When the dew wets its leaves; unstain'd and pure As is the lilly or the mountain-snow.

The mournful tale her mother told,

Of what her faithless fortune promis'd once, Thrill'd in her thought. Her eyes, like the dewy star

Of evening, shone in tears. A native grace
Sat fair-proportion'd on her polish'd limbs,
Veil'd in a simple robe, their best attire,
Beyond the pomp of dress; for loveliness
Needs not the foreign aid of ornament,
But is, when unadorn'd, adorn'd the most.
The sweet Lavinia, at length, compell'd
By strong Necessity's supreme command,
With smiling patience in her looks, went
To glean Palemou's fields. The pride of swains
Palemon was; the generous and the rich.

He then, his fancy with autumnal scencs
Amusing, chanc'd beside his reaper train
To walk, when poor Lavinia drew his cyc,
Unconscious of her pow'r, and turning quick,
With unaffected blushes from his gaze.

He saw her charming; but he saw not half
The charms her downcast modesty concealed.
That very moment love and chaste desire
Sprung in his bosom, to himself unknown;
For still the world prevail'd, and its dread laugh.
(Which scarce the firm philosopher can scorn)
Should his heart own a gleaner in the field.
And thus, in secret, to his soul he sigh'd.
"What pity, that so delicate a form
Should be devoted to the rude cimbrace
Of some indecent clown! She looks, methinks,
Of old Acasto's line; and to my mind.
Recalls that patron of my happy life,

From whom my lib'ral fortune took its rise;
Now to the dust gone down; his houses, lands,
And once fair-spreading family dissolved.
'Tis said that, in some lone, obscure retreat,
Urg'd by remembrance sad and decent pride,
Far from those scenes which knew their better days
His aged widow and his daughter live,

Whom yet my fruitless search could never find.
Romantic wish! would this the daughter were!"
When, strict enquiring, from herself he found
She was the same, the daughter of his friend,
Of bountiful Acasto. Who can speak
The transport that surprised his heart,

And through his nerves in shivering transport rañ!
Now as he view'd her, ardent, o'er and o'er,
Love, gratitude and pity, wept at once.
Confus'd and frighten'd at his sudden tears,
Her rising beauties flush'd a higher bloom;
As thus Palemon, passionate and just,
Pour'd out the pious rapture of his soul.

"And art thou, then, Acasto's dear remains??
She whom my restless gratitude has sought
So long in vain ?-Oh, yes! the very same,
The soften'd image of my noble friend;
Alive his every feature, every look

More elegantly touch'd. Sweeter than Spring!
Thou sole surviving blossom from the root
That nourish'd up my fortune! say, ah! where,
In what sequestered desert hast thou drawn
The kindest aspect of delighted heaven!
Into such beauty spread, and blown so fair,
Though poverty's cold wind and crushing rain
Beat keen and heavy on thy tender years.
Oh, let me now into a richer soil

Transplant thee safe, where vernal suns and showers

Diffuse their warmest, largest influence;
And of my garden be the pride and joy.
Throw that shameful pittance from thy hand,
But ill applied to such a rugged task:

The fields, the master, all, my fair, are thine;
If to the various blessings which thy house
Has on me lavish'd, thou wilt add that bliss,
That dearest bliss, the power of blessing thee !"
Won by the charm

Of goodness irresistible, and all

In sweet disorder lost-She blush'd consent.
The news, immediate to her mother brought;
Amaz'd, and scarce believing what she heard,
Joy seized her wither'd veins, and one bright gleam
Of setting life shone on her evening hours;
Not less enraptured than the happy pair,
Who flourish'd long in tender bliss, and rear'd
A numerous offspring, lovely like themselves,
And good; The grace of all the country round,

·Story of Serrano, who was cast on a desert island.

In the voyage of a Spanish ficet to America, a ship founderedt in the gulf of Mexico, and one of the men, named Serrano, sayed his life by swimming to an island, which still bears his name. This island is a barren2 sand, without water, wood, plants or stones.

+ Foundered, part grown, lame, failed.

On this

how little canst thou rely on the strength of reason—or the goodness of thy principles!

9. Yes, it is too true: two men, solitary and forlorn,7 soon found little jealousies disturbing their harmony, and they were upon the point of fighting! Let this fact teach us how little of our peace and security depends on reason and how much on religion and government! Mutuals hatred9 & resentment parted these forlorn wretches, and for a long time they separated. At length their wants impelled them to a reconciliation, and taught by necessity to value the advantages of society, they lived together in friendship.

2 Outcast, s a person who is jected.

banished or re

3 Shipwrecked, part sufferdestroyed, ruined shipwreck,

10. Four long years were these outcasts2 doomed to pick a scanty living on this barren spot; when a ship discovered them by a smoke, and came to their relief. The last who was shipwreckeds died on his voyage to Spain: but Serrano liv. ed to reach his native country. Covered as he was with hair, he re-ed. fused to be shaved till he had travelled to Germany, where the emperor resided, and had exhibited himself to his prince in his savage dress. Here he recounted his adventeres to the emperor, and received from him a liberal pension.4

4. Pension,,.3 settled yearly allowance.

He then suffered himself to be shaved; but returning to America to enjoy his pension, he soon died at

Panama.

On the Employment of Time.

1. We complaint of the shortness of time, and yet have much more than we know what to do with; for our lives are spent either in doing nothing at all, in doing nothing to the purpose, or else, in doing nothing that we had ought to do.

2. Melancholy2 as this picture appears, and disgraceful as it certainly is to a rational,& reflecting, mind, I fear, if we were to take an impartial view of our lives, too many of us would have reason to acknowledge the justness of the cen

sure.

5. Every fool, says Chesterfield, who slatterns away his whole time in nothing, has some trite observations at hand, to prove both its value and its fleetness; and though they feel the necessity of employing it well, they squander4 it away without considering that its loss is irrecoverable..

4. There are two sorts of understanding, which prevent5 a man