T. But were the authors of those books witnesses of the events which they relate?

P. Oh, no; they lived either in our day, or within the memory of our fathers.

T. Where did they get their knowledge of the things mentioned in their books?

P. From other books that are worthy of credit.

T. Do you know those other books?

P. No, I do not.

T. How can you venture, then, to assert that those books are worthy of credit, when you do not know them?

P. I believe what our governess tells us.

T. Pray, how many years old are you?

P. Fifteen.

T. Upon my word! You are now almost grown up, and your governess still treats you like a little child!

P. How so?

T. Why, because she teaches you history just as we tell stories to little children. But do you think the history she teaches you is true; or is it a matter of indifference' to you, whether you are instructed in the truth or in fables?

P. Indeed, it is far from being indifferent to me; and I am sure that every thing she teaches us is true.

T. Well, if you know that to be the case, then you must know the manner in which you distinguish truth from falsehood.

P. No, I can not say that; but I believe what the governess tells us, because she is a woman of truth.

T. But see how inconsistent you are! One while you say you know these things; then you say you do not know; and then, again, you say you believe in your governess!

P. I can not answer you so easily as I can her; for she, somehow or other, asks me in an easier way.

T. Well, I will ask you something easier. What is history designed to tell us, truth or falsehood?

P. The truth, certainly.

T. Can anybody, then, either teach or be taught history

'In dif' fer ence, state in which there is no difference; carelessness.— In con sist' ent, not agreeing with; not uniform.

properly, without knowing how to distinguish truth from falsehood?

P. Why-I don't know

T. You don't know! Do you know this, then, whether history is studied for the sake of any utility' to be derived from it? P. I suppose great utility is to be derived from it.

T. What are the advantages of it?

P. Indeed, I do not know.

T. But did not your governess tell you that much of our knowledge is founded upon historical facts? and that we are enabled by history to understand better and more readily other parts of human knowledge? and that it is particularly useful in furnishing examples for the government of life, both in private and in public?

P. No, she did not tell us that; but I think what seems reasonable.

you

tell me

T. Well, then, answer me one question more:—if any man should go on heaping together money of every sort, and should pay no attention to see if his pieces of coin were good or bad, and should thus become possessed of much counterfeit money, would he not be under a very great disadvantage, when it should become necessary to make use of his money, and he should find it to be counterfeit ?

P. He certainly would.

T. Again; we have just said that history is the foundation of knowledge: now, do you think it is of no consequence to a building, whether its foundations are solid and firm, or weak and slender?

P. Most certainly, it is of great consequence.

T. You see, by this time, my little friend, what sort of a foundation you have in the history that you have learned. You imagined that you understood all history; you now see how many deductions must be made from your knowledge. You have heard nothing of the historians themselves; nothing of the philosophers and poets; nothing of magistrates and other offcers; and, as I perceive, nothing of various other things relat

'U til'i ty, usefulness.-2 Coun' ter feit, made to appear like a good thing, to pass for it; worthless.

ing to peace and war, times and places; nothing of causes; and, in short, nothing respecting the manner of discerning truth from falsehood: now, when all these things are taken away from your stock of all history, what is there remaining?

P. I now begin to understand, and I am sorry for the labor I have spent in my history

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T. No, take courage; for now you may promise yourself that you will know something, because you are sensible how much there is that you do not know; and that you are in need of something more substantial' and efficacious, which shall qualify you for a more perfect knowledge of things and causes; enable you to judge of truth and falsehood; and, in short, make you acquainted with the history of history itself; that is, that you may know what writers have treated of the subjects of history, and of what credit and authority those writers are.

P. Your remarks are věry just; and I beg of you to furnish me with some little book, from which I can learn all this in a short time.

T. My young friend, I see you think that all these things can be learned from a little book, like that which you used to recite to your governess. Now, I do not mean to say that you ought to be sorry for your own labor, or that of your governess; because what you have thus acquired and fixed in your memory, though a puerile3 exercise, will not be without use; but henceforward you must exercise your judgment, and pursue a liberal1 and exact course of study. This, however, is not to be acquired at once, or by the use of any little book, but by understanding the various books relating to the subject, and by diligently attending on the instruction of those who teach history according to these principles.

