2 My foemen, Lord, are fierce and fell; they spurn me in
their pride;

They render evil for my good, my patience they deride:
Arise, O King, and be the proud to righteous ruin driven :
"Forgive!" an awful answer came,
66 as thou wouldst
be forgiven!"

3 Seven times, O Lord, I pardoned them; seven times they've sinned again;

They practise still to work me wo, they triumph in my pain ;

But let them dread my vengeance, now, to just resent-
ment driven !

Forgive!" the voice of thunder spake, "or never be



The Stranger and his Friend. Matt. xxv. 35

1 A POOR wayfaring man of grief

Hath often crossed me on my way,
Who sued so humbly for relief,

That I could never answer, nay.
I had not power to ask his name,
Whither he went or whence he came;
Yet there was something in his eye,
That won my love, I knew not why.

2 Once, when my scanty meal was spread,
He entered-not a word he spake—
Just perishing for want of bread.


gave him all; he blessed it, brake,
And ate, but gave me part again;
Mine was an angel's portion then,
For while I fed with eager haste,
The crust was manna to my taste.

3. I spied him where a fountain burst

Clear from the rock; his strength was gone;

The heedless water mocked his thirst;

He heard it saw it hurrying on~

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I ran, and raised the sufferer up;

Twice from the stream he drained my cup,
Dipt, and returned it running o'er;

I drank, and never thirsted more.

4 "Twas night. The floods were out, it blew
A winter hurricane aloof;

I heard his voice abroad, and flew

To bid him welcome to my roof;

I warmed, I clothed, I cheered my guest,
I laid him on my couch to rest:
Then made the ground my bed, and seemed
In Eden's garden while I dreamed.

5 Stript, wounded, beaten nigh to death,
I found him by the highway side;
I roused his pulse, brought back his breath.
Revived his spirit and supplied
Wine, oil, refreshment;-he was healed
I had myself a wound concealed,
But from that hour forgot the smart,
And peace bound up my broken heart.

6 In prison I saw him next, condemned
To meet a traitor's doom at morn;
The tide of lying tongues I stemmed,

And honored him, midst shame and scorn.
My friendship's utmost zeal to try,
He asked if I for him would die :
The flesh was weak, my blood ran chill,
But the free spirit cried, "I will."

7 Then in a moment to my view,

The stranger started from disguise;
The tokens in his hands I knew,

My Savior.. stood before my eyes.
He spake, and my poor name he named-
"Of me thou has not been ashamed;
These deeds shall thy memorial be;
Fear not, thou didst them unto me."

I have seen the walls of Balclutha, but they were deso

làte. The flame had resounded in the halls; and the voice


of the people is heard no more. The stream of Clutha was removed from its place by the fall of the walls. The thistle shook there its lonely head: the moss whistled to the wind. The fox looked out from the windows: and the rank grass of the wall waved around his head. Desolate is the dwelling of Morná: silence is in the house of her fathers.-Ossian.


Letter from the Poet Couper to Mrs. King.

October 11, 1788.

1 You are perfectly secure from all danger of being overwhelmed with presents from me. It is not much that a poet can possibly have it in his power to give. When he has presented his own works, he may be supposed to have exhausted all means of donation. They are his only 'superfluity. There was a time-but that time was before I commenced writer for the press-when I amused myself in a way somewhat similar to yours; allowing, I mean, for the difference between masculine and female operations. The scissors and the needle are your chief implements; 2 mine were the chisel and the saw. In those days, you might have been in some danger of too plentiful a return for your favors. Tables, such as they were, and jointstools, such as never were, might have travelled to Perton Hall in most inconvenient abundance. But I have long since discontinued this practice, and many others which I found it necessary to adopt, that I might escape the worst of all evils, both in itself and in its consequences-an idle life. Many arts I have exercised with this view, for which nature never designed me; though among them were some • 3 in which I arrived at considerable proficiency, by mere dint of the most heroic perseverance. There is not a 'squire in all this country, who can boast of having made better squirrel-houses, hutches for rabbits, or bird-cages, than myself; and in the article of cabbage-nets, I had no superior. I even had the hardiness to take in hand the pencil, and studied a whole year the art of drawing. Many figures were the fruit of my labors, which had, at least, the merit

of being unparalleled by any production either of art or nature. But before the year was ended, I had occasion to 4 wonder at the progress that may be made, in despite of natural deficiency, by dint alone of practice; for I actually produced three landscapes, which a lady thought worthy to be framed and glazed. I then judged it high time to exchange this occupation for another, lest, by any subsequent productions of inferior merit, I should forfeit the honor I had so fortunately acquired. But gardening was, of all employments, that in which I succeeded best; though, even in this, I did not suddenly attain perfection I began with lettuces and cauliflowers: from them I pro5 ceeded to cucumbers; next to melons. I then purchased an orange tree, to which, in due time, I added two or three myrtles. These served me, day and night, with employment during a whole severe winter. To defend them from the frost, in a situation that exposed them to its severity, cost me much ingenuity and much attendance. I contrived to give them a fire heat; and have waded, night after night, through the snow, with the bellows under my arm, just before going to bed, to give the latest possible puff' to the embers, lest the frost should seize them before 6 morning. Very minute beginnings have sometimes important consequences. From nursing two or three little evergreens, I became ambitious of a green-house, and accordingly built one; which, verse excepted, afforded me amusement for a longer time than any expedient of all the many to which I have fled for refuge from the misery of having nothing to do. When I left Olney for Weston, I could no longer have a green-house of my own; but in a neighbor's garden I find a better, of which the sole management is consigned to me.

A Shepherd's Philosophy.

I know the more one sickéns, the worse at ease he is; and that he that wants money, means, and content, is without three good friends:-that the property of rain is to wet, and fire to burn :-that good pastúre makes fat sheèp; and that a great cause of the night is, lack of the sun :that he, that hath learned no wit by nature, nor art, may complain of good breeding, or comes of a very dull kindred.

I am a true labòrer: I earn that I éat, get that I wèar; owe no man háte, envy no man's happinèss; glad of other men's good, content with my hàrm; and the greatest of my pride is, to see my ewes graze, and my lambs suck.— Shakspeare.


Winter Evening in an Icelandic Family.-HENDErson. 1 A WINTER evening in an Icelandic family presents a scene in the highest degree interesting and pleasing. Between three and four o'clock, the lamp is hung up in the principal apartment, which answers the double purpose of a bed-chamber and sitting-room, and all the members of the family take their station, with their work in their hands, on their respective beds, all of which face each other. The master and mistress, together with the children, or other relations, occupy the beds at the inner end of the room; the rest are filled by the servants.


The work is no sooner begun, than one of the family, selected on purpose, advances to a seat near the lamp, and commences the evening lecture, which generally consists of some old saga, or such other histories as are to be obtained on the island. Being but badly supplied with printed books, the Icelanders are under the necessity of copying such as they can get the loan of; which sufficiently accounts for the fact, that the most of them write a hand equal in beauty to that of the ablest writing-masters in other parts of Europe. Some specimens of their Gothic writing are 3 scarcely inferior to copperplate. The reader is frequently interrupted, either by the head, or some of the more intelligent members of the family, who make remarks on various parts of the story, and propose questions, with a view to exercise the ingenuity of the children and servants. some houses, the sagas are repeated by such as have got them by heart; and instances are not uncommon of itinerating historians, who gain a livelihood during the winter, by staying at different farms till they have exhausted their stock of literary knowledge. It is greatly to be deplored, 4 that a people so distinguished by their love of science, and


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