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The Ways of Providence.

175 pushed him in ;-and he perished in the water. The horrible conduct of the young man had now raised the mind of the hermit to fierce indignation, and, when he was beginning to vent his rage, all these mysteries were explained. The fable tells us that the young man was an angel sent down to clear the doubts of the anxiously enquiring hermit, and to shew him that, however strange and mysterious the ways of Providence may appear, yet that, when understood, they are all seen to be for our good. The angel says,

“ What strange events can strike with more surprise

Than those which lately struck thy wondering eyes?
Yet taugbt by these, confess th’ Almighty just,

And, where you can't unravel, learn to trust.
“ The great vain man, who fared on costly food,

Whose life was too luxurious to be good;
Who made his ivory stands with goblets sbine,
And forc'd his guests to morning draughts of wine,
Has with the cup the graceless custom lost,

And still he welcomes, but with less of cost.
The mean suspicious wretch, whose bolted door,

Ne'er moved in pity to the wandering poor,
With him I left the cup, to teach his mind,
That heaven cau bless, if mortals will be kind.
Conscious of wanting worth, he views the bowl,
And feels compassion touch his grateful soul.
T'hus artists melt the sullen oro of lead,
With beaping coals of fire upon its head*;
In the kind warmth the metal learns to glow,

And, loose from dross, the silver molts below.
" Long had our pious friend in virtue trod,

But now the child half weaned his soul from God.
(Child of his age) for him he lived in pain,
and measured back to earth his steps again.
To what excesses had his dotage run!
But God, to save the father, took the son.
To all but thee in tits he seem'd to go;
And 'twas my ministry to deal the blow.
The poor fond parent, humbled in the dust,
Now owos, in tears, the punishment was just.

St. Paul recommends us to endeavour to subdue an enemy by kindness, “ By so doing," he says, “thou shalt heap coals of fire upon his head,” that is, thou shalt melt him to compassion.

6. But how bad all his fortunes fell a wrack,

Had that false servant sped in safety back!
This night his treasured heaps he meant to steal,
And wbat a fund of cbarity would fail!
Thus Heaven instructs thy mind:--this trial o'er,
Depart in peace, resign, and sin no more."
The bending hermit here a prayer begun,
“Lord! as in heaven, on earth, Thy Will be done.”
Then gladly turning, sought his ancient place
And pass'd a life of piety and peace.

* V.

The Mysteries of Providence, or Light shining out of Darkness,

God moves in a mysterious way

His wonders to perform ;
He plants his footsteps in the sea,
And rides upon the storm.

Deep in unfathomable mines

of never-failing skill,
He treasures up his bright designs,

And works his sov'reign will,

Ye Christians, then, fresh courage take,

The clouds ye so much dread
Are big with mercy, and shall break

In blessings on your head.

Judge not the Lord by feeble sense,

But trust him for bis grace;
Bebind a frowning Providence,

He bides a smiling face.


His purposes will ripen fast,

Unfolding every hour ;
The bud may have a bitter taste,

But sweet will be the flower.

* We have only given a part of this poem.



Blind unbelief is sure to err,

And scan his work in vain ;
God is his own interpreter,
And be will make it plain.




To the Editor of the Cottager's Monthly Visitor.

SIR, I am always sadly disturbed when I hear of my neighbours quarrelling, for it sometimes ends in fighting ; and a poor youth gets himself battered and mauled by it. I have seen a man brought home half covered with blood and hurts, and perhaps has hardly been able to go to work the next

whilst the savage man who has thus injured him seems to delight in what he has done, and is praised by many of his companions for it.I am told too, that in some places, men, who have had no quarrel at all, meet and fight, and that there are some people who can find amusement in going to see them; but I can hardly believe this, Sir, and I think those newspapers that come down to our village take a delight in imposing on us country people.

I have sometimes heard say, that, in fighting matters, the gentry are even worse than our poor village people, for they tell us that when these folks quarrel, they take out pistols, and try to shoot one another and to kill one another.-But to be sure they never can be so savage as that.-I suppose, however, there might have been some such custom in former days, but I don't know,-I am a poor simple rustic. I saw, in the London news, t'other day, a comical sort of letter, which seems to be a sort of an answer to a man that had sent 'one of those challenges. I cut it out of the newspaper, Sir, and have sent it to you. I am, Sir, your Constant Reader.


A CURIOUS ANSWER TO A CHALLENGE. I have two objections to this duel affair: the one is, lest I should hurt you, and the other is, lest you should hurt me. I do not see any good it would do me to put a bullet through any part (the least dangerous part) of your body. I could make no use of you when dead, for any kitchen purpose, as I would of a rabbit or a turkey. I am no cannibal (to feed on the flesh of men), wby, then, shoot down a buman creature of whom I could make no use? A buffalo would be better meat. For though your flesh might be delicate and tender, yet it wants. that firmness and consistency which makes and retains salt. At any rate it would not be fit for long voyages. You might make a good English stew, or American barbacue, it is true, being of the nature of a racoon or an oppossum; but people are not in the habit of barbacuing any thing human in these enlightened times. As to your hide it is not worth taking off, being little better than a year colt. As to myself, I don't like to stand in the way of any thing harmful. I am under great apprehension that you might hit me; that being the case, I think it most advisable to stay at a distance.' If you want to try your pistols, take some object, a tree, or a barn-door, about my dimensions ; and if you hit that, send me word, and I shall acknowledge that had I been in the same place you might have also hit me.Morning Post.


VILLAGE CHARACTERS. Sam Brown, John Wilkins, and Tom Simson ; and

their three Wives.

No. 1. Sam Brown goes to the alehouse as often as the night coines, and the consequence is that Sam's wife and family are the poorest and most wretched in the parish. I remember when Jenny Brown was about the smartest-looking girl in the parish,--and now I never saw a more miserable-looking creature, And the children are all in dirt and rags, and every thing

Village Characters.

179 is broken and out of order. And, if you were to ask Jane Brown the reason of this, she would tell you, that her husband spent so much money in the alehouse, that there was little or nothing coming in to the family, and that it was quite impossible to get clothes enough, or food enough, for herself and her children, and that she could not buy one thing that was needful towards keeping the house clean and right. And all this is the very truth. But, if you were to ask Sam, he would tell you that his home was so miserable and uncomfortable, that he could not bear to go into it; and he says that this is all the fault of his wife. When he married her, he says, she was a smart sort of a girl; but he soon found out, that she had no management, and neither knew how to keep the house tidy, or to cook him a comfortable meal and this, he said, was the beginning of his going to the alehouse. This is no excuse at all for Sam; a man must not ruin himself and his family, because his wife is a slattern; but yet, it is a very good reason why a wife should understand the management of a house, and should try to make home a comfort to her husband.

No. 2. John Wilkins comes straight home every day of his life when his work is finished; and he delights in passing the evening with his wife and family. He likes his home better than the alehouse; and his plan, he finds, answers well at the year's end. And what makes him like his home?-Why his house is so neat, and his children look so tidy, and his wife seems so glad to see him, and she takes care to have his evening meal in a clean and comfortable manner, so that it is no wonder that he should like home better than any other place he can go to.

No. 3. But Tom Simson goes to the alehouse often, and yet Sally Simson, his wife, has the house just as

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