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notes, and them alone, he was induced to escape from his vessel, abandon his turbulent companions, and return to a family deploring his absence. After paying a parting visit to those wells, and listening once more to the cooings of the Zenaida dove, he poured out his soul in supplications for mercy, and once more became what one has said to be "the noblest work of God" an honest man. His escape was effected amidst difficulties and dangers; but no danger seemed to him compared with the danger of living in violation of human and divine laws, and he dwells in peace in the midst of his friends.

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I KNEW a boy whose infant feet had trod
Upon the blossoms of some seven springs;
And when the eighth came round, and called him out
To gambol in the sun, he turned away,

And sought his chamber, to lie down and die:

'Twas night he summoned his accustomed friends,

And, on this wise, bestowed his last bequest:

"Mother, I'm dying now

There is deep suffocation in my breast,
As if some heavy hand my bosom pressed;
And on my brow

"I feel the cold sweat stand;

My lips grow dry and tremulous, and my breath
Comes feebly up. O, tell me, is this death?
Mother, your hand

"Here- lay it on my wrist,

And place the other thus, beneath my head
And say, sweet mother say, when I am dead,
Shall I be missed?

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"Never beside your knee

Shall I kneel down again at night to pray,
Nor with the morning wake, and sing the lay
You taught to me?

"O, at the time of prayer,

When you look round and see a vacant seat,
You will not wait then for my coming feet-
You'll miss me there.

"Father, I'm going home

To the good home you speak of, that blest land,
Where it is one bright summer always, and
Storms do not come.

"I must be happy then,

From pain and death you say I shall be free
That sickness never enters there, and we
Shall meet again.

"Brother, the little spot

I used to call my garden, where long hours
We've staid to watch the budding leaves and flowers,
Forget it not.

"Plant there some box or pine Something that lives in winter, and will be A verdant offering to my memory,

And call it mine.

"Sister, my young rose tree,

That all the spring has been my pleasant care,
Just putting forth its leaves so green and fair,
I give to thee.

"And when its roses bloom,

I shall be gone away-my short life done;

But will you not bestow a single one
Upon my tomb?

"Now, mother, sing the tune

You sang last night. I'm weary, and must sleep.
Who was it called my name? Nay, do not weep;
You'll all come soon!"

Morning spread over earth her rosy wings,
And that meek sufferer, cold and ivory pale,
Lay on his couch asleep. The gentle air
Came through the open window, freighted with
The savory odors of the early spring.

He breathed it not!- The laugh of passers by
Jarred like a discord in some mournful tune,
But did not stir his slumbers he was dead.

LV. — TRUTH AND FALSEHOOD.

No boy or girl needs to be told that lying is an odious vice, which all good men abhor, and which God looks upon with the sternest displeasure. But all of them are not aware that there are many kinds of falsehood, which are not the signs of a depraved nature, and which often flow from thoughtlessness and carelessness, but which are not right and proper. Many men and women, and many boys and girls, who would on no account tell a deliberate falsehood, will say things and do things which are really untrue, and therefore morally wrong. The customs of society tolerate forms of untruth, which no one can yield to without the reproach of a good conscience. Lies are, in common speech, divided into black lies and white lies; the latter being those slight departures from truth which many persons think of little consequence.

A boy who should come late to school because he had

stopped to play, and should excuse himself by saying that his mother had sent him on an errand, would be telling a black lie; and none but a wicked boy would do this. But one who should carry to his teacher a sum which another boy had done for him, and should claim the merit of it as his own, would be guilty of deception, or, in other words, would be telling a white lie. So a boy who, in reciting, should answer from another's prompting, would be committing the same kind of fault.

Many boys and girls are in the habit of violating truth by speaking in extravagant terms of what they have seen. They use such expressions as splendid, tremendous, glorious, magnificent, superb, when words of a simpler meaning should be employed. They do this from a wish to create surprise in the hearer. "Father," said a boy one day, "I saw an immense number of dogs in our street last night; five hundred, I am sure." 66 Surely not so many?" said his father. "Well, there were one hundred, I am quite sure." "It could not be," said the father; "I don't think there are a hundred dogs in the village." "Well, it could not be less than ten; this I am quite certain of." "I will not believe you saw even ten," said the father, "for you spoke as confidently of seeing five hundred as of seeing this smaller number. You have contradicted yourself twice already, and now I cannot believe you." "Well, father," said the disconcerted boy, "I saw at least our Dash and another one." This is an example of erroneous reporting through eagerness to make out a wonderful case.

Many persons are in the habit of violating the truth from a mistaken sense of good nature, and a wish to give pleasure to their friends. Thus young ladies are often praised for their singing, or playing, or drawing, when they do not deserve it, because their friends wish to gratify them or their parents. It is obvious that the effect of this false praise is to prevent all solid improvement. If a man of musical knowledge were to say to a young lady, in a kind manner, that the song she had just sung was too difficult for her at present, but that by

study and practice she would in time learn to execute it well, he would be doing her a far greater service than if he had praised her for an imperfect performance; and if she were a young lady of good sense, she would be grateful to him for his frankness.

Ladies sometimes ask their friends whether they are looking well or not, or whether they are becomingly dressed; and their friends, from a wish to please, or a reluctance to give pain, will tell them that they are looking charmingly, or that their dress is in the most perfect taste, though the reverse is the fact. It is far better to speak the truth with gentle firmness; for a friend who will take offence at this is not worth the keeping.

Some persons, too, receive their visitors with a great show of cordiality, and say they are delighted to see them, when their visits are really an annoyance; and, worse still, they will express this feeling, and ridicule their acquaintances, as soon as their backs are turned; and this, perhaps, in the presence of their children, whose tender hearts are thus infected with the poison of falsehood. This is very wrong. Politeness requires us to treat every one with civility, and to avoid giving pain; but it does not command us to show a cordiality we do not feel.

A mechanic who promises to complete a piece of work at a certain time, when he has every reason to believe that he will not be able to do so, tells a white lie. This, we are sorry to say, is a very common fault in our country; though it comes more from thoughtlessness and carelessness than from any intention to.deceive. No man should ever make a promise which he knows he cannot keep; and there is no more sure element of success in life than a faithful adherence to one's engagements. What a praise it is to a man to have it said of him that his word is as good as his bond!

Nothing is more noble than an adherence to truth under trying circumstances. Many years ago, in Scotland, a young woman was tried for a crime the punishment of which was

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