At the same time that the author reprobates the excess of grief, as detracting from our public and our private duties, he, by no means, wishes to restrain those pensive and those soft emotions which arise from just affection for departed excellence, or from the consciousness of rectitude of conduct and unmerited adversity; on the contrary, he is their advocate, they support us under our misfortunes, they afford us a luxury most soothing to the mind: but let us take care it degenerates not into weakness, that it leads not to unprofitable solitude: for, as hath been justly observed, "it is not good for man to be alone."

NUMBER V.

E'quanto à dir qual era, è cosa dura,
Questa "valle" selvaggia ed aspra e forte
Che nel pensier rinnuova la paura.—
Tanto è amara, che pocco è più morte:
Ma per trattar del ben, ch'i vi trovai,
Dirò del altre cose, ch'i v'ho scorte.

Dante.

The place I know not, where I chanc'd to rove;
It was a "vale" so wild, it wounds me sore
But to remember with what ills I strove:
Such still my dread, that death is little more.
But I will tell the good which there I found:
High things 'twas there my fortune to explore.
Hayley.

It was evening, when Wolkmar and his dog, almost spent with fatigue, descended one of the mountains in Switzerland; the sun was dilated in the horizon, and threw a tint of rich crimson over the waters of a neighbouring lake; on

each side rocks of varied form, their green heads glowing in the beam, were swarded with shrubs that hung feathering from their summits, and, at intervals, was heard the rushing of a troubled stream.

Amid this scenery, our traveller, far from any habitation, wearied, and uncertain of the road, sought for some excavation in the rock, wherein he might repose himself, and having at length discovered such a situation, fell fast asleep upon some withered leaves. His dog sat watching at his feet, a small bundle of linen and a staff were placed beside him, and the red rays of the declining sun, having pierced through the shrubs that concealed the retreat, gleamed on the languid features of his beloved master.

And long be thy rest, O Wolkmar! may sleep sit pleasant on thy soul! Unhappy man! war hath estranged thee from thy native village; war, unnatural war, snatched thee from thy Fanny and her infant. Where art thou, best of wives? thy Wolkmar lives! report deceived thee, Daughter of affliction! for the warrior rests not in the narrow house.

Thou fled'st; thy beauty caught the eye of power; thou fled'st with thy infant and thy aged father. Unhappy woman! thy husband seeketh thee over the wilds of Switzerland. Long be thy rest, O Wolkmar; may sleep sit pleasant on thy soul.

Yet not long did Wolkmar rest; starting, he beheld the dog, who, seizing his coat, had shook it with violence; and having thoroughly awakened him, whining licked his face, and sprang through the thicket. Wolkmar, eagerly following, discerned at some distance a man gently walking down the declivity of the opposite hill, and his own dog running with full speed towards him. The sun yet threw athwart the vale rays of a blood-red hue, the sky was overcast, and a few big round drops rustled through the drooping leaves. Wolkmar sat him down; the dog now fawned upon the man, then bounding ran before him. The curiosity of Wolkmar was roused, he rose to meet the stranger, who, as he drew near, appeared old, very old, his steps scarce supporting with a staff; a blue mantle was wrapped around him, and his hair and beard, white as snow, and waving to the breeze of the hill,

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