How many drink the cup

Of baleful grief, or eat the bitter bread

Of misery. Sore pierc'd by wint'ry winds,

How many shrink into the sordid hut,

Of cheerless poverty.

Now, all amid the rigors of the year,

In the wild depth of winter, while without
The ceaseless winds blow ice, be my retreat,
Between the groaning forest and the shore
Beat by the boundless multitude of waves,
A rural, shelter'd, solitary scene e;

Where ruddy fire, and beaming tapers join,

p. 169.

To cheer the gloom. There studious let me sit,
And hold high converse with the mighty dead. p. 171.

Silence, thou lonely power! the door be thine;
See on the hallowed hour that none intrude,
Save a few chosen friends, who sometimes deign
To bless my humble roof, with sense refin'd,
Learning digested well, exalted faith,
Unstudy'd wit, and humour ever gay.

Even in the depth of polar night, they find
A wondrous day :. enough to light the chase,
Or guide their daring steps to Finland fairs.

p. 175.

p. 184.

And half enlivened by the distant sun,
That rears and ripens man, as well as plants,
Here human nature wears its rudest form.

Deep from the piercing season sunk in caves,
Here by dull fires, and with unjoyous cheer,
They waste the tedious gloom.

Muttering, the winds at eve, with blunted point

Blow hollow-blustering from the south.

p. 187.

Subdu'd

The frost resolves into a trickling thaw.

p. 188.

Behold, fond man!

See here thy pictur'd life!-Pass some few years,
Thy flowering spring-tby summer's ardent strength-
Thy sober autumn fading into age-

And pale concluding winter comes at last,

And shuts the scene. Ah! whither now are fled
Those dreams of greatness? those unsolid hopes
Of happiness? those longings after fame?
Those restless cares? Those busy, bustling days?

Those gay spent festive nights? those veering thoughts,
Lost between good and ill, that shar'd thy life?

All now are vanish'd! Virtue sole survives,
Immortal, never-failing friend of man,
His guide to happiness on high.

p. 189.

Ye vainly wise! ye blind presumptuous! now
Confounded in the dust, adore that power,
And wisdom oft arraign'd: see now the cause,
Why unassuming worth in secret liv'd,
And dy'd, neglected: why the good man's share
In life was gall and bitterness of soul :
Why the lone widow and her orphans pin'd

In starving solitude: while luxury,

In palaces, lay straining her low thought
To form unreal wants: why heaven-born truth
And moderation fair, wore the red marks
Of superstition's scourge: why licens'd pain,
That cruel spoiler, that embosom'd foe,
Imbitter'd all our bliss. Ye good distrest!
Ye noble few! who here unbending stand
Beneath life's pressure, yet bear up awhile,
And what your bounded view, which only saw
A little part, deem'd evil, is no more:
The storms of wint'ry time will quickly pass,
And one unbounded spring encircle all.

p. 190.

EXTRACTS

FROM THE FIRST VOLUME

OF

THE STUDIES OF NATURE,
BY JAMES HENRY BERNARDIN,

GENERALLY KNOWN BY THE TITLE

DE ST. PIERRE.

SEVERAL persons have invited me to take residence at their country seats, and up my to enjoy those rural scenes, of which as they are pleased to say, I am so passionately fond. Yes, undoubtedly, I should dearly love a country residence, but a residence which I could call my own, and not another man's. I made the best acknowledgment in my power, to tenders of service so flattering; but could avail myself only of the good will which they breathed. Benevolence is the flower of friendship, and its perfume always lasts while you let it remain on the stem, without gathering it.

Notes, p. 10.

EXTRACTS FROM THE STUDIES, &c. 123

Others have opposed to me, as a complete refutation, the authority of Newton, who did not think as I do. I respect Newton for his genius and his virtues, but I respect truth still much more. The authority of great names serves but too frequently as a strong hold to error. p. 17.

What then could I have done in this crowd of men, vain and intolerant, to each of whom an European education says, from the days of infancy, be the first; and among so many doctors titled, and without titles, who have appropriated to themselves the right to freedom of speech, unless it were to shut myself up, as I frequently do, in my freedom of silence? If I speak there, it is of few things, or of things of slight import

ance.

Fly from the world, then, ye who will neither flatter nor malign; for you will lose in it, at once, the good which you expected from it, and that which is the gift of your own conscience, p. 18.