who thus spoke :-"I confess myself to be the sole cause of the present stoppage; and I am willing, for the general satisfaction, to assign my reasons. The truth is, that I am tired of ticking." Upon hearing this, the old clock became so enraged, that it was on the very point of striking.

"Lazy wire!" exclaimed the dial-plate, holding up its hands. "Very good!" replied the pendulum, "it is vastly easy for you, Mistress Dial, who have always, as every body knows, set yourself up above me,-it is vastly easy for you, I say, to accuse other people of laziness! You, who have had nothing to do all the days of your life, hut to stare people in the face, and to amuse yourself with watching all that goes on in the kitchen! Think, I beseech you, how you would like to be shut up for life in this dark closet, and to wag backwards and forwards year after year, as I do."

"As to that," said the dial, is there not a window in your house, on purpose for you to look through ?"—“ For all that," resumed the pendulum, "it is very dark here and, although there is a window, I dare not stop, even fo an instant, to look out at it. Besides, I am really tired of my way of life; and if you wish, I'll tell you how I took this disgust at my employment. I happened this morning to be calculating how many times I should have to tick in the course of only the next twenty-four hours; perhaps some of you, above there, can give me the exact sum." The minute-hand, being quick at figures, presently replied, "Eighty-six thousand four hundred times." "Exactly so," replied the pendulum; "well, I appeal to you all, if the very thought of this was not enough to fatigue one; and when I began to multiply the strokes of one day by those of months and years, really it is no wonder if I felt discouraged at the prospect; so, after a great deal of reasoning and hesitation, thinks I to myself, I'll stop."

The dial could scarcely keep its countenance during this harangue; but resuming its gravity, thus replied; "Dear Mr. Pendulum, I am really astonished that such a useful, industrious person as yourself, should have been overcome by this sudden action. It is true, you have done a great deal of work in your time; so have we all, and are likely to do; which, although it may fatigue us to think of, the question is, whether it will fatigue us to do. Would you now, do me the favour to give about half a dozen strokes to illustrate my argument ?"

66

The pendulum complied, and ticked six times in its usual pace. "Now," resumed the dial, “may I be allowed to nquire, if that exertion was at all fatiguing or disagreeable to you?" "Not in the least," replied the pendulum, "it is not of six strokes that I complain, nor of sixty, but of millions." Very good," replied the dial; "but recollect, that though you may think of a million strokes in an instant, you are required to execute but one; and that, however often you may hereafter have to swing, a moment will always be given you to swing in." "That consideration staggers me, I confess," said the pendulum. "Then I hope," resumed the dial-plae, "we shall all immediately return to our duty; for the mails will lie in bed if we stand idling thus."

Upon this, the weights, who had never been accused of light conduct, used all their influence in urging him to proceed; when, as with one consent, the wheels began to turn, the hands began to move, the pendulum began to swing, and, to its credit, ticked as loud as ever; while a red beam of the rising sun that streamed through a hole in the kitchen, shining full upon the dial-plate, it brightened up, as if nothing had been the matter.

When the farmer came down to breakfast that morning, upon looking at the clock, he declared that his watch had gained half an hour in the night.

MORAL.

A celebrated modern writer says, "Take care of the minutes, and the hours will take care of themselves." This is an admirable remark, and might be very seasonably recollected when we begin to be "weary in well-doing," from the thought of having much to do. The present moment is all we have to do with, in any sense; the past is irrecoverable; the future is uncertain; nor is it fair to burden one inoment with the weight of the next. Sufficient unto the moment is the trouble thereof. If we had to walk a hundred miles, we should still have to set but one step at a time, and this process continued, would infallibly bring us to our journey's end. Fatigue generally begins, and is always increased, by calculating in a minute the exertion of hours.

Thus, in looking forward to future life, let us recollect that we have not to sustain all its toil, to endure all its sufferings, or encounter all its crosses, at once. One moment comes laden with its own little burdens, then flies, and is succeeded by another no heavier than the last :-if one could be borne, so can another and another.

Even looking forward to a single day, the spirit may sometimes faint from an anticipation of the duties, the labours, the trials to temper and patience, that may be expected. Now this is unjustly laying the burden of many thousand moments upon one. Let any one resolve always to do right now, leaving then to do as it can; and if he were to live to the age of Methuselah, he would never do wrong. But the common errour is to resolve to act right after breakfast, or after dinner, or to-morrow morning, or next time; but nov, just now, this once, we must go on the same as ever.

