaller fry; but it was some time before Maida was sufficiently roused to ramp forward two or three bounds, and join the chorus with a deep-mouthed bow wow. It was but a transient outbreak, and he returned instantly, wagging his tail, and looking up dubiously in his master's face, uncertain whether he would receive censure or applause. "Ay, ay, old boy!" cried Scott, "you have done wonders; you have shaken Eildon hills with your roaring: you may now lay by your artillery for the rest of the day." "Maida," continued he, "is like the great gun at Constantinople: it takes so long to get it ready, that the smaller guns can fire off a dozen times first; but when it does go off it plays the very devil."

These simple anecdotes may serve to show the delightful play of Scott's humours and feelings in private life. His domestic animals were his friends. Everything about him seemed to rejoice in the light of his

countenance.

MORNING.

DANIEL WEBSTER.

RICHMOND, April 29, 5 A.M., 1847.

WHETHER it be a favour or an annoyance, you owe this letter to my habit of early rising. From the hour marked at the top of the page, you will naturally conclude that my companions are not now engaging my attention, as we have not calculated on being early travellers to-day.

This city has "a pleasant seat." It is high; the James river runs below it; and when I went out an hour ago nothing was heard but the roar of the falls. The air is tranquil, and its temperature mild.

It is morning; and a morning sweet and fresh and delightful. Everybody knows the morning in its metaphorical sense, applied to so many objects, and on so many occasions. The health, strength, and beauty of early years lead us to call that period "the morning of life." Of a lovely young woman we say, she is "bright as the morning"; and no one doubts why Lucifer is called "son of the morning."

But the morning itself, few people, inhabitants of cities, know anything about. Among all our good people of Boston, not one in a thousand sees the Sun rise once a-year. They know nothing of the morning. Their idea of it is, that it is that part of the day which comes along after a cup of coffee and a beefsteak, or a

piece of toast. With them, morning is not a new issuing of light; a new bursting-forth of the Sun; a new waking-up of all that has life, from a sort of temporary death, to behold again the works of God, the heavens and the earth: it is only a part of the domestic day, belonging to breakfast, to reading the newspapers, answering notes, sending the children to school, and giving orders for dinner. The first faint streaks of light purpling the East, which the lark springs up to greet, and the deeper and deeper colouring into orange and red, till at length "the glorious Sun is seen, regent of the day," this they never enjoy, for this they never see. Beautiful descriptions of the morning abound in all languages; but they are the strongest perhaps in those of the East, where the Sun is so often an object of worship. King David speaks of taking to himself "the wings of the morning." This is highly poetical and beautiful. The "wings of the morning" are the beams of the rising Sun. Rays of light are wings. It is thus said that the Sun of Righteousness shall arise "with healing in his wings";-a rising Sun, which shall scatter light and health and joy throughout the Universe. Milton has fine descriptions of morning, but not so many as Shakespeare, from whose writings pages of the most beautiful images, all founded on the glory of the morning, might be gathered.

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I never thought that Adam had much advantage of us, from having seen the world while it was new. The manifestations of the power of God, like His mercies, are new every morning," and "fresh every evening." We see as fine risings of the Sun as ever Adam saw; and its risings are as much a miracle now as they were in his day, and, I think, a good deal more, because it is now a part of the miracle that for thousands and thousands of