And when sunset may breathe, from the lit sea beneath, And the crimson pall of eve may fall With wings folded I rest, on mine airy nest, That orbed maiden, with white fire laden, Glides glimmering o'er my fleece-like floor, And wherever the beat of her unseen feet, May have broken the woof of my tent's thin roof And I laugh to see them whirl and flee, Like a swarm of golden bees, When I widen the rent in my wind-built tent, I bind the sun's throne with the burning zone,* The volcanoes are dim, and the stars reel and swim Sunbeam-proof, I hang like a roof, The mountains its columns be. 5 The triumphal arch through which I march, When the powers of the air are chained to my chair, The sphere-fire above its soft colours wove, I am the daughter of earth and water, I pass through the pores of the ocean and shore; For after the rain, when with never a stain, 6 The pavilion of heaven is bare, And the winds and sunbeams with their convex gleams, Build up the blue dome of air, I silently laugh at my own cenotaph," Like a child from the womb, like a ghost from the tomb, 1 Genii.--Plural of genius, a good or evil spirit, similar to a fairy. 2 Sanguine.-Red, like blood [L. sanguis, blood]. Meteor-eyes.-Looking as bright as a meteor or falling star. • Burning zone.-A belt of fierylooking clouds. 6 SHELLEY. 5 Triumphal arch.-The rainbow. Pavilion.-That which is spread out, like the wings of a butterfly-a gay tent [L. papilio, a butterfly]. "Cenotaph.-An empty tomb [Gr. kenos, empty; taphos, a tomb]. COMPARATIVE INSIGNIFICANCE OF THE EARTH. [DR. CHALMERS, born 1780, was one of the greatest pulpit orators of the day. In 1828 he became Professor of Divinity in the University of Edinburgh. At the secession from the Church of Scotland in 1843, he relinquished his appointment, and became one of the founders of the Free Church. His most important works are his Natural Theology, Evidences of Christianity, Moral Philosophy, and Astronomical Discourses.] THOUGH this earth were to be burned up, though the trumpet of its dissolution were sounded, though yon sky were to pass away as a scroll, and every visible glory which the finger of the Divinity has inscribed on it were to be put out for ever-an event so awful to us, and to every world in our vicinity, by which so many suns1 would be extinguished, and so many varied scenes of life and population would rush into forgetfulness-what is it in the high scale of the Almighty's workmanship? A mere shred, which, though scattered into nothing, would leave the universe of God one entire scene of greatness and of majesty. Though the earth and the heavens were to disappear, there are other worlds which roll afar; the light of other suns shines upon them; and the sky which mantles them is garnished with other stars. Is it presumption to say that the moral world extends to these distant and unknown regions? that they are occupied with people? that the charities of home and of neighbourhood flourish there? that the praises of God are there lifted up, and His goodness rejoiced in? that there piety has its temples and its offerings? and the richness of the Divine attributes3 is there felt and admired by intelligent worshippers? And what is this world in the immensity which teems with them? and what are they who occupy it? The universe at large would suffer as little in its splendour and variety by the destruction of our planet, as the verdure and sublime magnitude of a forest would suffer by the fall of a single leaf. The leaf quivers on the branch which supports it. It lies at the mercy of the slightest accident. A breath of wind tears it from its stem, and it lights on the stream of water which passes underneath. In a moment of time the life, which we know by the microscope it teems with, is extinguished; and an occurrence so insignificant in the eye of man, and on the scale of his observation, carries in it to the myriads which people this little leaf an event as terrible and as decisive as the destruction of a world. Now, on the grand scale of the universe, we, the occupiers of this ball, which performs its little round among the suns and the systems that astronomy has unfolded—we may feel the same littleness and the same insecurity. We differ from the leaf only in this circumstance: that it would require the operation of greater elements to destroy us. But these elements exist. The fire which rages within may lift its devouring energy to the surface of our planet,5 and transform it into one wide and wasting volcano. The sudden formation of elastic matter in the bowels of the earth— and it lies within the agency of known substances to accomplish this may explode it into fragments. The exhalation of noxious air from below may impart a virulence to the air that is around us; it may affect the delicate proportion of its ingredients; and the whole of animated nature may wither and die under the malignity of a tainted atmosphere. A blazing comets may cross this fated planet in its orbit, and realise all the terrors which superstition has conceived of it. We cannot anticipate with precision the consequences of an event which every astronomer must know to lie within the limits of chance and probability. It may hurry our globe towards the sun, or drag it to the outer regions of the planetary system, or give it a new axis of revolution-and the effect, which I shall simply announce without explaining it, would be to change the place of the ocean, and bring another mighty flood upon our islands and continents. These are changes which may happen in a single instant of time, and against which nothing known in the present system of things provides us with any security. They might not annihilate the earth, but they would unpeople it; and we, who tread its surface with such firm and assured footsteps, are at the mercy of devouring elements, which, if let loose upon us by the hand of the Almighty, would spread solitude, and silence, and death over the dominions of the world. Now, it is this littleness and this insecurity which make the protection of the Almighty so dear to us, and bring with such emphasis to every pious bosom the holy lessons of humility and gratitude. The God who sitteth above, and presides with an authority over all worlds, is mindful of man; and though at this moment His energy is felt in the remotest provinces of creation, we may feel the same security in His providence as if we were the objects of His undivided care. It is not for us to bring our minds up to this mysterious agency. But such is the incomprehensible fact, that the same Being, whose eye is abroad over the whole universe, gives vegetation to every blade of grass, and motion to every particle of blood which circulates through the veins of the minutest animal; that though His mind takes into its comprehensive grasp immensity and all its wonders, I am as much known to Him as if I were the single object of His attention; that He marks all my thoughts; that He gives birth to every feeling and every movement within me; and that, with an exercise of power which I can neither describe nor comprehend, the same God who sits in the highest heaven, and reigns over the glories of the firmament, is at my right hand to give me every breath which I draw and every comfort which I enjoy. has often the power to carry all before it in its endeavour to expand. "The delicate proportion. - The atmosphere consists mainly of two gases, oxygen and nitrogen in the proportion of 21 to 79. There is besides a small quantity of carbonic acid, about 3 in 10,000 parts. A blazing comet. Besides the planets which revolve in regular orbits round the sun, at fixed distances from it, there are comets, having the appearance of a star with a luminous tail, which also travel round the sun; but as their orbits cross those of the planets, it is possible that the earth may one day be burned up by collision with one of those fiery bodies. "Axis of revolution.—This is in the direction of a line passing from the north to the south pole. THE VICAR OF WAKEFIELD. [OLIVER GOLDSMITH, born at Pallas, county of Longford, Ireland, 1728; died in London, 1774. His histories are full of errors, but his imaginative works-poems, comedies, and novels-bear the stamp of genius. Chief poems, The Traveller and The Deserted Village; chief comedies, The Good-natured Man and She Stoops to Conquer; chief prose work, Vicar of Wakefield. The following is extracted from the last-named work, which is unquestionably one of the most delightful tales in the English language.] THE VICAR'S FAMILY. I HAD taken orders scarcely a year, before I began to think seriously of matrimony, and chose my wife, as she did her wedding-gown, not for a fine glossy surface, but for such qualities as would wear well. To do her justice, she was a good-natured notable woman; and as for breeding, there were few country ladies who could show more. She could read any English book without much spelling; but for pickling, preserving, and cookery, none could excel her. She prided herself also upon being an excellent contriver |