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DEATH OF A GOOD MAN.
'Knick’-Knacks, you may have consent thereto, thinking that it may do some good :
'A SONNET ?' well, if it's within my ken,
I'll write one with a moral. When a boy,
One Christmas morn I went to buy a toy,
Or rather we; I and my brother BEN;
Cents in my fist, but as we walked, 'Be goy
Blamed' if we did n't meet one PAT McCoy,
Who four more gave, which made fourteen together.
A pretty pocket-wallet; like a feather.
"You 're smart,' says he; 'you 've got a heap of leather,
Just been reading, and with no small interest, . An Historical Discourse, giving the history of the little town of our nativity, the place where · Aunt Lucy's twins' were baptized. The names and histories of all the pastors, from the earliest settlement of the place to the present period, are given ; and as we read them, how many pictures from the dark backward and abysm of time arose to view ! Parson W --, for example, how well we remember him!
A mán severe he was, and stern to view, but a good man at heart, no doubt. We recollect him so far back as the time when our childish fancy was, that when he got up to
A GOOD MAN.
speak, he took his text' out of a small box under the pulpit-cushion ; we forget now what we then thought the • Text' was; but we once saw something like what we remembered for a dim moment to have thought it, in a toystore on Christmas-eve, some years ago! We were always afraid of Parson W we boys;' and many and many a time have we gone and hid when he approached the house. Religion was a dreadful thing' in those days. Cheerfulness was tabooed ; and a solemn visage and a cold demeanor were the outward and visible signs of having obtained a hope. A common professor' was not to be encountered without emotion, but the minister,' all in black, was a terrible bug-bear! We used to regard him,
an officer of the divine law,' in much the same light in which police officers are viewed by the suspicious delinquent. But Parson W
is gone; and we cannot but felicitate ourself, for one, that we did what was right' in our attendance upon his ministrations. How many hundreds of times, wrapped up in sweet-scented hay, in the bottom of a sleigh, did we ride through the howling winter storm, to sit in that old church, with nothing but the maternal foot-stove and the prevalent 'fire of devotion' to keep us from perishing; yea, even to the division sixteenthly,' and the improving' Hence we learn, in view of our subject, in the next and last place,' etc. In summer there was a pail of water with a tin-porringer by the
A GOOD MAN.
door; so that we could quench any thirst that might arise * from the heat of the weather or the drought of the discourse;' but winter-service, and rehearsals in that comprehensive body of divinity, the Westminister Shorter Catechism, (Shorter catechism,' and nothin' shorter !') these were too much! There was relief only in eating our Sunday “turn-overs 'and nut-cakes-and-cheese at the neighbors' at noon-times, with faces glowing before the high-piled wood fires. Also it was extremely pleasant to go home with the prettiest girls from the evening conference-meetings held at the school-house. Ah, well-a-day! we see in the notes to this discoure the names given, and the triumphant deaths recorded, of those who were once near and dear to us; and chief among them, that near relative, whose silver hair and mild benevolent blue eyes are before us of yore.
He it was who was wont to go around his pleasant orchards, full of all manner of fruits, and select the choicest varieties for the little boys, never so happy himself as when engaged in making others so. His last end was peace.
A little while before his death, he called his son to his bedside, to write down his last request. • Bring your table close to the bed,' said he; 'I want to see you write.' This was done: “Now father,' said his son, 'what shall I write ?' *Write,' said he, this
, my last will and testament: I will myself and my dear children, and my grandchildren and their posterity, to God the FA
DEATH OF A
THER, Son and HOLY SPIRIT, through time, praying that the blessing of God may rest upon them. Now lift me up, and let me sign that.' He was raised, and his hand trembling with age was guided as he wrote for the last time his own name. As he lay down, he said, “My work is now done, and I am ready to go home. My way is clear. I know where I am going.' A little while after this, as the sun was going down, at his request he was raised up in bed : All seems natural out there,said he, looking out upon his beautiful acres; “just as it used to look. It is very pleasant; but I care nothing for it now; I am going,' said he, pointing toward heaven, 'I am going up there — I am going home!' And a little while after, the good man fell asleep in Jesus.
A FRENCHMAN DISCOMFITED: AN AGREEABLE DISAPPOINTMENT : WEATHER
COMPLAINANTS': GEOGRAPHICAL DISORDERS : ‘PURSUIT OF KNOWLEDGE UNDER DIFFICULTIES': SPORTING A NEW LANGUAGE: DEATH IN THE
EFFECT': A BOOK-SELLER AT CAMP-MEETING: TRUE VALUE OF MONEY NOTE-LIFTING': THE CATCHER CAUGHT AN AUTHENTIC RECORD: SEE
UR present theme is certainly a not very savory subject;
but the untimely misfortune described in such unmincing Anglo-Saxon by a correspondent, tempts us to record a similar accident which we recently heard depicted by a friend, a French gentleman, whose unostentatious but princely hospitality adds (what one could hardly deem possible) even a new charm and grace to the lovely banks of the St. Lawrence, along the most delightful reach of that resplendent stream. • It ees twànty year,' said he, “since zat I was in New-Yo'k; and I go up one night in z' upper part de cité, ('t was ’most in de contree,) to see a fraànde. Ah! oui! W'en I com by de door-yard, I see som'sing --I not know what he ees, but I s'ought he was leetil ràbeet;