You will say, it may be, as many young people would, that all this order and method is very troublesome, only fit for dull people, and a disagreeable restraint upon the noble spirit and fire of youth. I deny it; and assert, on the contrary, that it will procure you both more time and more taste for your pleasures; and so far from being troublesome to you, that, after you have pursued it a month, it would be troublesome to you to lay it aside. Business whets the appetite, and gives a taste to pleasures, as exercise does to food; and business can never be done without method; it raises the spirits for pleasures; and an assembly will much more sensibly affect a man who has employed, than a man who has lost, the preceding part of the day; nay, I will venture to say, that a fine lady will seem to have more charms to a man of study or business, than to a saunterer. The same listlessness runs through his whole conduct, and he is as insipid in his pleasures as inefficient in everything else. ON THE KNEELING FIGURE IN MALVERN PRIORY. By CHARLES GRINDROD. [The old Renaissance figure (of a lady) is placed just outside the altar rail; looking northward, with one side of the face turned to the west, the other to the altar. Although kneeling, it has at a little distance the appearance of standing, owing to its peculiar erectness from the knees upward. The face is remarkable for the singular smile, half cynical, half spiritual (especially in the tightly compressed lips), which gives an expression of _living_ interest.] Tenant of stone! here still thou worshippest, Smiling the prayer that on thy lips has hung While ages traveled. Still thou kneel’st among The quiet tombs. Impassioned joy or spleen Moves not thy face—in part to heaven addressed, In part to the green hills thy feet have clomb. Image of what is past, and what shall come! Silent as death, which thou embodiest Far more than life. Mute sentry! stood between The crumbled mortal and ascended sprite! Has thou no sense for what is, or has been? Can nothing break thy sepulchre of rest? Once thy heart throbbed with human motion keen, Thy folded hands with others warmly pressed, Thy close-sealed lips have sweetly spoke or sung— Now an eternity is not more dumb! The organ peels around thee its deep notes; But thou art deaf to music’s noblest strains. A glory of rich hues about thee floats; Thou car’st not for the splendor of bright panes. What fateful storms and changes hast thou seen! How little dost thou heed the mad world’s hum! Our childhood knew thee as doth now our age— Time stirs not thee. Where art thou all this space, The part of thee which not in stone remains, While wondering centuries roll past thy place? They change and cease: the whole world turns a page— But thou still wear’st that smile upon thy face. COMETS.