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promise to mend his manners; the scoundrel is not worth a groat, and yet has the impudence to offer me a temple if I will keep him from sinking. But yonder," says he, "is a special youth for you; he desires me to take his father, who keeps a great estate from him, out of the miseries of human life. The old fellow shall live till he makes his heart ache. I can tell him that for his pains."

This was followed by the soft voice of a pious lady desiring Jupiter that she might appear amiable and charming in the sight of her emperor. As the philosopher was reflecting on this extraordinary petition there blew a gentle wind through the trap-door, which he at first mistook for a gale of zephyrs, but afterward found it to be a breeze of sighs. They smelt strongly of flowers and incense, and were succeeded by most passionate complaints of wounds and torments, fires and arrows, cruelty, despair and death. Menippus fancied that such lamentable cries arose from some general execution or from wretches lying under the torture, but Jupiter told him that they came up to him from the isle of Paphos, and that he every day received complaints of the same nature from that whimsical tribe of mortals who are called lovers.

"I am so trifled with," says he, "by this generation of both sexes, and find it so impossible to please them, whether I grant or refuse their petitions, that I shall order a western wind for the future to intercept them in their passage and blow them at random upon the earth."

The last petition he heard was from a very aged man, of near a hundred years old, begging but for one year more life, and then promised to die contented.

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This is the rarest old fellow!" says Jupiter; "he has made this prayer to me for above twenty years together. When he was but fifty years old, he desired only that he might live to see his son settled in the world. I granted it. He then begged the same favor for his daughter, and afterward that he might see the education of a grandson. When all this was brought about, he puts up a petition that he might live to finish a house he was building. In short, he is an unreasonable old cur, and never wants an excuse. I will no more of him;" upon which, he flung down the trap-door in a passion, and was resolved to give no more audiences that day.

WH

JOSEPH ADDISON.

THE ADOPTED CHILD.

LADY.

HY wouldst thou leave me, O gentle child?

Thy home on the mountains is bleak and

wild

A straw-roofed cabin with lowly wall;
Mine is a fair and a pillared hall,
Where many an image of marble gleams,
And the sunshine of picture for ever streams.

ΒΟΥ.

Oh, green is the turf where my brothers play Through the long bright hours of the sum

mer day';

They find the red cup-moss where they climb, And they chase the bee over the scented thyme,

And the rocks where the heath-flower blooms they know.

Lady, kind lady, oh, let me go!

LADY.

Content thee, boy, in my bower to dwell;
Here are sweet sounds which thou lovest
well-

Flutes on the air in the stilly noon,
Harps which the wandering breezes tune,
And the silvery wood-note of many a bird
Whose voice was ne'er in thy mountains
heard.

LADY.

Fair child, thy brothers are wanderers now:
They sport no more on the mountain's brow
They have left the fern by the spring's green
side,

And the streams where the fairy-barks were
tried:

Be thou at peace in thy brighter lot,
For thy cabin-home is a lonely spot.

ΒΟΥ.

My mother sings, at the twilight's fall,

A
song of the hills far more sweet than all;
She sings it under our own green tree
To the babe half slumbering on her knee;
I dreamed last night of that music low.
Lady, kind lady, oh, let me go!

LADY.

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And the heath is bent by the singing bee, And the waters leap, and the fresh winds blow.

Thy mother hath gone from her cares to rest; Lady, kind lady, oh, let me go!

She hath taken the babe on her quiet breast;
Thou wouldst meet her footstep, my boy, no

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FELICIA HEMANS.

FOLLOW a shadow, it still flies

Seem to fly it, it will pursue:

So court a lady, she denies you;

Let her alone, she will court you.
Say are not women truly, then,
Styled but the shadows of us men?

you;

At morn and even shades are longest;
At noon they are short, or none:
So men at weakest they are strongest;
But grant us perfect they're not known.
Say are not women truly, then,
Styled but the shadows of us men?

BEN JONSON

BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES.

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HORATIUS BONAR. HE REV. DR. BONAR is known to the world as the author of beautiful hymns and as a writer on Hymnody. He was born in Edinburgh on the 19th of December, 1808, and was educated at the high school and the university of his native city. Ordained a minister of the Kirk of Scotland in 1837, he had charge of the church at Kelso, and later of the Grange, in Edinburgh. He joined the Free Kirk in 1843. A prolific writer, he had published up to 1869 a number of religious works in prose, among which are-The Night of Weeping, The Morning of Joy, The Blood of the Cross, The Coming of the Kingdom of the Lord Jesus Christ, Truth and Error, Man: his Religion and his World, Prophetical Land-Marks, The Desert of Sinai, The Land of Promise, God's Way of Peace, God's Way of Holiness, Light and Truth, and fifty-two short sermons. Many of these have been largely circulated, and are very popular in Scotland. He has edited, at different times, The Journal of Prophecy and The Christian Treasury.

The hymns of Bonar have appeared in the following collections: Songs for the Wilderness, Bible Hymn Book, Hymns, Original and Selected. Besides these, he wrote Hymns of Faith and Hope, Song of the

New Creation, and Hymns of the Nativity. The last mentioned was issued in 1879.

Dr. Bonar was a millenarian-not of the extreme class, but as a thoughtful and enthusiastic watcher for the Lord. His errors grow out of his ardent study and hopes. His devout hymns are used in many collections, and are dear to many Christian souls.

BY

MICHAEL ANGELO.

