pattered against the casements; the bells tolled for church with a melancholy sound. 2. I went to the windows in quest of something to amuse the eye; but it seemed as if I had been placed completely out of the reach of all amusement. The windows of my bedroom looked out among tiled roofs and stacks of chimneys, while those of my sitting-room commanded a full view of the stable-yard. I know of nothing more calculated to make a man sick of this world than a stable-yard on a rainy day. The place was littered with wet straw that had been kicked about by travelers and stable-boys. 3. In one corner was a stagnant pool of water, surrounding an island of muck; there were several half-drowned fowls crowded together under a cart; near the cart was a half-dozing cow, chewing the cud, and standing patiently to be rained on, with wreaths of vapor rising from her reeking hide; a wall-eyed horse, tired of the loneliness of the stable, was poking his spectral head out of a window, with the rain dripping on it from the eaves; an unhappy cur, chained to a dog-house hard by, uttered something every now and then between a bark and a yelp. Everything, in short, was comfortless and forlorn, excepting a crew of hardened ducks assembled like boon companions around a puddle and making a riotous noise over their liquor. 4. I sauntered to the window, and stood gazing at the people picking their way to church. The bells ceased to toll, and the streets became silent. I then amused myself with watching the daughters of a tradesman opposite, who, being confined to the house for fear of wetting their Sunday finery, played off their charms at the front windows, to fascinate the chance tenants of the inn. They at length were summoned away by a vigilant, vinegar-faced mother; and I had nothing further from without to amuse me. 5. The day continued lowering and gloomy; the slovenly, ragged, spongy clouds drifted heavily along; there was no variety even in the rain: it was one dull, continued, monotonous patter, patter, patter, excepting that now and then I was enlivened by the idea of a brisk shower, from the rattling of the drops upon a passing umbrella. It was quite refreshing (if I may be allowed a hackneyed phrase of the day) when in the course of the morning a horn blew, and a stage-coach whirled through the street, with outside passengers stuck all over it, cowering under cotton umbrellas, and seethed together, and reeking with the steams of wet box-coats and upper Benjamins. 6. The sound brought out from their lurking-places a crew of vagabond boys, and vagabond dogs, and the carrotyheaded hostler, and that nondescript animal yclept Boots, and all the other vagabond race that infest the purlieus of an inn; but the bustle was transient. The coach again whirled on its way, and boy and dog, and hostler and Boots, all slunk back again to their holes; the street again became silent; and the rain continued to rain on. 7. The evening gradually wore away. The travelers read the papers two or three times over. Some drew round the fire and told long stories about their horses, about their adventures, their overturns and breakings-down. They discussed the credit of different merchants and different inns; after which, they one after another rang for Boots and the chambermaid, and walked off to bed in old shoes cut down into marvelously uncomfortable slippers. There was now only one man left,-a short-legged, long-bodied, plethoric fellow with a very large sandy head. 8. He gradually fell asleep bolt upright in his chair, with an empty glass standing before him; and the candle seemed to fall asleep too, for the wick grew long and P black, and cabbaged at the end, and dimmed the little light that remained in the chamber. The gloom that now prevailed was contagious. Around hung the shapeless and almost spectral box-coats of departed travelers, long since buried in deep sleep. I only heard the ticking of the clock, with the deep-drawn breathings of the sleeping toper, and the drippings of the rain-drop, drop, drop -from the eaves of the house. DEFINITIONS.-2. Quěst, search. Tiled, covered with thin pieces of baked clay called tiles. 5. Low'er ing, threatening. Mo not'onous, continued with dull uniformity. Hǎek'neyed, much worn. Cow'er Ing, crouching in fear. 6. Non'de script, indescribable. Y elěpt', called. Pûr lieus, the outer portions. 7. Ple thor'ie, overly full. NOTES.-1. Derby (där′by), a borough in England, the capital of the county of the same name. 5. Upper Benjamin, an overcoat. 68. THE MEETING OF THE WATERS. THOMAS MOORE was born in Dublin, May 28, 1780. At the age of fourteen he went to the Dublin University; while there he translated the Odes of Anacreon, in the hope of obtaining a prize, but in this he was disappointed. He published several works, poetical, biographical, and historical. His best-known productions are Lalla Rookh and Irish Melodies; the latter are full of true feeling, and are the most popular of his writings. His style is light and graceful, and abounds in polished satire. He died February 25, 1852. 1. THERE is not in the wide world a valley so sweet 2. Yet it was not that Nature had shed o'er the scene 3. 'Twas that friends, the beloved of my bosom, were near, Who made every dear scene of enchantment more dear, And who felt how the best charms of Nature improve When we see them reflected from looks that we love. 4. Sweet vale of Avoca! how calm could I rest In thy bosom of shade with the friends I love best, Where the storms that we feel in this cold world should cease, And our hearts, like thy waters, be mingled in peace! NOTE.-4. Sweet vale of Avoca. A vō'ea is the name of a valley and a river of Ireland, county of Wicklow. The river is formed by the "meet. ing of the waters" of the Avonbeg and Avonmore. 69.-I SAW FROM THE BEACH. 1. I SAW from the beach, when the morning was shining, A bark o'er the waters move gloriously on; I came when the sun o'er that beach was declining : The bark was still there, but the waters were gone. 2. And such is the fate of our life's early promise,- 3. Ne'er tell me of glories serenely adorning The close of our day, the calm eve of our night : Give me back, give me back the wild freshness of morning; Her clouds and her tears are worth evening's best 4. Oh, who would not welcome that moment's returning When passion first waked a new life through his frame, And his soul, like the wood that grows precious in burning, Gave out all its sweets to Love's exquisite flame? THOMAS MOORE. 70.-AFTER THE STORM. How calm, how beautiful, comes on And waft no other breath than theirs! |