RUHNKEN.

1.

74. SEASONS OF PRAYER.

10 prayer, to prayer!-for the morning breaks,
And earth' in her Maker's smile awakes.

'Sub stån' tial, solid; real. Ef fi cà' cious, producing an effect.— 'Pu'er ile, boyish; weak.- Lib' er al, ample; large and free. - Exact (egz' akt), closely correct or regular.- Prayer (prår).—' Earth (ễrth).

His light is on all below and above,
The light of gladness, and life, and love.
Oh, then, on the breath of this early air,'
Send up the incense of grateful prayer.

2. To prayer!—for the glorious sun is gone,
And the gathering darkness of night comes on.
Like a curtain from God's kind hand it flows,
To shade the couch where his children repose.
Then kneel, while the watching stars are bright,
And give your last thoughts to the Guardian3 of night.

3. To prayer!-for the day that God has bless'd
Comes tranquilly on with its welcome rest.
It speaks of creation's early bloom;

It speaks of the Prince who burst the tomb.
Then summon the spirit's exalted powers,
And devote to Heaven the hallow'd' hours.

4. There are smiles and tears in the mother's eyes,
For her new-born infant beside her lies.

O hour of bliss!' when the heart o'erflows
With rapture a mother only knows.

Let it gush forth in words of fervent prayer;
Let it swell up to heaven for her precious care.

5. There are smiles and tears in that gathering band,
Where the heart is pledged1o with the trembling hand.
What trying thoughts in her bosom swell,

As the bride bids parents and home farewell!
Kneel down by the side of the tearful fair,
And strengthen the perilous hour with prayer.

'Air (år). In' cense, the burning of some sweet-smelling substance, practiced in the worship of the gods of antiquity, and to the true God, under the Jewish dispensation. It is still practiced in the Romish Church, and the term is still in use to express any act of devotion.— 'Guardian (går' de an), keeper; protector; here means, God.— Trån'quil ly, calmly; without noise or commotion.- Exalted (egz ált' ed), very high; superior,- Hål' lowed, sacred; made holy.-' Bliss, happiness in the highest degree.—o Råpt' ure, excessive pleasure; delight. — Får' vent, earnest; warm.-10 Pledged, engaged; given.

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3. Kncel down by the dying sinner's side,

And pray for his soul through Him who died.
Large drops of anguish' are thick on his brow,-
Oh, what is carth and its pleasures now!
And what shall assuage2 his dark despair,
But the penitent cry of humble prayer?

1. Kneel down at the couch of departing faith,
And hear the last words the believer saith.
He has bidden adieu to his earthly friends;
There is peace in his eye that upward bends;
There is peace in his calm, confiding air;

For his last thoughts are God's, his last words prayer.

8. The voice of prayer at the sable3 bier!*

A voice to sustain, to soothe, and to cheer.
It commends the spirit to God who gave;
It lifts the thoughts from the cold, dark grave;
It points to the glory where he shall reign,
Who whisper'd, "Thy brother shall rise again."

9. The voice of prayer in the world of bliss!
But gladder, purer, than rose from this.
The ransom'd shout to their glorious King,
Where no sorrow shades the soul as they sing;
But a sinless and joyous song they raise,
And their voice of prayer is eternal praise.

10. Awake! awake! and gird up thy strength,
To join that holy band at length.
To Him who unceasing love displays,
Whom the powers of nature unceasingly praise;
To Him thy heart and thy hours be given;
For a life of prayer is a life of heaven.

1 Anguish (ång' gwish), bitter pain; sorrow. soften; lessen; soothe. Så' ble, dark; black. a frame for carrying the dead to the grave.

HENRY WARE, JR.

Assuage (as swȧj'), - Bier, a carriage, or