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a letter to his sister, Mr. Rogers said, "Thinking that a daily ride may benefit my little invalid nephew, I send a pony, which is both spirited and docile. I hope that Charlie will accept it, with the kind wishes of Uncle Walter.'"

Both Mrs. Harrison and Charlie were pained that no present came for Walter, and that he was scarcely mentioned in the letter; while as for Walter, he felt the old jealous feeling boiling up from his heart hotter than ever, and said some hard things which he had better have left unsaid.

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'Why, brother," said Charlie, "the pony shall be as much yours as mine; you may ride it every day."

"No, I won't!" answered Walter, angrily; "I never will mount it as long as I live. I wouldn't be so mean.'

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But Walter had no need to be envious of his brother, who was much too weak to ride his pretty pony. A few rods only gave severe pain in the side, so very delicate was poor Charlie.

This spring he seemed far worse than usual; he did not complain, but he daily grew weak and languid, till finally he could no longer be about the house.

One afternoon when he came from school, Walter found Charlie sitting up in his bed writing; but he hid his paper and pencil under the pillow when he saw his brother, and hastily wiped away some tears which were on his cheek. That very night he grew much worse; a fever came on, and he was quite delirious. All night long they watched over him with great anxiety; and during the next day, though he was more quiet, and slept most of the time. When awake, he did not speak much or seem to recognise any one.

Just at sunset, Walter was sitting in his own chamber by the window, with his face hid in the curtains-for he was grieving for his gentle brother who was like to die-when his mother entered, holding a paper in her hand. Walter saw that she had been weeping, as she said, "I found this paper under little Charlie's pillow; you may read it if you will."

Walter opened it, saw that it was in Charlie's handwriting, and read:

MY LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT.

"I leave to my dear mamma my gold-clasped Bible, my trunk, and all my clothes, except my new green cloth roundabout, which I leave to cousin John, because he likes it, and it just fits him. To my papa I leave my pictures of Jesus Christ Stilling the Tempest, and the Fight between the Constitution and. Guerriere, my seal of Hope and the anchor, and the 'Voyages of Captain Cook.' To my sister Clara

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I leave my canaries, my pet squirrel, my flowers, and all my fairy story-books. To my brother Walter I give the rest of my library, my chess-board and men, my battledores and shuttlecock, my rabbits, my dog, and my white pony; and when I am dead, I hope he will believe I have loved him dearly.

"CHARLES HARRISON."

Walter wept bitterly over this will; but when he had grown calm, he said, "May I go to him, mother?" "If you will promise not to disturb him," she answered. Walter promised, and stole softly into the dim chamber, where Charlie was now alone, sleeping quietly. He knelt down by the bed-side, hid his face in the counterpane, and silently prayed God to forgive all his sins, to give him a better heart, and to make his brother well again. Suddenly he felt a soft hand laid on his head. He looked up, and Charlie's mild blue eyes were smiling on him. "Come and lie by my side," he said; and Walter laid himself down there, and the brothers again embraced and kissed each other.

As thus they lay, talking softly and sweetly together, they heard some unusual noise below, and then their mother coming upstairs with some one who stepped a little heavier. It was their father, returned from his longest and last sea-voyage. Now he promised to stay at home with them always.

The return of Captain Harrison did more than medicine to cure his little son, who soon became stronger than he had ever been before.

One afternoon, when Charlie had been a fortnight about the house, it was arranged that he should take a short ride on his white pony, soon after breakfast, the next day.

When Walter came down in the morning, his mother kissed him more tenderly than usual, and his father shaking hands with him heartily, wished him many happy returns of the day. Walter looked as though he did not know what to make of this, and his mother said, " Why my son, is it possible you have forgotten this is your

birthday ?"

"Ah, yes, mamma," he answered; "I only remembered that it was Charlie's first day out."

"And so," said his father, "you are to give him a ride; pray, what are you to do ?"

"Oh, I'll trot along by his side on foot. I believe I cna outrun that pony now."

