And, like the wolf that stole into the fold, If dues and tithes be punctually supplied. Such is the man blind chance, not God, hath given To be the guide of humble souls to heaven. To preach of heaven he'll sometimes condescend, But all his views and wishes earthward tend. Like a tall guide-post, towering o'er the way, Whose lettered arms the traveller's route display, Fixed to one spot, it stands upon the down, Its hand still pointing to the distant town. LESSON XLIII. Elegy on Mrs. Mary Blaize.-GOLDSMITH. Good people all, with one accord, The needy seldom passed her door, She strove the neighbourhood to please At church, in silks and satins new, Her love was sought, I do aver, But now, her wealth and finery fled, Her doctors found, when she was deadHer last disorder mortal. Let us lament, in sorrow sore; For Kent-Street well may say, That, had she lived a twelvemonth moreShe had not died to-day. LESSON XLIV. The sick Man and the Angel.--GAY. "Is there no hope?" the sick man said: When thus the man, with gasping breath: 'Tis self-defence in each profession : My will hath made the world amen.ls: When I am numbered with the dead, And all my pious gifts are read, By heaven and earth! 'twill then be known, My charities were amply shown." An Angel came. "Ah! friend," he cried, "No more in flattering hopes confide: Can thy good deeds, in former times, Outweigh the balance of thy crimes? What widow or what orphan prays To crown thy life with length of days?-A pious action's in thy power: Embrace with joy the happy hour. Now, while you draw the vital air, Prove your intention is sincere: This instant give a hundred pound: Your neighbours want, and you abound." "But why such haste ?" the sick man whines, "Who knows as yet what heaven designs! Perhaps I may recover still. That sum, and more, are in my will." “ "Fool!" says the Vision, " now 'tis plain, By giving what is not your own." "While there is life, there's hope," he cried: LESSON XLV. The Voice of the Seasons.-ALISON. THERE is, in the revolution of time, a kind of warning voice, which summons us to thought and reflection; and every season, as it arises, speaks to us of the analogous character which we ought to maintain. From the first openings of the spring, to the last desolation of winter, the days of the year are emblematic of the state and of the duties of man; and, whatever may be the period of our journey, we can scarcely look up into the heavens, and mark the path of the sun, without feeling either something to animate us upon our course, or to reprove us for our delay. When the spring appears, when the earth is covered with its tender green, and the song of happiness is heard in every shade, it is a call to us to religious hope and joy. Over the infant year the breath of heaven seems to blow with paternal softness, and the heart of man willingly partakes in the joyfulness of awakened nature. When summer reigns, and every element is filled with life, and the sun, like a giant, pursues his course through the firmament above, it is the season of adoration. We see there, as it were, the majesty of the present God; and, wherever we direct our eye, the glory of the Lord seems to cover the earth as the waters cover the sea. When autumn comes, and the annual miracle of nature is completed, it is the appropriate season of thankfulness and praise. The heart bends with instinctive gratitude before Him, whose benevolence neither slumbers nor sleeps, and who, from the throne of glory, yet remembereth the things that are in heaven and earth. The season of winter has also similar instructions. To the thoughtful and the feeling mind it comes not without a blessing upon its wings; and perhaps the noblest lessons of religion are to be learned amid its clouds and storms. LESSON XI.VI. Anecdote of Richard Jackson.—LONDON QUARTERLY Review. DURING the war of independence in North America, a plain farmer, Richard Jackson by name, was apprehended, under such circumstances as proved, beyond all doubt, his purpose of joining the king's forces; an intention which he was too honest to deny; accordingly, he was delivered over to the high sheriff, and committed to the county jail. The prison was in such a state, that he might have found little difficulty in escaping; but he considered himself as in the hands of authority, such as it was, and the same principle of duty, which led him to take arms, made him equally really to endure the consequences. After lying there a few days, he applied to the sheriff for leave to go out and work by day, promising that he would return regularly at night. His character for simple integrity was so well known, that permission was given without hesitation; and, for eight months, Jackson went out every day to labour, and as duly came back to prison at night. In the month of May, the sheriff prepared to conduct him to Springfield, where he was to be tried for high treason. Jackson said, this would be a needless trouble and expense; he could save the sheriff both, and go just as well by himself. His word was once more taken, and he set off alone, to present himself for trial and certain condemnation. On the way he was overtaken in the woods by Mr. Edwards, a member of the council of Massachusetts, which, at that time, was the supreme executive of the state. This gentleman asked him whither he was going. "To Springfield, sir," was his answer, "to be tried for my life." To this casual interview Jackson owed his escape, when, having been found guilty, and condemned to death, application was made to the council for mercy. |