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of shoes and stockings had made both unnecessary', for Harley had destined sixpence for him before.

3. The beggar, on receiving it, poured forth blessings without number'; and, with a sort of smile on his countenance, said to Harley "that if he wanted to have his fortune told'"- Harley turned his eye briskly upon the beggar'; it was an unpromising look for the subject of a prediction', and silenced the prophet immediately. "I would much rather learn," said Harley, "what it is in your power' to tell me. Your trade must be an entertaining' one; sit down on this stone, and let me know something of your profession; I have often thought of turning fortune-teller for a week or two, myself."

4. "Master'," replied the beggar', "I like your frankness much'; for I had the humor of plain dealing in me from a child; but there is no doing with it in this world; we must do as we can; and lying is, as you call it, my profession. But I was in some sort forced to the trade, for I once dealt in telling the truth. I was a laborer, sir; and gained as much as to make me live. I never laid by', indeed; for I was reckoned a piece of a wag', and your wags, I take it, are seldom rich, Mr. Harley." "So," said Harley, "you seem to know me." "Ay', there are few folks in the country that I don't know something' of: How should I tell fortunes' else?" "True'; but go on with your story'; you were a laborer', you say, and a wag; your industry, I suppose, you left with your old trade; your humor you preserved to be of use to you in your new."

but 5. "What signifies sadness', sir? a man grows lean' on 't. But I was brought to my idleness by degrees; sickness first disabled me, and it went against my stomach to work ever after. But in truth I was for a long time so weak, that I spit blood whenever I attempted to work. I had no relation living, and I never kept a friend above a week when I was able to joke. Thus I was forced to beg my bread, and a sorry trade I have found it, Mr. Harley'. I told all my misfortunes truly, but they were seldom believed; and the few who gave me a half-penny as they passed, did it with a shake of the head, and an injunction not to trouble them with a long story. In short, I found that people do n't care to give alms without some security for their money; such as a wooden leg', or a withered arm', for example. So I changed my plan, and instead of telling my own' misfortunes, began to prophesy happiness to others'.

6. This I found by much the better way. Folks will always listen when the tale is their own', and of many who say they do not believe in fortune-telling, I have known few on whom it had not a very sensible effect. I pick up the names of their acquaintance'; amours and little squabbles are easily gleaned

among servants and neighbors'; and indeed, people themselves' are the best intelligencers in the world for our purpose. They dare not puzzle us for their own' sakes, for every one is anxious to hear what they wish to believe; and they who repeat it, to laugh at it when they have done, are generally more serious than their hearers are apt to imagine. With a tolerably good memory, and some share of cunning, I succeed reasonably well as a fortune-teller. With this, and showing the tricks of that dog, there, I make shift to pick up a livelihood.

7. My trade is none of the most honest, yet people are not much cheated after all, who give a few half pence for a prospect of happiness, which I have heard some persons say, is all a man can arrive at, in this' world. But I must bid you good day', sir; for I have three miles to walk before noon, to inform some boardingschool young ladies, whether their husbands are to be peers of the realm, or captains in the army; a question which I promised to answer them by that time."

8. Harley had drawn a shilling from his pocket'; but Virtue bade him consider on whom he was going to bestow' it. Virtue held back his arm'; but a milder form, a younger sister of Virtue's, not so severe as Virtue, nor so serious as Pity, smiled' upon him; his fingers lost their compression; nor did Virtue' appear to catch the money as it fell. It had no sooner reached the ground, than the watchful cur (a trick he had been taught) snapped it up'; and, contrary to the most approved method of stewardship, delivered it immediately into the hands of his master. MACKENZIE.



1. WRITERS of every age have endeavored to show that pleasure is in us', and not in the objects' offered for our amusement'. If the soul' be happily disposed, every thing becomes capable of affording entertainment, and distress will almost want a name. Every occurrence passes in review, like the figures of a procession'; some may be awkward, others' ill-dressed'; but none but a fool' is, on that account, enraged with the master of ceremonies.

2. I remember to have once seen a slave, in a fortification in Flanders, who appeared no way touched with his situation. He was maimed, deformed, and chained'; obliged to toil from the appearance of day till night-fall', and condemned to this for life';

yet with all these circumstances of apparent wretchedness, he sung, would have danced, but that he wanted a leg, and appeared the merriest, happiest man of all the garrison. What a practical philosopher was here'! A happy constitution supplied philosophy; and, though seemingly destitute of wisdom, he was really wisc. No reading or study had contributed to disenchant the fairy-land around him. Every thing furnished him with an opportunity of mirth'; and though some thought him, from his insensibility, a fool, he was such` an idiot, as philosophers should wish to imitate.

3. They who, like that slave, can place themselves on that side of the world in which every thing appears in a pleasant light, will find something in every occurrence, to excite their good humor. The most calamitous events, either to themselves' or others', can bring no new affliction'; the world is to them a theater, on which only comedies' are acted. All the bustle of heroism or the aspirations of ambition, seem only to highten the absurdity of the scene, and make the humor more poignant. They feel, in short, as little anguish at their own distress, or the complaints of others, as the undertaker', though dressed in black, feels sorrow at a funeral.

