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his horse, and got off, and helped him? Sir, he did all that his situation would allow ;-but the momentum of the coachhorse was so great, that Obadiah could not do it all at once; he rode in a circle three times round Dr. Slop, before he could fully accomplish it any how; and at last, when he did stop the beast, it was done with such an explosion of mud, that Obadiah had better have been a league off. In short, never was a Dr. Slop so beluted, and so transubstantiated, since that affair came into fashion.

LESSON CXXIV.

Heroic Self-Denial.-LITERARY GAZETTE.

DARK burned the candle on the table at which the student of divinity was reading in a large book : “ It all avails nothing, and nothing will ever come of it,” said he fretfully to himself, and closed the volume, “I shall never become a preacher, I may study and tire myself as much as I will ! The first sermon, in which I shall certainly hesitate, will without doubt render all this trouble vain; for do not I myself know the timidity and the peculiar misfortune which accompany me in every undertaking ?”

He now took from his dusty shelves a MS. and set himself down to read : it was an account of Rome, and particularly of St. Peter's Church, which was described with all the enthusiasm of an artist. He suddenly rose, and clapping his hands together, said with transport, "O heaven, I must certainly see all this myself !!!

But how? one does not get to Rome for nothing; the finan'ces of the good student were in a very bad condition, and however carefully he examined and fumbled through all his pockets, he collected only a few pence, which cer. tainly were not sufficient to pay his expenses to Rome. He went to bed quite restless, and even forgot to put out his candle, which at other times he never omitted ; but during this uneasy night, he thought of means to accomplish his purpose. The next morning he fetched an old clothes man, and sold every thing except the dress he had on, and a single shirt for change which he put in his pocket.

The sum, which he got from the greedy Israelite for all he had, was not much, and yet honesty, a virtue which he possessed in the highest degree, demanded of him to pay his few small debts. After he had performed this duty in the most conscientious manner, he counted up his remaining property, and was pleased on finding himself the possessor of five dollars, because he hoped with this sum, and with strict frugality, to travel to Rome and back again.

He now, therefore, began his journey in the highest spirits, and wandered over fertile Germany with heartfelt joy, at the beauties of nature in his beloved country. How did Italy's mild and balsam’ic airs refresh him! how did he indulge all his senses in the contemplation of the delightful scenes that crowded on him from every side! and how did his heart thrill with bliss when he beheld the towers of Rome shining in the misty distance! Long did he stand gazing and enraptured, and a tear of joy stood in his eyes; he walked on, lost in thought, and towards evening he reached a hill at the foot of which the Queen of Cities, illumined with gold and purple, by the blush of the evening sky, lay in the most glorious splendor. He seated himself upon the summit of the hill, and turned his eyes constantly, with the most heartfelt longing, towards the object of his secret wishes.

After his soul had satiated itself with this delightful picture, he at length thought of examining his stock of money, that he might see how much he could spare in Rome in examining the captivating wonders, without depriving himself of the necessary means for his journey back. When he had counted it, he found that he had just spent the half of it, viz. two dollars and a half. Of course he had been frequently obliged, in the pursuit of his journey, to beg a night's lodging and dinner from the clergymen on the road, to be able to reach so far upon so trifling a sum, but never did he receive money or ask alms. If, then, he would return to his native country without begging, he must not see Rome, and he had, in fact, the heroic self-denial to form this resolution on the spot. He, therefore, remained for that night on this hill, saw the moon and stars rise over the much-beloved Rome; he listened with silent delight to the chime of the church bells in the stillness of the evening, and when the morning sun, rising in the east, tinged the domes and towers of the city with red, he “cast one longing, lingering look behind,” and began in silent musing his journey home.

Whatever instances of heroic self-denial history may record, it can produce no greater than that which this ob scure individual exercised in the simplicity of his heart.

He returned home with his longing gratified, and employed his last penny in paying the boatman who ferried him over to his native island. He renounced the study of divinity, which he hated, and entered into the service of a peasant, with whom he continued for a whole year, at the end of which he employed his wages which he had saved, on a journey to the East, whither, impelled by the love of travelling, he set out upon a pilgrimage.

LESSON CXXV.

On the waste of life.--FRANKLIN. AMERGUS was a gentleman of good estate ; he was bred to no business, and could not contrive how to waste his hours agreeably; he had no relish for any of the proper works of life, nor any taste for the improvement of the mind; he spent generally ten hours of the four-and-twenty in bed; he dozed away two or three more on his couch ; and as many were dissolved in good liquor every evening, if he met with company of his own humor.—Thus he made a shift to wear off ten years of his life since the paternal estate fell into his hands.

