got, blows and reproaches succeeded. Struck with the misery of her situation, and the cruelty of her oppressor, she kneeled, and, rearing her withered hands to the cold moon, prayed that "he might never again know the blessing of warmth." The consciousness of wrong, the solemnity of the hour, the pathetic tone, "sharp misery," and impassioned gesture of the miserable matron at once extinguished the dim reason of the rustic. He immediately complained of a preternatural chilness, was continually calling for more fire and clothes, and conceived himself to be in a freezing state, till the time of his death, which happened shortly after. On this singular story is founded the following ballad, which is in the genuine spirit of ancient English song, and shows, by proof irrefragable, that simplicity, and the language of ordinary life, may be connected with the most exquisite poetry. Farmer's Museum.]

Goody Blake and Harry Gill.-WORDSWORTH.

OH! what's the matter? what's the matter?
What is't that ails young Harry Gill?
That evermore his teeth they chatter,
Chatter, chatter, chatter still.
Of waistcoats Harry has no lack,
Good duffle gray, and flannel fine;
He has a blanket on his back,
And coats enough to smother nine.

In March, December, and in July,
'Tis all the same with Harry Gill;
The neighbors tell, and tell you truly,
His teeth they chatter, chatter still.
At night, at morning, and at noon,
'Tis all the same with Harry Gill;
Beneath the sun, beneath the moon,
His teeth they chatter, chatter still.

Young Harry was a lusty drover,
And who so stout of limb as he?
His cheeks were red as ruddy clover,
His voice was like the voice of three.
Auld Goody Blake was old and poor,
Ill fed she was, and thinly clad;
And any man who passed her door,
Might see how poor a hut she had.

All day she spun in her poor dwelling,
And then her three hours' work at night!
Alas! 'twas hardly worth the telling,
It would not pay for candle-light.

-This woman dwelt in Dorsetshire,
Her hut was on a cold hill side,
And in that country coals are dear,
For they come far by wind and tide.

By the same fire to boil their pottage,
Two poor old dames, as I have known,
Will often live in one small cottage,
But she, poor woman, dwelt alone.
'Twas well enough when summer came,
The long, warm, lightsome summer day,
Then at her door the canty dame
Would sit, as any linnet gay.

But when the ice our streams did fetter,
Oh! then how her old bones would shake!
You would have said if you had met her,
'Twas a hard time for Goody Blake.
Her evenings then were dull and dread;
Sad case it was, as you may think,
For very cold to go to bed,

And then for cold not sleep a wink.

Oh joy for her! whene'er in winter,
The winds at night had made a rout,
And scattered many a lusty splinter,
And many a rotten bough about.
Yet never had she, well or sick,
As every man who knew her says,
A pile before hand, wood or stick,
Enough to warm her, for three days.

Now when the frost was past enduring,
And made her poor old bones to ache,
Could any thing be more alluring,
Than an old hedge to Goody Blake?
And now and then it must be said,
When her old bones were cold and chill,
She left her fire, or left her bed,
To seek the hedge of Harry Gill.

Now Harry he had long suspected
This trespass of old Goody Blake,
And vow'd that she should be detected,
And he on her would vengeance take.

And oft from his warm fire he'd go,
And to the fields his road would take,
And there, at night, in frost and snow,
He watch'd to seize old Goody. Blake.

And once behind a rick of barley,
Thus looking out did Harry stand;
The moon was full, and shining clearly,
And crisp with frost the stubble land.
-He hears a noise-he's all awake-
Again!-on tiptoe down the hill
He softly creeps-Tis Goody Blake!
She's at the hedge of Harry Gill.

Right glad was he when he beheld her:
Stick after stick did Goody pull,
He stood behind a bush of elder,
Till she had fill'd her apron full.
When with her load she turn'd about,
The by-road back again to take,
He started forward with a shout,
And sprang upon poor Goody Blake.

