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days, pleaded before him for her sick husband, and famishJacob, on occasions like these, was a man of He was as careful of them as of his money, and he let her come to the end of her tale without interruption. She paused for a reply; but he gave none. deed, he is very ill, Sir.". "Can't help it."—"We are very much distressed."-"Can't help it.". "Our poor children, too."-"Can't help that neither."

"In

6. The petitioner's eye looked a mournful reproach, which would have interpreted itself to any other heart but nis; "indeed you can;" but she was silent. Jacob felt more awkwardly than he had ever done in his life. His hand involuntarily scrambled about his pockets. There was something like the weakness of human nature stirring within him. Some coin had unconsciously worked its way into his hand—his fingers insensibly closed; but, the effort to draw them forth, and the impossibility of effecting it without unclosing them, roused the dormant selfishness of his nature, and restored his self-possession.

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'He has been very extravagant."—"Ah, Sir, he has been very unfortunate, not extravagant."-"Unfortunate!Ah! it's the same thing. Little odds, I fancy. For my part, I wonder how folks can be unfortunate. never unfortunate. Nobody need be unfortunate, if they look after the main chance. I always looked after the main chance."

I was

If a

8. "He has had a large family to maintain.”—“Ah! married foolishly; no offence to you, ma'am. But when poor folks marry poor folks, what are they to look for? Besides, he was so foolishly fond of assisting others. friend was sick, or in gaol, out came his purse, and then his creditors might go whistle. Now if he had married a woman with money, you know, why then. . . . .

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9. The supplicant turned pale, and would have fainted. Jacob was alarmed; not that he sympathized, but a woman's fainting was a scene that he had not been used to; besides there was an awkwardness about it; for Jacob was a bachelor.

10. Sixty summers had passed over his head without imparting a ray of warmth to his heart; without exciting one tender feeling for the sex, deprived of whose cheering presence, the paradise of the world were a wilderness of weeds. So he desperately extracted a crown piece from

the depth profound, and thrust it hastily into her hand. The action recalled her wandering senses. She blushed:it was the honest blush of pride at the meanness of the gift. She curt'sied; staggered towards the door; opened it; closed it; raised her hand to her forehead, and burst into tears.*** NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE.

LESSON XXXIV.

The Highlander.

Many years ago, a poor Highland soldier, on his return to his native hills, fatigued, as it was supposed, by the length of the march and the heat of the weather, sat down under the shade of a birch-tree, on the solitary road of Lowrin, that winds along the margin of Loch Ken, in Galloway. Here he was found dead, and this incident forms the subject of the following verses.

1. From the climes of the sun, all war-worn and weary, The Highlander sped to his youthful abode;

Fair visions of home cheered the desert so dreary;

Though fierce was the noon-beam and steep was the road.

2. Till spent with the march that still lengthened before him, He stopped by the way in a sylvan retreat;

The light, shady boughs of the birch-tree waved o'er

him,

And the stream of the mountain fell soft at his feet.

3. He sunk to repose where the red heaths are blended,
One dream of his childhood his fancy past o'er;
But his battles are fought, and his march....it is ended;
The sound of the bagpipe shall wake him no more.
4. No arm in the day of the conflict could wound him,
Though war launched her thunder in fury to kill;
Now the angel of death in the desert has found him,
Now stretched him in peace by the stream of the hill.

5. Pale Autumn spreads o'er him the leaves of the forest,
The fays of the wild chant the dirge of his rest;
And thou, little brook, still the sleeper deplorest,
And moistenest the heath-bell that weeps on his
W. GILLESPIE.

breast.

LESSON XXXV.

The Prodigal Son.

1. A certain man had two sons: and the younger of them "Father, give me the portion of goods And he divided unto them his living.

said unto his father,

that falleth to me."

And, not many days after, the younger son gathered all- together, and took his journey into a far country, and there wasted his substance with riotous living.

2. And, when he had spent all, there arose a mighty famine in that land; and he began to be in want. And he went and joined himself to a citizen of that country; and he sent him into his fields to feed swine. And he would fain have filled himself with the husks that the swine did eat; and no man gave unto him.

3. And, when he came, to himself, he said, "How many hired servants of my father's have bread enough, and to spare; and I perish with hunger!-I will arise, and go to my father, and will say unto him-Father, I have sinned against heaven, and before thee, and am no more worthy to be called thy son:-make me as one of thy hired servants."

