course. health, and the languor of the succeeing day, these and other evils connected with this amusement are strong reasons for banishing it from the community. But dancing ought not therefore to be proscribed. On the contrary, balls should be discouraged for this among other reasons,-that dancing, instead of being a rare pleasure, requiring elaborate preparation, may become an every-day amusemeut, and may mix with our common interThis exercise is among the most healthful. The body as well as the mind feels its gladdening influence. No amusement seems more to have a foundation in our nature. The animation of youth overflows spontaneously in harmonious movements. The true idea of dancing entitles it to favour. Its end is to realize perfect grace in motion; and who does not know that a sense of the graceful is one of the higher faculties of our nature? W. Ellery Channing. DANCING-Sprightliness of. Come, and trip it as you go, Enjoy the blessings of this day if God sends them; and the evils bear patiently and sweetly. For this day only is ours; we are dead to yesterday, and we are not born to to-morrow. Jeremy Taylor. Milton. DAY-The Glance of God. DANGER-Different Influences of a. A timid person is frightened before a danger, a coward during the time, and a Richter. courageous person afterwards. The crickets were still in the meadow and hill: Like a flock of rooks at a farmer's gun, Rise up and bathe the world in light! He DEAD-Bliss of the. look'd Ocean and earth, the solid frame of earth And in their silent faces did he read DAYBREAK-Signs of. It was the lark, the herald of the morn, streaks Do lace the severing clouds in yonder east ; her adieu. DAY AND NIGHT. There came the Day and Night, Riding together both with equal pace; The one on palfrey black, the other white; But, Night had cover'd her uncomely face With a black veil, and held in hand a mace, On top whereof the moon and stars were pight, And sleep and darkness round about did trace: But Day did bear upon his sceptre's height The goodly sun encompass'd all with beames bright. Spenser. I know thou hast gone to the home of thy rest, Then why should my soul be so sad? I know thou hast gone where the weary are blest, And the mourner looks up and is glad! Where Love has put off, in the land of its birth, The stains it had gather'd in this, And Hope, the sweet singer that gladden'd the earth, Lies asleep on the bosom of Bliss. I know thou hast gone where thy forehead is starr'd With the beauty that dwelt in thy soul, Where the light of thy loveliness cannot be marr'd, Nor the heart be flung back from its goal. I know thou hast drunk of the Lethe that flows Through a land where they do not forget, That sheds over memory only repose. And takes from it only regret.! T. K. Hervey. Weep not for those whom the veil of the tomb In life's happy morning hath hid from our eyes, Ere sin threw a blight o'er the spirit's young bloom, Or earth had profaned what was born for the skies, Death chill'd the fair fountain ere sorrow had stain'd it, "Twas frozen in all the pure light of its course, And but sleeps till the sunshine of heaven has unchain'd it To water that Eden where first was its source. Moore. DEAD-Grief for the. The day goes by, On which our soul's beloved dies! The day Of pleasant rest; and all the cottages, The simple woe of knowing they are dead, Over the going out of that sweet light DEAD-Immortality of the. J. Wilson. Where human thought, like human sight, James Montgomery. Thy day without a cloud hath pass'd, As stars that shoot along the sky He deign'd to wear, who hung the vast expanse DEATH-Acquiescence in. Oh! just when Thou shalt please would I depart, heart From its bright home; so I but have a part, Shine brightest as they fall from high. Byron. For ever mine! it matters little when. DEAD-Numbers of the. All that tread The globe are but a handful to the tribes DEAD-Remembrance of the. The idea of her life shall sweetly creep And every lovely organ of her life Shall come apparell'd in more precious habit, DEAD-Resurrection of the. Shakspeare. The dead! the sainted dead! why should we At the last change their settled features take? In their Redeemer's glorious image wake? The dead, how sacred! sacred is the dust DEATH-Affliction of. T. R. Taylor. Angels of life and death alike are his; Without His leave they pass no threshold o'er; DEATH-Anticipations of. Let Death approach; I seek not; let him come In genuine form, not with Thy vengeance arm'd, Too