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The heathen raged, the kingdoms were stirred;
He uttered his voice, the earth melted.
Jehovah of hosts is with us;
The God of Jacob is our Refuge.

3. Come, behold the doings of Jehovah!

What astonishments he hath wrought in the earth. `He quieteth wars to the end of the earth;

The bow he breaketh in pieces, and cutteth asunder the


The chariots he burneth in fire.

4. Be still, and know that I am God.
I will be exalted among the nations,
I will be exalted in the earth.

5. Jehovah of hosts is with us;

The God of Jacob is our Refuge.



1. It is impossible, by any written description, to convey adequate ideas of the real magnificence of London. Indeed, it is not till after a person has been in the city for some months, that he begins to comprehend it. Every new walk opens to him streets, squares, and divisions, which he has never before seen. And even those places where he is 10st familiar are discovered, day by day, to possess archways, avenues, and thoroughfares within and around them, which had never been noticed before. People who have spent their whole lives in the city, often find streets and buildings, of which they had never before heard, and which they had never before seen.

2. If you ascend to the top of St. Paul's Church, and look down through the openings in the vast cloud of smɔke, which envelopes the city, you notice a sea of edifices, stretching beyond the limited view that is permitted by the impending vapors. It is not until many impressions are added together, that this great metropolis is understood, even by one who visits and studies it.

3. It is not until the observer has seen the palace of the king and the hovel of the beggar; the broad and airy streets inhabited by the rich, and the dark and dismal abodes of the

poor; the countless multitudes that ebb and flow like the tide, through some of the principal streets; the thousands that frequent the parks and promenades during the day, and other thousands that shun the light, and only steal forth in the hours of darkness.

4. It is not until all these, and many other spectacles have been witnessed, that he can understand the magnificence and meanness, the wealth and poverty, the virtue and the vice, the luxury and the want, the happiness and misery, which are signified by that brief word, London.

5. To one disposed to study this metropolis, we should recommend, that, at the approach of evening, he should take his station on Waterloo bridge, facing the north. On his right hand lies that part which is called the City, and which, during the day, is devoted to business. On his left is the West End, where fashion, luxury, and taste hold their empire. At evening, this part of the city is tranquil, or only disturbed by an occasional coach, while the eastern part of the metropolis yet continues to send forth its almost deafening roar. Coaches and carriages, carts and wagons of every kind, are still rolling through the streets, and, ere the busy scene closes, appear to send forth redoubled sound. But as the darkness increases, and long lines of lamps spring up around you as by enchantment, the roar of the city begins to abate. By almost imperceptible degrees, it decreases, and, finally, the eastern half of the city sinks into profound repose.

6. But the ear is now attracted by a hum from the west end of the city. At first, a distant coach only is heard, and then another, and another, until at length a pervading sound comes from every quarter. At midnight, the theatres are out, and the roar is augmented. At two o'clock, the, routs, balls, and parties are over, and, for a short period, the din rises to a higher and a higher pitch. At length it ceases, and there is a half hour of deep repose.

7. The whole city is at rest. A million of people are sleeping around you. It is now an impressive moment, and the imagination is affected with the deepest awe. But the dawn soon bursts through the mists that overhang the City. A market woman is seen groping through the dim light to arrange her stall; a laborer, with his heavy tread, passes by to begin his task; a wagoner, with his horses, shakes the



earth around you as he thunders by. Other persons are soon seen; the noise increases, the smoke streams up from thousands of chimneys, the sun rises, and while the west end of London remains wrapped in silence and repose, the eastern portion again vibrates with the uproar of business.

LESSON XCV. The Nunnery.

1. THERE are few monasteries in France, but scarcely a town of any note, where there are not one or more convents for nuns. Sometimes these convents are attached to the hospital, and the time of the nuns is exclusively devoted to attendance upon the sick. In this case they are not cloistered, as their duty frequently calls them to different parts of the town or country upon errands of charity. They merely wear a peculiar dress, divide their time between acts of benevolence and religious duties, and do not mix in society; such are the Sisters of Charity, and Sisters of Providence, of whom there are societies all over the continent of Europe, and who may be seen with their downcast looks and folded arms, gliding along the streets of the populous cities, apparently unconscious of all that is passing around them.

