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returned to their owner in good season, they are in much danger of being forgotten and lost.
Want of punctuality in keeping engagements is another form in which a want of conscientiousness shows itself. A man's time is his property, and we have no more right to deprive him of it than we have to pick his pocket, or steal any thing out of his house. But whoever keeps one waiting beyond the time appointed for meeting him, is guilty of this form of dishonesty; and if more than one are thus detained, the loss is so much the greater. Whoever agrees to meet a man at nine, should keep his word to the very minute ; for five minutes after nine and nine are not the same thing. An unpunctual person is a perpetual torment to all those who have any dealings with him; and hardly any body has ever succeeded in life who has had this defect.
There are some young persons who find amusement in playing jokes and tricks upon others. Some boys will ring the bell of a house in the evening, and then run away; or they will send a playmate on a pretended errand; or they will impose upon him by some absurd story. These are all wrong. But sometimes worse things than these are done. Some boys, for instance, will get up a plan to give one of their companions a fright in a dark place. But this is very wicked conduct; for boys thus frightened have in some instances lost their reason.
May our young readers resolve to keep careful watch over their conduct in little as well as great matters, and cultivate a delicate as well as a strong moral sense! True conscientiousness may be compared to the trunk of an elephant, which can uproot a tree or pick up a needle ; so a thoroughly good man shows his goodness in these small points as well as in the most important duties of life.
LXXVII. - THE ARAB'S FAREWELL TO HIS HORSE.
[The Arabs are very fond of their horses, and will not part with them unless very poor. It is related that the French consul at Alexandria, in Egypt, once purchased a very fine horse of a poor Arab, with the design of sending him to the King of France. The Arab took the purse of gold which was paid for his horse, and attempted to take leave of him. He patted his neck, caressed his glossy mane, but could not tear himself away. At last he flung the purse upon the ground, sprang upon the horse's back, and was out of sight in a moment. The following verses were written upon this touching incident.)
My beautiful, my beautiful! that standest meekly by,
Fret not to roam the desert now with all thy wingéd speed;
Fret not with that impatient hoof - snuff not the breezy
wind; The farther that thou fliest now, so far am I behind ; The stranger hath thy bridle rein, thy master hath his gold ;Fleet-limbed and beautiful, farewell ! — thou’rt sold, my steed,
Farewell ! - Those free, untiréd limbs full many a mile must
roam, To reach the chill and wintry clime that clouds the stranger's
home; Some other hand, less kind, must now thy corn and bed
prepare; That silky mane I braided once must be another's care.
The morning sun shall dawn again - but never more with
thee Shall I gallop o'er the desert paths where we were wont Evening shall darken on the earth; and o'er the sandy plain, Some other steed, with slower pace, shall bear me home again.
Only in sleep shall I behold that dark eye glancing bright-
speed, Then must I startling wake, to feel thou'rt sold, my Arab
Ah! rudely then, unseen by me, some cruel hand may chide, Till foam-wreaths lie, like crested waves, along thy panting
side, And the rich blood that's in thee swells, in thy indignant pain, Till careless eyes that on thee gaze may count each starting
Will they ill use thee? - if I thought -- but no
it cannot be ; Thou art so swift, yet easy curbed, so gentle, yet so free; And yet if haply, when thou’rt gone, this lonely heart should
yearn, Can the hand that casts thee from it now, command thee to
« Return !” alas ! my Arab steed! what will thy master do, When thou, that wast his all of joy, hast vanished from his
view ? When the dim distance greets mine eyes, and through the
gathering tears Thy bright form for a moment, like the false mirage, appears?
Slow and unmounted will I roam, with wearied foot, alone, Where, with fleet step and joyous bound, thou oft hast borne
me on ;
And sitting down by the green well, I'll pause and sadly
think 6 'Twas here he bowed his glossy neck when last I saw him
When last I saw thee drink!-- Away! the fevered dream is
o'er ! I could not live a day, and know that we should meet no
more ; They tempted me, my beautiful! for hunger's power is
strong They tempted me, my beautiful! but I have loved too long.
Who said that I had given thee up? Who said that thou wert
sold? 'Tis false ! 'tis false, my Arab steed! I Aling them back their
gold! Thus thus I leap upon thy back, and scour the distant
plains ! Away! who overtakes us now shall claim thee for his pains.
LXXVIII. - THE OLD COTTAGE CLOCK.
O, THE old, old clock, of the household stock,
Was the brightest thing and neatest;
And its chime rang still the sweetest.
Yet they lived, though nations altered ;
When the voice of friendship faltered.
For ten I've given warning;
You'll never rise soon in the morning."
A friendly voice was that old, old clock,
As it stood in the corner smiling,
The wintry hours beguiling;
As it called at daybreak boldly,
And the early air blew coldly :
For five I've given warning;
Unless you're up soon in the morning.”
LXXIX. - WILLIAM TELL TO HIS NATIVE MOUNTAINS.
J. S. KNOWLES.
YE crags and peaks, I'm with you once again!