Y this name is currently known one of the greatest men on the bede-roll of fame-a man of great genius and distinct individuality, a sculptor, a painter, an architect, an engineer, a poet and a philosopher. His father, Ludovico Buonarotti, was governor of the fortifications of Caprese and Chiusi, and both he and his wife were representatives of illustrious Tuscan families. Their son, Michael Angelo Buonarotti, was born in the castle of Caprese, in the territory of Arezzo, on the 6th of March, 1474. Early exhibiting a talent for art, he resisted his father's urgent attempt to confine him to severer studies. He was taken by a companion to see the painter Domenico Ghirlandaio, who was so pleased with his efforts that he accepted him as a pupil-the greatest, if not the only, claim to the remembrance of later periods. While in the studio of Domenico he modelled the head of a "Laughing Faun," after an antique sculpture, which so impressed Lorenzo the Magnificent that he took him to his palace, placed him in his academy, and treated him as a son until his death, in 1492.

Thus deprived of his friend and patron, | Angelo was appointed to the post, and duryoung Buonarotti wandered away to Bologna, ing five pontificates he studied and wrought where he left the impression of his genius in at the stupendous problem. He was posthe form of a "Kneeling Angel," and thence sessed by it. He declared that he would to Rome, where he executed the group known take the Pantheon and hang it in air; but as the "Mater Dolorosa," now at St. Peter's. when, with the almost fruition of his hope, He studied anatomy by dissection of bodies, he had completed the tambour-work upon and thus became one of the most correct de- which the dome was to be built, he died, in lineators of the human form. His cartoon 1563, leaving it to others only to complete of "Florentine Soldiers surprised when Bath- his work. The dome is in reality his, far ing" exhibits this accuracy in a wonderful exceeding, in its circular base and its greater manner; it was never elaborated into a height, the low dome of the Pantheon and painting. He was employed by Pope Julius Bramante's angular dome of the cathedral II. in various works, among which was the of Florence. When it is lighted up on making of his monument, of which the de- nights of high festival, whatever else it may sign was grand. If it was not completed signify, it is a glittering tribute to the genius. according to the sculptor's plan, it was, at of Michael Angelo. He was proud and pasleast, one of the causes of the building of sionate, but high-toned and generous. Grand St. Peter's, as a fit enclosure for it. More in thought, in manner and in speech, he cardevoted to sculpture than to painting, he un- ried grandeur into art. Of his figures Fuseli dertook with great reluctance, at the solicita- has said, "His infants teem with the man, tion of the pope, the painting of the ceiling and his men are a race of giants." of the Sistine Chapel. This marvellous work was accomplished in two years, from 1508 to 1510. Amid scenes described in the book of Genesis are colossal figures of saints, angels and prophets. It is still one of the wonders of Rome. He next turned his attention, in the emergency of Florence, to her fortifications, for which his plans were admirable and practical. His fame as a painter has no surer warrant than "The Last Judgment," which he painted in fresco above the altar of the Sistine. It is seventy feet high, full of a fearful variety, and has moved generations of imaginative Italians by fear. It was

finished in 1541.

After Bramante and Rafaelle had worked at the design for St. Peter's, and San Gallo, the succeeding architect, had died, Michael

AST

TO DELIA.

SKST thou how long my love shall stay
When all that's new is past?
How long? Ah, Delia, can I say

How long my life will last?
Dry be that tear, be hushed that sigh;
At least I'll love thee till I die.

And does that thought afflict thee too--
The thought of Damon's death,
That he who only lives for

you

Must yield his faithful breath? Hushed be that sigh, be dried that tear, Nor let us lose our heaven here.

RICHARD BRINSLEY SHERIDAN.

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With wounds received from sacred steel,
Rejoice to meet a noble death,
And freely yield to you his breath.
Fair Venus may disdain to burn
For young Adonis' quick return,
And Cynthia scout the painful thought
That Verbius* should to life be brought.
Beneath the plane's green foliage-shade,
Fatigued, when you shall heat evade,
Or, by the scorching Dog-star pressed,
In my grot from sleep seek rest,
What raging flame and poignant smart
Will rack the amorous Dryad's heart!
What Naïades, with anxious eyes,

MARRIAGE OF HONORIUS AND MARY. Shall kisses from your lips surprise!

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FROM THE LATIN OF CLAUDIUS.

PRINCE! whose splendor glows more
bright

Than stars that beam with brilliant light,
Whose darts more certitude command
Than those discharged from Parthian hand,
And who the Gelons can exceed
In managing the sprightly steed,
What praises worthy can be found,
When such superior pow'rs abound?
What eulogies can e'er define
A form and countenance divine?
Fair Leda had bestowed on you
Still more applause than Castor drew;
In Thetis' eyes your charms appear
Above her own Achilles dear;
Apollo vanquished, Delos deems,
And less to Lydia Bacchus seems.
When through the leafy forest wide
You shall th' impatient courser guide,
Pursuing ardently the prey,
While zephyrs with your tresses play,
The beasts shall eagerly advance,
Their sides presenting to your lance,
And e'en the lion pleased shall feel

What creature wears such hideous mien

As in fierce Scythians' look is seen?
What heart is e'er more cruel found
Than beasts disclose that range around?
Such noble features who could see,
And not desire your slave to be?
Who would not bear your chains with joy
And seek their freedom to destroy?
On snowy Caucasus' bleak height,
Had you sought Amazons in fight,
The short-shield troops had war resigned,
And to resume their sex inclined;
Hippolyte 'mid trumpets' roar,
Her sire's remembrance giving o'er,
Her axe aside had freely laid,
Her bosom half to view displayed:
Although to Hercules denied,
To you her zone had been untied;
And, solely dwelling on your charms,
She would have bid adieu to arms.
O happy fair! you soon shall own
For husband him you love alone.

Translation of A. HAWKINS, F. H. S.

* A descendant of Hippolytus, restored to life by Esculapius. (See Virg., En. vii. 761.)

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