It is easy, for instance, for the most ill-tempered person to resolve that the next time he is provoked, he will not let his temper overcome him; but the victory would be to subdue temper on the present provocation. If, without taking np the burden of the future, we would always make the single effort at the present moment; while there would, at any one time, be very little to do, yet, by this simple process continued, every thing would at last be done.

It seems easier to do right to-morrow than to-day, merely because we forget that when to-morrow comes, then will be now. Thus life passes with many, in resolutions for the future, which the present never fulfils.

"It is not thus with those, who, "by_patient continuance in well-doing, seek for glory, honour, and immortality." Day by day, minute by minute, they execute the appointed task, to which the requisite measure of time and strength is proportioned; and thus, having worked while it was called day, they at length rest from their labours, and their works "follow them.'

Let us then, "whatever our hands find to do, do it with all our might, recollecting that now is the proper and accepted time."

LESSON CXLII.

A belief in the superintendence of Providence the only ade quate support under affliction.-Wordsworth.

ONE adequate support

For the calamities of mortal life
Exists, one only ;—an assured belief
That the procession of our fate, howe'er
Sad or disturbed, is ordered by a Being

His name, and unambitiously relates

How long, and by what kindly outward aids,
And in what pure contentedness of mind,
The sad privation was by him endured.
And yon tall pine-tree, whose composing sound
Was wasted on the good man's living ear,
Hath now its own peculiar sanctity;

And, at the touch of every wandering breeze,
Murmurs not idly, o'er his peaceful grave.

LESSON CXXXIX.

The Alderman's funeral.-SOUTHEY.

Stranger. WHOм are they ushering from the world, with all This pageantry and long parade of death?

Townsman. A long parade, indeed, Sir, and yet here You see but half; round yonder bend it reaches A furlong farther, carriage behind carriage.

S. "Tis but a mournful sight, and yet the pomp
Tempts me to stand a gazer.

T. Yonder schoolboy,
Who plays the truant, says the proclamation
Of peace was nothing to the show, and even
The chairing of the members at election
Would not have been a finer sight than this;
Only that red and green are prettier colours
Than all this mourning. There, Sir, you behold
One of the red-gowned worthies of the city,
The envy and the boast of our exchange,

Aye, what was worth, last week, a good half million,
Screwed down in yonder hearse.

S. Then he was born

Under a lucky planet, who to-day

Puts mourning on for his inheritance.

T. When first I heard his death, that very wish
Leapt to my lips; but now the closing scene
Of the comedy hath wakened wiser thoughts;
And I bless God, that when I go to the grave,
There will not be the weight of wealth like his
To sink me down.

S. The camel and the needle,-
Is that then in your mind ?

T. Even so. The text

Is gospel wisdom. I would ride the camel,-
Yea, leap him flying, through the needle's eye,
As easily as such a pampered soul

Could pass the narrow gate.

S. Your pardon, Sir,

But sure this lack of Christian charity
Looks not like Christian truth.

T. Your pardon, too, Sir,

If, with this text before me, I should feel

In the preaching mood! But for these barreu fig-trees,
With all their flourish and their leafiness,

We have been told their destiny and use,
When the axe is laid unto the root, and they
Cumber the earth no longer.

S. Was his wealth

Stored fraudfully, the spoil of orphans wronged,
And widows who had none to plead their right?
T. All honest, open, honourable gains,
Fair legal interest, bonds and mortgages,
Ships to the east and west.

S. Why judge you then

So hardly of the dead?

T. For what he left

Undone :-for sins, not one of which is mentioned
In the Ten Commandments. He, I warrant him,
Believed no other gods than those of the Creed:
Bowed to no idols, but his money-bags:
Swore no false oaths, except at the custom-house :
Kept the Sabbath idle: built a monument

To honour his dead father: did no murder :
Was too old-fashioned for adultery:

Never picked pockets: never bore false-witness:
And never, with that all-commanding wealth,
Coveted his neighbour's house, nor ox, nor ass.
S. You knew him, then, it seems ?

T. As all men know
The virtues of your hundred-thousanders:
They never hide their lights beneath a bushel.
S. Nay, nay, uncharitable, Sir! for often
Doth bounty like a streamlet flow unseen,
Freshening and giving life along its course.

T. We track the streamlet by the brighter greer
And livelier growth it gives :-but as for this-