And fiercely by the arm he took her,
And by the arm he held her fast,
And fiercely by the arm he shook her,
And cried, "I've caught you then at last!"
Then Goody, who had nothing said,
Her bundle from her lap let fall;
And kneeling on the sticks, she pray'd,
To God that is the judge of all.

She pray'd, her wither'd hand uprearing,
While Harry held her by the arm-
"God! who art never out of hearing,

may he never more be warm!"

The cold, cold moon above her head,
Thus on her knees did Goody pray,
Young Harry heard what she had said,
And icy cold he turn'd away.

He went complaining all the morrow
That he was cold and very chill:

His face was gloom, his heart was sorrow,
Alas that day for Harry Gill!

That day he wore a riding coat,
But not a whit the warmer he:
Another was on Thursday brought,
And ere the Sabbath he had three.

'Twas all in vain, a useless matter,
And blankets were about him pinn'd
Yet still his jaws and teeth they clatter,
Like a loose casement in the wind.
And Harry's flesh it fell away;
And all who see him say 'tis plain,
That live as long as live the may,
He never will be warm again.

No word to any man he utters,
Abed or up, to young or old;
But ever to himself he mutters,
"Poor Harry Gill is very cold.”
Abed or up, by night or day,
His teeth they chatter, chatter still;
Now think, ye farmers, all, I pray,
Of Goody Blake and Harry Gill.

LESSON LXIV.

Supposed feelings of Adam on being called into existence.*— BUFFON.

I REMEMBER the moment when my existence commenced : it was a moment replete with joy, amazement, and anxiety. I neither knew what I was, where I was, nor from whence I came. I opened my eyes; what an increase of sensation! The light, the celestial vault, the verdure of the earth, the transparency of the waters, gave animation to my spirits, and conveyed pleasures which exceed the powers of expression.

*The above extract is taken from Buffon's Natural History, and contains a very vivid description of the slow and painful process by which human beings acquire what may be called the use and knowledge of their senses. The idea, that Adam had to undergo nearly the same discipline as a little child, before he acquired a knowledge of himself and of that sublime creation of which he was then the sole heir, is, of course, altogether imaginary, and merely assumed for the purpose of illustration.

I at first believed that all these objects existed within me, and formed a part of myself. When totally absorbed in this idea, I turned my eyes to the sun his splendor overpowered me. I voluntarily shut out the light, and felt a slight degree of pain. During this moment of darkness, I imagined that I had lost the greatest part of my being.

When reflecting, with grief and astonishment, upon this great change, I was roused with a variety of sounds. The singing of birds, and the murmuring of the breezes, formed a concert which excited the most sweet and enchanting emotions. I listened long, and was convinced that these harmonious sounds existed within me.

Totally occupied with this new species of existence, I had already forgot the light, though the first part of my being that I had rec'ognised. I again, by accident, opened my eyes, and was delighted to find myself recover the possession of so many brilliant objects. This pleasure surpassed every former sensation, and suspended, for a time, the charming melody of sound.

I fixed my eyes on a thousand objects; I soon perceived that I had the power of losing and of recovering them, and that I could, at pleasure, destroy and renew this beautiful part of my existence.

I could now see without astonishment, and hear without anxiety, when a gentle breeze wafted perfumes to my nostrils. This new and delightful sensation agitated my frame, and gave a fresh addition to my self-love.

Totally occupied by all these sensations, and loaded with pleasures so delicate and so extensive, I suddenly arose, and was transported by the perception of an unknown power. I had made but a single step, when the novelty of my situation rendered me immoveable. My surprise was extreme. I thought my being fled from me: the movement I had made confounded the objects of vision; and the whole creation seemed to be disordered.

I raised my hand to my head; I touched my forehead and my eyes; and I felt every part of my body. The hand now appeared to be the principal organ of my existence. The perceptions afforded by this instrument were so distinct and so perfect; the pleasures conveyed by it were so superior to those of light and sound, that, for some time, I attached myself entirely to this substantial part of my being, and I perceived that my ideas began to assume a consistence and reality which I had never before experienced. Every