much for man to bear. Oh! rather lend DEATH-Awfulness of. Sure 'tis a serious thing to die, my soul ! That awful gulf, no mortal e'er repass'd For part they must,-body and soul must part; DEATH. innocent face looks so sublimely simple and confiding among the terrors of death. Crimeless and fearless, that little mortal passed under the shadow and explored the mystery of dissolution. There is death, in its sublimest and purest image; no hatred, no hypocrisy, no suspicion, no care for the morrow, ever darkened that little one's face; death has come lovingly upon it; there is nothing cruel or harsh in its victory. The yearnings of love, indeed, cannot be stifled; for the prattle and smiles, and all the little world of thoughts that were so delightful, are gone for ever. Awe, too, will overcast us in its presence; for we are looking on death; but we do not fear for the little lovely voyager; for the child has gone, simple and trusting, into the presence of its all-wise Father; and of such, we know, is the kingdom of heaven. DEATH-of the Christian. Leigh Hunt. The Saviour has pass'd through its portals before thee, And the lamp of His love is thy guide through the gloom. Thou art gone to the grave-we no longer behold thee, Nor tread the rough path of the world by thy side; But the wide arms of Mercy are spread to enfold thee, And sinners may hope, since the Sinless has died. Thou art gone to the grave-and its mansion forsaking, Perhaps thy tried spirit in doubt linger'd long; But the sunshine of heaven beam'd bright on thy waking, And the song which thou heard'st was the seraphim's song. Thou art gone to the grave-but 'twere wrong to deplore thee, When God was thy Ransom, thy Guardian, and Guide; He gave thee, and took thee, and soon will restore thee; And death bath no sting, since the Saviour bath died. Heber. Oh! beautiful beyond depicting words To paint the hour that wafts a soul to heaven! The hour of peace, the walk of social joy, The loved and lovely-see his face no more. Is broken: voice and gaze, and smiles that Must perish; parents take their hushed adieu; woe, Yet terrorless, when revelations flow It gleams with glory-in his eyes there dawns A dazzling earnest of unuttered joy. May hover round its surface, glides in light, It matters not at what hour of the day The less of this cold world, the more of The briefer life, the earlier immortality. Milman. Death is a commingling of eternity with time; in the death of a good man, eternity is seen looking through time. Goethe. DEATH-Complacency in. From what I have observed, and what I have heard those persons say whose professions lead them to the dying, I am induced to infer that the fear of death is not common, and that, where it exists, it proceeds rather from a diseased and enfeebled mind than from any principle in our nature. Certain it is, that among the poor, the approach of dissolution is usually regarded with a quiet and natural composure, which it is consolatory to contemplate, and which is as far removed from the dead palsy of unbelief as it is from the delirious raptures of fanaticism. Theirs is a true, unhesitating faith, and they are willing to lay down the burden of a weary life, in the sure Each pang subdued, his longing soul respires and certain hope of a blessed immortality. The gales of glorified eternity; And round him, hues ethereal, harps of light, The righteous perisheth, and no man layeth it to heart; and merciful men are taken away, Done considering that the righteous is taken away from the evil to come. Isaiah. For the death of the righteous is like the descending of ripe and wholesome fruits from a pleasant and florid tree. Our senses entire, our limbs unbroken, without horrid tortures; 1 after provision made for our children, with a blessing entailed upon posterity, in the presence of our friends, our dearest relative closing our eyes and binding our feet, leaving a good name behind us. Jeremy Taylor. So his life has flow'd From its mysterious urn a sacred stream, DEATH-Composure in. Southey. Nothing in his life Became him like the leaving it; he died DEATH-Consolations in. And something I would teach thee from the grief That thus hath fill'd those gentle eyes with The which may be thy sober, sure relief I ask not whither is the spirit flown That lit the eye which there in death is Our Father hath not made that mystery known, seal'd; Needless the knowledge, therefore, not reveal'd. But didst thou know, in sure and sacred truth, |