What tones are sweeter than those produced by the gentle breeze of heaven in passing over the strings of the Æolian Harp? The reason is, those strings are so attuned as that their vibrations will not respond except in notes of harmony: but only disorder the strings, by increasing the tension of some and decreasing that of others, and the sweetest zephyr will produce nothing but the vilest discords, resembling angry passions. Let us then, in our journey through the year on which we have entered, acquire as much as possible a knowledge of the _science_ and the _art_ of social and domestic _moral music_. Let us learn to measure our _time_ with care, to cultivate our _voices_, that they may lose all harshness: let each attend to _his own part_, and strive to excel in that. Let us consider our _feelings_, _passions_ and _dispositions_, as the _strings of the Harp_; and the _ordinary events of life_ as the _breezes_ which give vibration to the strings: if these strings--our feelings, passions and dispositions--are in proper tune--under due regulation, and preserving a just relation, each to all the others, we have then all the elements of moral music, domestic and social, and in a few weeks, by due regard to all the principles and arrangement above mentioned, we shall soon be good scholars, _giving_ and _receiving_ all that pleasure which harmony can afford; and as the sober _autumn_ advances, our _tastes_ for this kind of music will be more and more ripened towards perfection; and when the cold _decemberly_ evenings shall arrive, we can listen to the _angry music_ of the elements abroad, full of discordant strains, sweeping by our peaceful homes, while _within_ them all may be the music of the heart, in its gentlest movements. It is a melancholy truth that we ourselves manufacture seven eighths of what we are disposed to term our _misfortunes_ in this world. Want of precaution mars our arrangements: want of prudence exposes us to dangers which we might easily have avoided--want of patience often hurries us into difficulties, and disqualifies us to bear them with calmness or decency. Indulgence in follies and fashions often plants the seeds of wasting disease. Intemperance in our passions always is followed by unwelcome sensations, and sometimes with a sense of shame. Stimulants are succeeded by debility, and when they are used to excess, we know and daily witness the dreadful results--if death is not one of them--either the death of the offender, or of some other destroyed by his hand in the tempest of infuriated passions--we are too often compelled to mourn over the desolation they occasion--presenting in one view, "Hate--grief--despair--the family of pain." THE RUIN OF A NIGHT. STANZAS SUGGESTED ON VIEWING THE GROUND OF THE GREAT FIRE IN NEW-YORK. By Grenville Mellen.