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Let us think for a moment of the sweet poet, Robert Burns, whose life was passed

So sweetly in the morning

Young fancy's rays the hills adorning.

but when addressing us from his grave in his epitaph, he says, The poor inhabitant below

Was quick to learn and wise to know,
And keenly felt the friendly glow
And softer flame;

But thoughtless follies laid him low
And stain'd his name.

Reader, attend, whether thy soul
Soars fancy's flights beyond the pole,
Or darkling grubs this earthly hole,
In low pursuit,

Know, prudent, cautious, self-control
Is wisdom's root.

Let us, therefore, enjoy the pleasures of imagination, but be not unmindful of their limits. Let us not be

Misled by fancy's meteor ray,

By passion driv'n;

Although the light that leads astray

Is light from heaven.

THE END.

C. Whittingham, Tooks Court, Chancery Lane.

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