5. "Son," said the hermit, "let the errors and follies, the dangers and escapes of this day, sink deep into thy heart. Remember, my son, that human life is the journey of a day. We rise in the morning of youth, full of vigour and full of expectation; we set forward with spirit and hope, with gaiety and with diligence, and travel on a while in the direct road of piety towards the mansions of rest.

6. "In a short time we remit our fervour, and endeavour to find some mitigation of our duty, and some more easy means of obtaining the same end. We then relax our vigour, and resolve no longer to be terrified with crimes at a distance, but rely upon our own constancy, and venture to approach what we resolve never to touch. We thus enter the bowers of ease, and repose in the shades of security. 7. "Here the heart softens, and vigilance subsides; we are then willing to inquire whether another advance cannot be made, and whether we may not, at least, turn our eyes upon the gardens of pleasure. We approach them with scruple and hesitation; we enter them, but enter timorous and trembling, and always hope to pass through them without losing the road of virtue, which we, for a while, keep in our sight, and to which we propose to return.

8. But temptation succeeds temptation, and one compliance prepares us for another; we in time lose the happiness of innocence, and solace our disquiet with sensual gratifications. By degrees, we let fall the remembrance of our original intention, and quit the only adequate object of rational desire.

9. "We entangle ourselves in business, immerge ourselves in luxury, and rove through the labyrinths of inconstancy, till the darkness of old age begins to invade us, and disease and anxiety obstruct our way. We then look back upon our lives with horror, with sorrow, with repentance; and wish, but too often vainly wish, that we had not forsaken the ways of virtue.

10. "Happy are they, my son, who shall learn from thy example not to despair; but shall remember, that though the day is past, and their strength is wasted, there yet remains one effort to be made; that reformation is never hopeless, nor sincere endeavours ever unassisted; that the wanderer may at length return, after all his errors; and that he who implores strength and courage from above, shall find danger and difficulty give way before him. Go now, my

son, to thy repose; commit thyself to the care of Omnipotence; and when the morning calls again to toil, begin anew thy journey and thy life." DR. JOHNSON.

LESSON XLVII.

Character of Julius Cæsar.

1. Cæsar was endowed with every great and noble quality that could exalt human nature, and give a man the ascendant in society; formed to excel in peace as well as war, provident in council, fearless in action, and executing what he had resolved with an amazing celerity: generous beyond measure to his friends, placable to his enemies; for parts, learning, and eloquence, scarce inferior to any man.

2. His orations were admired for two qualities, which are seldom found together, strength and elegance. Cicero ranks him among the greatest orators that Rome ever bred: and Quintilian says, that he spoke with the same force with which he fought; and if he had devoted himself to the bar, would have been the only man capable of rivaling Cicero.

3. Nor was he a master only of the politer arts, but conversant also with the most abstruse and critical parts of learning; and among other works which he published, addressed two books to Cicero on the analogy of language, or the art of speaking and writing correctly.

4. He was a most liberal patron of wit and learning, wheresoever they were found; and out of his love of those talents, would readily pardon those who had employed them against himself; rightly judging, that by making such men his friends, he should draw praises from the same fountain from which he had been aspersed.

5. His capital passions were ambition and love of pleasure; which he indulged in their turns to the greatest excess: yet the first was always predominant; to which he could easily sacrifice all the charms of the second, and draw pleasure even from toils and dangers, when they ministered to his glory. For he thought Tyranny, as Cicero says, the greatest of goddesses; and had frequently in his mouth a verse of Euripides, which expressed the image of his soul.

6. That if right and justice were ever to be violated,

they were to be violated for the sake of reigning. This was the chief end and purpose of his life; the scheme that he had formed from his early youth: so that, as Cato truly declared of him, he came with sobriety and meditation to the subversion of the republic.

7. He used to say, that there were two things necessary to acquire and to support power-soldiers and money; which yet mutually depend on each other; with money, therefore, he provided soldiers, and with soldiers extorted money; and was, of all men the most rapacious in plundering both friends and foes; sparing neither prince nor state, nor temple, nor even private persons, who were known to possess any share of treasure.

