turtledoves. The constancy of the dove is such that it becomes a proverb; and when one of a pair dies, the other generally pines itself to death: so true is their love, and so far are they from a desire of changing. A very striking instance of the power of instinct, and an example worthy of imitation. The dove and the lamb are so remarkable for their gentleness, that they have been adopted as symbols of our most holy religion, and are always represented, in the sacred writings, as the most perfect emblems of virtue and innocence. Application. Constancy, whether in love or friendship, is certainly one of the most striking proofs of a great and noble mind; as fickleness is of the contrary. Love is but a more refined, a more tender, friendship; and when that love is strengthened by the more sacred ties of marriage, it ought to be equally lasting and inviolate. In such a state, the joy or grief of either party must be shared by the other: they must be both as one, or happiness can never be expected. In order to promote this agreeing will, constancy, tenderness, and an allowance for the frailty of humanity, are indispensably necessary. When these are united, there may truly be said to be a union of souls; which is the greatest felicity on earth. The emblem of the dove is one of those lessons drawn from nature, whereby the best amongst us may profit: since we may well be ashamed to be outdone, either in constancy or tenderness, by any of the brute creation. THE CUCKOO Hail, beauteous stranger of the wood, Now heaven repairs thy vernal seat, I hail the time of flowers, When heaven is fill'd with music sweet Of birds among the bowers. The schoolboy wandering in the wood, To pull the flowers so gay, Oft starts, thy curious voice to hear, "And imitates thy lay. Soon as the pea puts on the bloom, Thou fly'st the vocal vale; An annual guest in other lands, Sweet bird, thy bower is ever green, Thy sky is ever clear; Thou hast no sorrow in thy song, O! could I fly, I'd fly with tnee; 'THE DUTIES OF CHILDREN AND PARENTS. It may be truly said, that if children be undutiful to their parents, they seldom prove good to any other relations. The honour which children are required to give to their father and mother includes in it, love, reverence, obedience, and relief. It is usual with providence to return, in kind, men's disobedience to their parents. Where shall we find a person who has received, from any one, benefits so great, or so numerous, as children have received from their parents ? To them it is, that they owe their very existence; and consequently, all the pleasures and enjoyments of life. No one will expect a return of kindness, however inconsiderable, from him who can show himself unmindful of what he owes hit parents. To see a father treating a son like an elder brother and to see sons covet their father's company and conver sation, because they think him the wisest and most agreeable man of their acquaintance, is the most beautiful picture which the eye can behold. It is a transplanted selfattachment, as sacred as friendship, as pleasurable as love, and as happy as religion can make it. If every father remembered his own thoughts and inclinations, when he was a son, and every son remembered what he expected from his father, when he himself was in a state of dependency, this one reflection woulu keep fathers from being rigid, and sons from being dissolute. THE RUINS. I've seen, in twilights' pensive hour, That dome where grateful voices sung, Majestically grand ! I've seen, mid sculptur'd pride, the tomb, Those who, with laurel'd honours crown'd, That maiden who, while life remain'd, I've seen, where dungeon damps abide, Who, in REASON's happier day, Nor dome, nor tow'r, in twilight shade, Can with such pathos touch the breast, THE RUINS OF A NOBLE MIND. OSBORN. WOULDST thou, unthinking, to the beast draw near Moral. Deceitful men, and all their mazes shun, The crocodile is reported to weep over its prey, and to send forth a piteous and distressful cry, in order to allure men or beasts to its haunts, that it may seize and devour them. This story is variously told. Some say it devours what ever it catches, all but the head, and then weeps because no more is left to satisfy its rapacious appetite. It is most |