When breakfast was over, Walter helped his brother into the

saddle, and was arranging the bridle, when Charlie called out joyjully, "Look there, brother!" pointing with his riding-whip to another white pony, somewhat larger than his own, standing on the other side of the yard. Walter ran to it, took off a slip of paper which was pinned to the rein, and read: "Will Walter our firstborn and beloved son, accept this birth-day gift from his parents ?" Walter laid his face against the slender, arching neck of his beautiful horse, and burst into tears. But he was too happy to weep long; he soon ran into the house, thanked and kissed his father and mother, ran out again, mounted, and rode off with his brother.

They had a fine ride. They had many fine rides together in the years that followed; for Charlie continued to improve, till he became quite strong and vigorous. As for Walter, he always kept his robust health; he did not grow to be handsome, but he became what is far better, truly amiable and agreeable. Even Aunt Hannah Perkins grew to liking him at last; and Uncle Walter Rogers, who sent him to college, has been heard to declare that he shall leave him all his fortune, knowing that he will not hoard it like a miser, or waste it like a spendthrift, but so use it as to do a great deal of good and make a great many people happy. But I do not believe that the writing that gives to Walter Harrison a large sum of money, land, and houses, will ever be so dear to him as a little scrap of paper which he keeps among his most valuable and sacred things, in his private desk, and on which he has written, "LITTLE CHARLIE'S WILL."

FAITH, HOPE, AND CHARITY.

PRIOR.

Matthew Prior was born in 1664, and died in 1721. He enjoyed some lucrative situations, and distinguished himself by the light and easy style of his poetry, especially in narrating a story.

CHARITY! decent, modest, easy, kind,

Softens the high, and rears the abject mind;
Knows with just reins and gentle hand to guide
Betwixt vile shame and arbitrary pride;

Not soon provoked, she easily forgives,
And much she suffers, as she much believes.
Soft peace she brings wherever she arrives;
She builds our quiet, as she forms our lives;

Lays the rough paths of peevish nature even,
And opens in each heart a little heaven.
Each other gift which God on man bestows,
Its proper bounds and due restriction knows;
To one fixed purpose dedicates its power,
And finishing its act, exists no more.
Thus, in obedience to what Heaven decrees,
Knowledge shall fail, and prophecy shall cease;
But lasting charity's more ample sway,
Nor bound by time, nor subject to decay,
In happy triumph shall for ever live,

And endless good diffuse, and endless praise receive.
As through the artist's intervening glass,
Our eye observes the distant planets pass,
A little we discover, but allow

That more remains unseen than art can show;

So whilst our mind its knowledge would improve
(Its feeble eye intent on things above,)
High as we may lift our reason up,
By Faith directed, and confirmed by Hope;
Yet are we able only to survey

Dawnings of beams and promises of day.

Heaven's fuller effluence mocks our dazzled sight;
Too great its swiftness, and too strong its light.
But soon the mediate* clouds shall be dispelled,
The Sun shall soon be face to face beheld,
In all his robes, with all his glory on,
Seated, sublime, on his meridian throne.

Then constant Faith and holy Hope shall die,
One lost in certainty, and one in joy;
Whilst thou, more happy power, fair Charity,
Triumphant sister, greatest of the three,
Thy office and thy nature still the same,
Lasting thy lamp, and unconsumed thy flame,
Shalt still survive--

Shalt stand before the host of Heaven confess'd,
For ever blessing, and for ever blest.

i. e. lying between the sight and its object.

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FORBES' ORIENTAL MEMOIRS. STARTING from Brodera and Meah Gaum we travelled westward through the Jamboseer and Ahmoor purgunnas. The abundance of game in this country, and especially of wild peacocks in the woodlands, is astonishing: every village seems to have an appropriate share of these birds in the surrounding groves. There, as in the Dhuboy districts, peacocks and monkeys are protected, and allowed an ample share of grain in the cullies, or farm-yards. The peafowl in other parts of the country, secluded from the haunts of men, subsist, no doubt, upon wild fruits, insects, and reptiles, which everywhere abound, especially of the coluber tribe; for, although, like the rest of the species, the peafowl of Guzerat are granivorous, they are also very fond of serpents, and devour them whenever they have an opportunity. The natives are still more obliged to the sahras, storks, cranes, and many other graminivorous and aquatic birds, for the destruction of those enemies, which they swallow with great avidity. And as the snake devours poultry and animals of various descriptions, ten times larger than itself, so the peacock contrives to swallow a

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