4. And he arose, and was coming to his father:-but, while he was yet a great way off, his father saw him, and had compassion, and ran, and fell on his neck, and kissed him. And the son said unto him, "Father, I have sinned against heaven, and in thy sight, and am no more worthy to be called thy son."

5. But the father said to his servants, "Bring forth the best robe, and put it on him; and put a ring on his hand, and shoes on his feet;—and bring hither the fatted calf, and kill it; and let us eat, and be merry:-for this, my son, was dead, and is alive again;—he was lost, and is found."

6. Now his elder son was in the field:-and as he came and drew nigh to the house, he heard music and dancing. And he called one of the servants, and asked what these things meant. And he said unto him, " Thy brother is come; and thy father hath killed the fatted calf, because he hath received him safe and sound."

7. And he was angry;—and would not go in: therefore came his father out and entreated him. And he, answering, said to his father, "Lo, these many years have I served

thee, neither transgressed I, at any time, thy commandment; and yet-thou never gavest me a kid, that I might make merry with my friends:-But, as soon as this-thy son was come, who hath devoured thy living with harlots, thou hast killed for him the fatted calf."

8. And the father said unto him with me; and all that I have is thine.

"Son, thou art ever It was meet that we

should make merry and be glad: for this-thy brotherwas dead, and is alive again; and was lost and is found." NEW TESTAMENT.

LESSON XXXVI.

Dissolution of Nature.

1. The admirable writer of "The Theory of the Earth," has communicated to us with the most striking eloquence, his thoughts on the dissolution of nature. When this admirable author has reviewed all that has passed or is to come which relates to the habitable world, and run through the whole face of it, how could a guardian angel that had attended it through all its courses, or changes, speak more emphatically at the end of his charge, than does our author when he makes, as it were, a funeral oration over this globe, looking to the point where it once stood?

2. "Let us only, if you please, to take leave of this subject, reflect upon this occasion on the vanity and transient glory of this habitable world. How by the force of one element breaking loose upon the rest, all the vanities of nature, all the works of art, all the labours of men, are reduced to nothing! All that we admired and adored before as great and magnificent, is obliterated or vanished; and another form and face of things, plain, simple, and every where the same, overspreads the whole earth.

3. "Where are now the great empires of the world, and their great imperial cities? Their pillars, trophies, and monuments of glory? Show me where they stood, read the inscription, tell me the victor's name. What remains, what impressions, what difference, or distinction, do you see in this mass of fire? Rome itself, eternal Rome, the great city, the empress of the world, what is become of her now? 4. "She laid her foundations deep, and her palaces were

strong and sumptuous:"-" She glorified herself, and lived deliciously, and said in her heart, I sit a queen, and shall see no sorrow:"-"but her hour is come, she is wiped away from the face of the earth, and buried in everlasting oblivion. But it is not cities only, and works of men's hands, but the everlasting hills, the mountains and rocks of the earth are melted as wax before the sun, and their place is no where found."

5. "Here stood the Alps, the load of the earth, that covered many countries, and reached their arms from the ocean to the Black Sea; this huge mass of stone is softened and dissolved as a tender cloud into rain. Here stood the African mountains, and Atlas with his top above the clouds; there was frozen Caucasus, and Taurus, and Imaus, and the mountains of Asia; and yonder, towards the north, stood the Riphæan hills, clothed in ice and snow. All these are vanished, dropped away as the snow upon their heads. Great and marvellous are thy works, just and true are thy ways, thou King of Saints! Hallelujah."

T.

SPECTATOR.

LESSON XXXVII.

Thoughts in Sickness.

When all the God came rushing on her soul.

DRYDEN.*

1. Among all the reflections which usually rise in the mind of a sick man, who has time and inclination to consider his approaching end, there is none more natural than that of his going to appear naked and unbodied before him who made him.

2. When a man considers that, as soon as the vital union is dissolved, he shall see that Supreme Being, whom he now contemplates at a distance, and only in his works; or, to speak more philosophically, when by some faculty in the soul he shall apprehend the Divine Being, and be more sensible of his presence, than we are now of the presence of any object which the eye beholds, a man must be lost in carelessness and stupidity who is not alarmed at such a thought.

3. Dr. Sherlock, in his excellent Treatise upon Death, has represented, in very strong and lively colours, the state

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