8. His great abilities would necessarily have made him one of the first citizens of Rome; but, disdaining the condition of a subject, he could never rest till he had made himself a monarch. In acting this last part, his usual prudence seemed to fail him; as if the height to which he was mounted had turned his head, and made him giddy: for by a vain ostentation of his power, he destroys the stability of it; and, as men shorten life by living too fast, so, by an intemperance of reigning, he brought his reign to a violent end. MIDDLETON,

1.

LESSON XLVIII.

The Passions. AN ODE.

When Music, heavenly maid, was young,
While yet in early Greece she sung,

The passions oft, to hear her shell,
Throng'd around her magic cell,
Exulting, trembling, raging, fainting,
Possess'd beyond the Muse's painting.
2. By turns, they felt the glowing mind
Disturb'd, delighted, rais'd, refin'd:
Till once, 'tis said, when all were fir'd,
Fill'd with fury, rapt, inspir'd
From the supporting myrtles round,
They snatch'd her instruments of sound,
And, as they oft had heard apart,
Sweet lessons of her forceful art,

Each, (for madness ruled the hour)
Would prove his own oppressive power.
3. First, Fear, his hand, its skill to try,
Amid the chords bewilder'd laid;
And back recoil'd, he knew not why,
Even at the sound himself had made.
Next Anger rush'd, his eyes on fire:

In lightnings own'd his secret stings,
In one rude clash he struck the lyre-
And swept, with hurried hand, the strings.
4. With woful measures, wan Despair,

Low sullen sounds his grief beguiled;
A solemn, strange, and mingled air;
'Twas sad, by fits-by starts, 'twas wild.
But thou, O Hope! with eyes so fair,
What was thy delighted measure!
Still it whisper'd promis'd pleasure,
And bade the lovely scenes at distance hail.
5. Still would her touch the strain prolong;

And from the rocks, the woods, the vale,
She call'd on Echo still through all her song;
And, where her sweetest theme she chose,

A soft responsive voice was heard at every close; And Hope, enchanted, smiled, and waved her golden hair,

And longer had she sung-but, with a frown,

Revenge impatient rose.

6. He threw his blood-stained sword in thunder down:
And, with a withering look,

The war-denouncing trumpet took,
And blew a blast, so loud and dread,

Were ne'er prophetic sounds so full of wo:

And, ever and anon, he beat

The doubling drum, with furious heat.

7. And though, sometimes, each dreary pause between, Dejected Pity at his side,

Her soul-subduing voice applied,

Yet still he kept his wild unalter'd mien; While each strain'd ball of sight-seemed bursting from his head.

8. Thy numbers, Jealousy, to nought were fixed; Sad proof of thy distressful state:

Of differing themes the veering song was mixed;

And, now, it courted Love; now, raving, call'd on
Hate.

With eyes uprais'd, as one inspired,
Pale Melancholy sat retired,

And, from her wild sequester'd seat,
In notes by distance made more sweet,
Pour'd through the mellow horn her pensive soul;
And dashing soft, from rocks around,
Bubbling runnels join'd the sound;

Through glades and glooms the mangled measure stole,
Or o'er some haunted streams, with fond delay,
(Round an holy calm diffusing,

Love of peace and lonely musing)

In hollow murmurs died away.

9. But, oh, how alter'd was its sprightlier tone! When Cheerfulness, a nymph of healthiest hue, Her bow across her shoulder flung,

10.

11.

12.

Her buskins gemm'd with morning dew,

Blew an inspiring air, that dale and thicket rung,
The hunter's call, to Faun and Dryad known.
The oak-crown'd Sisters, and their chaste-eyed
Queen,

Satyrs, and Sylvan Boys were seen,
Peeping from forth their alleys green:
Brown Exercise rejoiced to hear;

And Sport leap'd up, and seiz'd his beechen spear.
Last came Joy's ecstatic trial;

He, with viny crown advancing,

First to the lively pipe his hand address'd;
But, soon he saw the brisk awakening viol,
Whose sweet entrancing voice he lov'd the best.
They would have thought who heard the strain,
They saw in Tempe's vale, her native maids
Amidst the festal-sounding shades,

To some unweary'd minstrel dancing;

While, as his flying fingers kiss'd the strings,
Love framed with Mirth a gay fantastic round,
(Loose were her tresses seen, her zone unbound.)
And he, amidst his frolic play,

As if he would the charming air repay,

Shook thousand odours from his dewy wings.

COLLINS.