In the heather on the hill; All among the mountain thyme; By the little brook-sides, Where the sparkling waters chime ; In the crag; and on the peak, Splintered, savage, wild, and bare, There the bird with wild wing Wheeleth through the air. Wheeleth through the breezy air, Singing, screaming in his flight, Calling to his bird-mate, In a troubleless delight! In the green and leafy wood, Where the branching ferns up-curl, Soon as is the dawning, Wakes the mavis and the merle Wakes the cuckoo on the bough; Wakes the jay with ruddy breast; Wakes the mother ring dove Brooding on her nest! 0, the sunny summer time! Merry is the bird's life When the year is in its prime ! Some are strong and some are weak; Some love day and some love night;— But whate'er a bird is, Whate'er loves-it has delight, In the joyous song it sings; In the liquid air it cleaves; Do we wake; or do we sleep; Birds are singing loud! Sing and soar up from the hill! Out for us sweet fancies new!- MARY HOWITT. ABOUT GHOSTS AND GHOST-STORIES. THE following account might perhaps serve as a key to unlock the secrets of all ghost-stories that ever have been told. If any of my young readers should hear a ghost story related, and the relater and hearers were inclined to believe it, let him tell the story of the OLD NURSE AND THE CLUB-ROOM. At a town in the west of England a club of twenty-four people assembled once a week to drink punch, smoke tobacco, and talk politics. Each member had his peculiar chair, and the president's was more exalted than the rest. It was a rule that if a member was absent his chair should remain vacant. One evening at the meeting of the club there was a vacant chair, which had remained empty for several meetings. It belonged to a member who was believed to be in a dying state, and inquiries were naturally made after their associate. He lived in the adjoining house. A particular friend went himself to inquire for him, and reported to the club that he could not possibly survive the night. This dismal tidings threw a damp on the company; they smoked on in silence and were gloomy; all efforts to turn the conversa tion from the melancholy subject were ineffectual. At about midnight, the time when the club was usually most cheerful, a silence prevailed in the room, the door gently opened, and the form, in white, of the dying man, walked into the room, and took a seat in the accustomed chair. There it remained in silence, and in silence was gazed at. His appearance continued a sufficient time in the chair to convince all present of the reality of the vision. But they were in a state of awful astonishment. At length the apparition arose and stalked towards the door, opened it as if living, went out, and closed the door afterwards. After a long pause, a member at last had the resolution to say, if only one of us had seen this, he would not have been believed, but it is impossible that so many persons can be deceived.' The company by degrees recovered their speech; and the whole conversation, as may be imagined, was respecting the object of their alarm. They broke up in a body and went home. In the morning, inquiry was made after their sick friend. He had died as nearly as possible about the time of his appearing at the club. There was scarcely room for doubt before, but now there was absolute certainty of the reality of the apparition. The story spread over the country, and was so well attested as to obtain general belief; for in this case the fact was attested by three and twenty credible eye-witnesses, all of them living. Several years had elapsed, and the story had ceased to engage attention, and was almost forgotten, when one of the club, who was an apothecary, in the course of his practice attended an old woman, who gained her living by nursing sick persons. She was now ill herself, and finding her end near at hand, she told the apothecary she could leave the world with a good conscience, except for one thing which lay on her mind. 'Do not you remember, sir,' she said, the poor gentleman whose ghost has been so much talked of? I was his nurse. The night he died I left the room for something I wanted; I am sure I had not been absent long; but at my return I found the bed without my patient. I knew he was delirious, and I feared that he had thrown himself out of the window. I was so frightened that I had no power to stir. But after some time, to my great astonishment, he came shivering back, with his teeth chattering, and laid down on the bed and died. Considering I had done wrong by leaving him, I kept it a secret that he had left the room; and indeed I did not know what might be done to me. I knew I could explain all the story of the ghost, but I dared not do it. From what had happened I was certain that it was he himself who had been in the club room, perhaps recollecting that it was the night of meeting. May I be forgiven for keeping it a secret so long! and if the poor gentleman's friends forgive me, I shall die in peace.' TRUE STORIES. BY THE AUTHORESS OF 'ALWAYS HAPPY.' PLATO, DIONYSIUS, AND TIMOLEON. No. II. PLATO the philosopher, of whom you will often read, was an Athenian, and the pupil of the famous Socrates. He died about twelve years before Philip of Macedon was murdered. He was the intimate friend of Dion, the best and I wisest of the Syracusans; and went to Syracuse, a city in the island of Sicily, I to visit him. When he observed that the manners of Dion were stern and harsh, he, like a true friend, told him of this defect, and reminded him " that a haughty carriage keeps people at a distance, and reduces man to pass his life in solitude." As Dion was a wise man, no doubt he profited by this good