2. Still more frequently, they devote themselves exclusively to the education of girls, and almost all the ladies, both of France and Italy, are brought up in these Pensionnats. There are also convents where the nuns employ themselves, both in attending the sick, and in the education of youth; such, for example, is the convent of Les Sœurs Hospitalières, at Bayeux, a town which has now dwindled into comparative insignificance, but which is still the residence of a Bishop, and remarkable for the elegance of its Cathedral.

3. The streets of Bayeux are mean and dirty, and on arriving at the convent gates, the mind is totally unprepared for the quiet and beautiful scene of seclusion, which the interior presents, and which is rendered doubly striking from its existing in the very heart of a manufacturing town.

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4. Upon ringing at the gate, the door is opened by the portress, and, after passing through a long, stone passage, the stranger is conducted into a small parlor, advancing from

the building with an iron grating in front, a few chairs, and a stone floor. Behind the grating is a dark-red curtain, which, by its air of mystery, excites a degree of impatient curiosity for its removal. In a few minutes, the curtain is drawn aside, and one of the nuns, probably a Sœur Supérieure, dressed in the habit of the order, and distinguished by the large bunch of keys hanging at her girdle, appears at the grating, and enters into conversation with the visiters.

5. No gentleman can be admitted into the interior; but an order from the Superior can be obtained for the admission of ladies, who wish to view the establishment. In the mean time, nothing can be more striking, than the scene I which is visible through the grating, which seems like a glimpse into a world totally distinct from that which we have left behind us. In the large and beautiful garden, tastefully diversified with trees and flowers of every hue and variety, groups of nuns with long black veils, may be seen gliding among the trees and through the winding alleys.

6. Some are employed in teaching the pensionnaires, some are embroidering under the shade of the trees. All seem cheerful and contented; all are occupied, and pursuing their various tasks with assiduity. When the order for admission is obtained, the inner gates are opened, and the Mère Supérieure, a venerable old lady, leaning on a staff, receives the strangers, and conducts them into the garden, where a nearer view of the inmates tends to dissipate still more effectually those ideas of gloom, which seem connected with a conventual life.

7. The convent, formerly one of the wealthiest in France, is a large stone building, of great antiquity. It contains upwards of two hundred nuns, governed by a Superior, chosen from among their body, and at whose election is a solemn religious ceremony. The Superior is appointed for a certain number of years; but, at the end of that period, the same is usually reëlected. Of these nuns the greater part are cloistered, but there are some lay-sisters, and numerous novices.

8. Though there are many of their number belonging to the oldest families in France, and some of much lower rank, there are no distinctions of that nature among them. By turns they make the beds, sweep the floors, and attend upon the others at table.



9. The lay-sisters are permitted to walk with the boarders, and may be sent on errands, when anything is wanted for the use of the convent. The novices are strictly watched, and seldom allowed to leave the gates. They are distinguished from the others by their white veil. Their noviciate lasts three years, and a considerable sum is paid by them on entering, after which they are maintained by the establishment. The ceremony of taking the black veil is one of the most solemn and beautiful in the Roman Catholic religion.

10. High mass is celebrated in the chapel. The bishop officiates in his splendid robes. The novice appears dressed in white, and sometimes decked with jewels like a bride. She kneels before the altar, while the Bishop pronounces a discourse upon the solemnity of the vows, which she is. about to pronounce. She then retires behind the altar. Her long hair is cut off, and she is invested with the nun's garment. She is then led forward to the bishop, and, having pronounced, upon her knees, her intention of abjuring the world, and devoting herself to the service of God, she receives his benediction. The black veil is, then thrown over her. A solemn hymn is chanted to the notes of the organ, and the gates of the convent are henceforth closed upon her for ever.

11. It is true, that, by the order of the government, all nuns are now regarded as free from their vows after a certain period; but though a nun who breaks her vows is no longer built up in a wall as in days of old, yet there is a wall of public opinion which is almost as formidable to her; and it is probable that a long period will elapse before any female will. have courage to break through this barrier, and expose herself to the scorn of her companions, and the indignation of the Church.

LESSON XCVI. The Soldier's Dream.

1. OUR bugles sang truce,-for the night-cloud had lowered, And the sentinel stars set their watch in the sky; And thousands had sunk on the ground overpowered,

The weary to sleep, and the wounded to die.

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