One evening as he was musing alone, his thoughts happened to take a most unusual turn, for they cast a glance backward, and he began to reflect on his manner of life. He bethought himself what a number of living beings had been made a săcrifice to support his carcass, and how much corn and wine had been mingled with these offerings; and he set himself to compute what he had devoured since he came to the age of man. “ About a dozen feathered creatures, small and great, have, one week with another,” said he, “given up their lives to prolong mine, which, in ten years, amounts to at least six thousand. Fifty sheep have been sacrificed in a year, with half a hecatomb of black cattle, that I might have the choicest parts offered weekly upon my table.

“Thus a thousand beasts, out of the flock and the herd, have been slain in ten years' time to feed me, besides what the forest has supplied me with. Many hundreds of fishes have, in all their variety, been robbed of life for my repast, anc of the smaller fry some thousands. A measure of corn would hardly suffice me fine flour enough for a month's

provision, and this arises to above six score bushels; and many hogsheads of wine and other liquors have passed through this body of mine--this wretched strainer of meat and drink! And what have I done all this time for God and man? What a vast profusion of good things upon a useless life, and a worthless liver ?

“ There is not the meanest creature among all those which I have devoured, but hath answered the end of its creation better than I. It was made to support human nature, and it has done so. Every crab and oyster I have eat, and every grain of corn I have devoured, hath filled up its place in the rank of beings with more propriety and honor than I have done. Oh, shameful waste of life and time !"

In short, he carried on his moral reflections with so just and severe a force of reason, as constrained him to change his whole course of life; to break off his follies at once, and to apply himself to gain some useful knowledge, when he was more than thirty years of

age.

He lived many following years with the character of a worthy man and an excellent Christian ; he died with a peaceful conscience, and the tears of his country were dropped upon his tomb.

The world, that knew the whole series of his life, were amazed at the mighty change. They beheld him as a wonder of reformation, while he himself confessed and adored the Divine power and mercy which had transformed him from a brute to a man. But this was a single instance, and we may almost venture to write miracle upon it. Are there not numbers, in this degenerate age, whose lives thus run to atter waste, without the least tendency to usefulness ?

LESSON CXXVI.

The young Minstrel.-BEATTIE.

Lo! where the stripling, rapt in wonder, roves

Beneath the precipice o'erhung with pine, And sees, on high, amidst the encircling groves,

From cliff to cliff the foaming torrents shine :

While waters, woods, and winds, in concert join, And echo bears the chorus to the skies.

Would Edwin this majestic scene resign For aught the huntsman's puny craft supplies ? Ah! no: he better knows great Nature's charms to prize. And oft he traced the uplands, to survey,

When o'er the sky advanced the kindling dawn, The crimson cloud, blue main, and mountain gray,

And lake, dim-gleaming on the smoky lawn:

Far to the west, the long, long vale withdrawn, Where twilight loves to linger for a while ;

And now he faintly kens the bounding fawn, And villager abroad at early toil. But, lo! the Sun appears ! and heaven, earth, ocean, smile. And oft the craggy cliff he loved to climb,

When all in mist the world below was lost :What dreadful pleasure ! there to stand sublime,

Like shipwrecked mariner on desert coast,

And see the enormous waste of vapor, tossed In billows lengthening to the horizon round,

Now scooped in gulfs, with mountains now embossed ;And hear the voice of mirth and song rebound, Flocks, herds, and waterfalls, along the hoar profound ! In truth, he was a strange and wayward wight,

Fond of each gentle, and each dreadful scene : In darkness, and in storm, he took delight;

Nor less, than when on ocean-wave serene

The southern sun diffused his dazzling sheen.
Even sad vicissitude amused his soul :

And if a sigh would sometimes intervene,
And down his cheek a tear of pity roll,
A sigh, a tear so sweet, he wished not to control.
“ O, ye wild groves, 0, where is now your bloom !"

(The Muse interprets thus his tender thought)
“ Your flowers, your verdure, and your balmy gloom,

Of late so grateful in the hour of drought !*

Why do the birds, that song and rapture brought To all your bowers, their mansions now forsake ?

Ah ! why has fickle chance this ruin wrought ? For now the storm howls mournful through the brake, And the dead foliage flies in many a shapeless flake.

* Pron. drout.

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