advice; for it is a proof of wisdom to listen kindly to counsel, and amend the faults it points out. Dionysius the younger was at this time tyrant, or king, of Syracuse; he was the brother-in-law of Dion, and a young prince of great promise. His father, Dionysius the Elder, had sadly neglected his education, which led Plato to say, all his faults arose from ignorance; and this great philosopher took considerable pains to instruct and improve him. Dionysius proved the natural goodness of his character by the respect and attention he paid to Plato; he gave up his habits of idleness and dissipation, and devoted himself to study and sober amusements. Had it not been for the base flattery of his courtiers, this young prince would have probably become a good and a great man. But the angry nobles, jealous of the influence of the virtuous Dion, misrepresented his conduct, and spoke so ill of him, that he was at last banished from Syracuse; and Plato, soon after, gladly quitted the court of the tyrant. About two years afterwards, upon receiving a promise from Dionysius that he would recal Dion, Plato made another to, he replied, "How can you say I have voyage to Sicily. Dionysius, on hearing not profited by Plato's maxims, when you of his arrival, went out to meet him in see me bear misfortunes so well?" a splendid chariot drawn by four white horses, in which he placed the philosopher, and performed himself the office of driver. The Sicilians, too, rejoiced at his return; and, for a time, all was harmony. Among other proofs of the prince's favour, he presented Plato with eighty talents of gold, or about 15,500. Plato had now more influence at court than any one, and he lived in a dignified manner, which his enemies stigmatized as pride, but his friends praised it as the result of wisdom. Plato could not, however, prevail on Dionysius to recal Dion; a mutual distrust was the consequence, and, in the sequel the philosopher returned to Athens. Dionysius, now left to himself and to the influence of his artful flatterers, forgot all the good that Plato had taught him. He not only broke the promise he had made of recalling his brother-in-law, but even married that brother's wife to one of his courtiers. Dion, provoked at this wickedness, led an army to Syracuse, drove the tyrant from his throne, and recovered his wife. He governed Syracuse with much moderation and ability; but was at last cruelly murdered. After his death, Dionysius again ascended the throne, and was again driven from it: and, after all his various fortunes, it is said, he became a schoolmaster at Corinth. He had always such good spirits, that when one rallied him on not having profited by the counsel of his master Pla But you will wish to hear who was the person that finally drove this tyrant from Syracuse; and I shall have great pleas ure in speaking to you of that successful general. It was Timoleon, a native of Corinth, an excellent soldier, brave, humane, and firm. He had a brother, Timophanes, who had made himself tyrant of Corinth. Timoleon loved his brother, but he more dearly loved his country; and when he found he could not persuade him to give freedom to Corinth, he con sented to his death. But, though the people praised him, the heart of Timoleon reproached him for this act; and he would have punished himself by death, if his friends had not implored him to live. He consented to live, but he never more knew peace conscience. of The Carthaginians, who were almost always at war with the Syracusans, sent an army against them; and they in their distress applied to Corinth for relief. T moleon was despatched with some troops to their aid he gained great advantages over the Carthaginians, and entered Syra cuse in triumph. Dionysius, admiring this excellent gen. eral, surrendered himself and his citadel into his hands, and was sent to Corinth. Timoleon now attacked the Carthagi nians, under Asdrubal and Amilcar and gained a signal victory. In short, he meeting, and whatever he directed was subdued all the enemies of Syracuse, and of his life, the Syracusans acted by his mm Every honour was paid to him after his death, and his bier was wetted with the tears of the grateful Syracusans. Plato, of whom I have told you so much, died B.C. 348, aged 81, the year before Dionysius recovered the tyranny of Syracuse. IN For Parley's Magazine. A FABLE FOR THE SCHOOL-ROOM. a quiet, pleasant school room sat some dozen girls and boys with their kind teacher, who was trying to convince them of the necessity of industry and attention. But the eyes of the children would wander to the window, or their little hands beat upon their desks, and now and then one or another would start a way from their seats, as though any thing were better than sitting still to listen or to study. The teacher, almost discouraged, said to herself, 'O, if these children could know, as I know, the importance of industry and attention! if they could know the value of instruction! but alas, my labour seems all in vain. I fear they will learn only as I have learned, when it is too late. But just at this moment both teacher and scholars turn an eager wondering look towards the door, for two little beings have there suddenly my their appearance, whom the children, from One has a cheerful and at the same The other comes with a laughing eye and careless step; now dancing, singing, and shouting; now walking listlessly along, and looking in every direction as if in search of something to interest and amuse her. She is dressed in silk and satin of bright and gaudy colors; on her head is a wreath of roses, and she seems all sparkling with gems and jewels. The children clap their hands with de |