4. Of all the men I ever read of, the famous Cardinal de Retz possessed this happiness in the highest degree. When fortune wore her angriest look, and he fell into the power of Cardinal Mazarine, his most deadly enemy, (being confined a close prisoner in the castle of Valenciennes,) he never attempted to support his distress by wisdom or philosophy, for he pretended to neither. He only laughed at himself' and his persecutor', and seemed infinitely pleased at his new situation. In this mansion of distress, though denied all amusements and even the conveniences of life, and entirely cut off from all intercourse with his friends, he still retained his good humor', laughed at the little spite of his enemies', and carried the jest so far as to write the life of his jailer.

5. All that the wisdom of the proud can teach is, to be stubborn or sullen under misfortunes. The cardinal's example will teach us to be good-humored in circumstances of the highest affliction. It matters not whether our good humor be construed by others into insensibility' or idiotism'; it is happiness to ourselves'; and none but a fool could measure his satisfaction by what the world thinks of it.

6. The happiest fellow I ever knew, was of the number of those good-natured creatures, that are said to do no harm to anybody but themselves. Whenever he fell into any misery, he called it "seeing life." If his head was broken by a chairman, or his pocket picked by a sharper, he comforted himself by imitating

the Hibernian dialect of the one, or the more fashionable cant of the other. Nothing came amiss' to him. His inattention to money matters had concerned his father to such a degree, that all intercession of friends was fruitless. The old gentleman was on his death-bed. The whole family (and Dick was among the number) gathered around him.

7. "I leave my second son, Andrew," said the expiring miser', "my whole estate'; and desire him to be frugal." Andrew, in a sorrowful tone', (as is usual on such occasions',) prayed heaven to prolong his life and health, to enjoy it himself. "I recommend Simon, my third son', to the care of his elder brother', and leave him, besides, four thousand pounds." "Ah, father'!" cried

Simon', (in great affliction, to be sure'), "may heaven give you life and health to enjoy it yourself!" At last turning to poor Dick: "As for you, you have always been a sad dog'; you'll never come to good', you'll never be rich'; I leave you a shilling to buy a halter." Ah, father'!" cries Dick, without any emotion', "May heaven give you life and health to enjoy it yourself!”

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(Extract from an address delivered at a Sunday-School Celeration.)

1. Ir is but a few years, since we beheld the most singular and memorable pageant in the annals of time. It was a pageant more sublime and affecting than the progress of Elizabeth through England after the defeat of the armada; than the return of Franeis I. from a Spanish prison to his own beautiful France; than the daring and rapid march of the conqueror at Austerlitz from Frejus to Paris. It was a pageant, indeed, rivaled only in the elements of the grand and the pathetic, by the journey of our own Washington, through the different States. Need I say that I allude to the visit of La Fayette to America'?

2. But La Fayette returned to the land of the dead, rather than of the living'. How many who had fought with him in the war of '76, had died in arms', and lay buried in the grave of the soldier or the sailor! How many who had survived the perils of battle, on the land and the ocean, had expired on the death-bed of peace, in the arms of mother', sister', daughter', wife'! Those who survived to celebrate with him the jubilee of 1825, were stricken in years, and hoary-headed; many of them infirm in

health'; many the victims of poverty', or misfortune', or affliction'. And, how venerable that patriotic company'; how sublime, their gathering through all the land'; how joyful their welcome, how affecting their farewell' to that beloved stranger!

3. But the pageant has fled', and the very materials' that gave it such depth of interest, are rapidly perishing': and a humble', perhaps a nameless' grave, shall hold the last soldier of the Revolution. And shall they ever meet again? Shall the patriots and soldiers of '76- the Immortal Band, as history styles them,— meet again in the amaranthine bowers of spotless purity, of perfect bliss, of eternal glory? Shall theirs be the Christian's Heaven, the kingdom of the Redeemer ? The heathen points to his fabulous Elysium as the Paradise of the soldier and the sage. But the Christian' bows down with tears and sighs, for he knows that not many of the patriots, and statesmen, and warriors of Christian lands, are the disciples of Jesus.

4. But we turn from La Fayette, the favorite of the old and the new world, to the peaceful benevolence, the unambitious achievements of Robert Raikes. Let us imagine him to have been still alive', and to have visited our land, to celebrate this day with us. No national ships would have been offered to bear him', a nation's guest', in the pride of the star-spangled banner', from the bright shores of the rising', to the brighter shores of the setting' sun. No cannon would have hailed him' in the stern language of the battle-field, the fortunate champion of Freedom, in Europe and America'. No martial music would have welcomed him' in notes of rapture, as they rolled along the Atlantic, and echoed through the valley of the Mississippi'. No military procession would have heralded his way through crowded streets, thick-set with the banner and the plume, the glittering saber and the polished bayonet'. No cities would have called forth beauty and fashion, wealth and rank, to honor him' in the ball-room and theater'. No states would have escorted him' from boundary to boundary, nor have sent their chief-magistrate to do him' homage. No national liberality would have allotted to him' a nobleman's domain, and princely treasure'. No national gratitude would have hailed him' in the capitol itself, the nation's guest, because the nation's benefactor'; and have consecrated a battle-ship', in memory of his wounds and his gallantry'.*

5. Not such would have been the reception of Robert Raikes, in the land of the Pilgrims' and of Penn', of the Catholic', the

This paragraph may be considered as a series of sentences, and may receive the corresponding inflections, or each clause may receive the inflections appropriate to negative sentences.

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