And now, above the dews of night, So faith springs in the hearts of those But soon the morning's happier light And eyelids, that are sealed in death, LESSON XVIII. Autumn Woods.-BRYANT. ERE, in the northern gale, The summer tresses of the trees are gone, The mountains that infold, In their wide sweep, the colored landscape round, Seem groups of giant kings in purple and gold, That guard the enchanted ground. I roam the woods that crown The upland, where the mingled splendors glow,- My steps are not alone In these bright walks; the sweet south-west, at play, Flies, rustling, where the painted leaves are strown Along the winding way. And far in heaven, the while, The sun, that sends that gale to wander here, Pours out on the fair earth his quiet smile,The sweetest of the year. Where now the solemn shade, Verdure and gloom where many branches meet,— Let in through all the trees Come the strange rays; the forest depths are bright, Their sunny-colored foliage, in the breeze, Twinkles, like beams of light. The rivulet, late unseen, Where, bickering through the shrubs, its waters run, Beneath yon crimson tree, Lover to listening maid might breathe his flame, Nor mark, within its roseate canopy, Her blush of maiden shame. O Autumn, why so soon Depart the hues that make thy forests glad,— Ah! 'twere a lot too blest Forever in thy colored shades to stray, And leave the vain, low strife That makes men mad-the tug for wealth and power The passions and the cares that wither life, And waste its little hour. LESSON XIX. Instability of Character.-ALISON. WHEREVER we turn our eyes upon the world, we meet with men, who seem never to have formed to themselves any fixed plan, either of intellectual or moral pursuit, and who suffer themselves to be led by no other principles than those of constitutional humor or casual caprice. Even with excellent powers of understanding, they are ever changing their studies and their designs; attracted by what is new in knowledge, rather than by what is useful, and seemingly unconscious of any other ends of science or of learning, than to amuse the passing hour. They are, still more frequently, inconstant and unstable in their affections; perpetually changing their connexions, their companions and their friendships, and violating often the finest, as well as the most sacred ties of life, less from violence of passion, than from mere levity and fickleness of mind. Their time, their talents, their advantages, whether of power or of wealth, are all consumed rather than employed; and life, at last, often closes upon them, before they are conscious either for what it was given, or what will be required. The necessities of nature, whatever the idle and the querulous may think, are ever friendly to human character, and almost unavoidably produce some degree of steadiness of purpose, and energy of pursuit. They, whose labor is, every day, to provide for the day that is passing, have an object from which they are not permitted to deviate, which summons their powers into continual activity, and which insensibly gives to their general character the same features of steadiness and of energy. Even in the middle conditions of life, among those who, in the various professions and occupations which cultivated society creates, are providing for themselves and for their families, this character of instability is seldom found. The virtuous and important purpose they have in view, the habits of foresight and activity which are demanded, the rivalship with their fellow candidates for profit or for praise,-all tend to form them to some strength and energy of mind, and, whatever may be the other failings to which they are exposed, at least to save them from caprice and instability. It is among those, to whom fortune and education have given every means to improve, and every power to bless humanity, that this character of weakness is, unhappily, most frequently to be found. They, who, in their early years, have never felt the necessities of life,—to whom "to-morrow has always been as to-day, and yet more abundant,"_and who see themselves, at once, in possession of all that other men are struggling to acquire,—are raised above the influence of those motives which animate the activity of the generality of men. The pressure is removed, which usually hardens the human character into any degree of consistence and solidity. It may be right in others, they think, to labor;-it is right in them to enjoy. Others are bound to direct all their talents to one purpose or end;-they are happily free from the thraldom, and the whole circle of human pleasures and pursuits is thrown open to them, in which they may range at will. It may be honorable in humbler men, they imagine, to devote themselves to the sober path of duty. In them, on the contrary, it is honorable to avail themselves of the advantages, which nature has given them; and, in a gay exemption from all serious pursuits, to exhibit to a lower world the envied privilege of their rank. Amid such impressions, the first foundations of this fatal weakness of character are laid. While neither necessity nor duty seems as yet to compel them to form any settled plans of pursuit or of conduct, they naturally yield themselves to the more pleasing guidance of imagination; and the character of their understanding soon marks the incompetence of the guide. The regular paths of science seem too laborious and too tedious for their attempt. They satisfy themselves, therefore, with the acquisition of some loose and superficial knowledge. The sober details of business seem beneath their regard, and can always be devolved upon some inferior or friend; and even in the acquisitions which are made, it is the new, the splendid, or the fashionable, that is sought, instead of the solid or the useful. The habits of levity and caprice, thus too naturally begun, gain insensibly a progressive influence over their minds; and thus youth, and the irrecoverable years of youth, are often passed, not in vice, perhaps, but in frivolous amusements, or, what is worse than these, in frivolous and unmanly pursuits. LESSON XX. The same,-concluded. THIS disposition of mind unfits men, in a singular manner, for the performance of their parts in social life. Whatever may be the opinions of youth, life cannot proceed far without bringing with it many serious duties to all;-scenes, where labor, perseverance and self-denial must be exerted, and where the character is brought to a severe and unsparing trial. For these scenes of trial, the men of the unstable character, we are considering, are, unhappily, little fitted. They want all the habits of thought and of activity, which are requisite for honor and success. It is "an armor which they have not proved;" and they thus enter upon the eventful field of life, with all its private and public duties, unarmed for the rude struggle, which is every where prepared for them. They begin then, perhaps, to lament the levity and thoughtlessness of their former days; but youth and all its invaluable hours are gone; habits have acquired dominion; -others are passing them in the road of fame and honor;— and, shrinking from a contest in which they no longer dare hope for success, they finally retire to hide their disgrace in indolence and obscurity. From this melancholy period, the character sinks every day more deeply down into insignificance and uselessness. The poor remainder of life is given to frivolous pursuits or capricious amusements; and, not unfrequently, their gray hairs are disgraced, by vainly imitating the follies and the levities of youth. It is with still more fatal consequences that this disposition is attended, in respect to moral excellence. In a world such |