LESSON XLIII.

Elegy on Mrs. Mary Blaize.-GOLDSMITH.

Good people all, with one accord,
Lament for Madam Blaize;
Who never wanted a good word—
From those who spoke her praise.

The needy seldom passed her door,
And always found her kind;
She freely lent to all the poor-
Who left a pledge behind.

She strove the neighbourhood to please
With manner wonderous winning;
And never followed wicked ways-
Unless when she was sinning.

At church, in silks and satins new,
With hoop of monstrous size,
She never slumbered in her pew-
But when she shut her eyes.

Her love was sought, I do aver,
By twenty beaux, and more;
The king himself has followed her-
When she has walked before.

But now, her wealth and finery fled,
Her hangers-on cut short all,

Her doctors found, when she was dead-
Her last disorder mortal.

Let us lament, in sorrow sore;

For Kent-Street well may say,

That, had she lived a twelvemonth moreShe had not died to-day.

LESSON XLIV.

The sick Man and the Angel.- GAY.

"Is there no hope?" the sick man said: The silent doctor shook his head;

And took his leave with signs of sorrow,
Despairing of his fee to-morrow.

When thus the man, with gasping breath :
"I feel the chilling hand of death.
Since I must bid the world adieu,
Let me my former life review.
I grant my bargains were well made;
But all men over-reach in trade.
'Tis self-defence in each profession:
Sure self-defence is no transgression.
"The little portion in my hands,
By good security on lands,
Is well increased. If, unawares,
My justice to myself and heirs
Hath let my debtor rot in jail,
For want of good sufficient bail;
If I, by writ, or bond, or deed,
Reduced a family to need;

My will hath made the world amends:
My hope on charity depends.

When I am numbered with the dead,

And all my pious gifts are read,

By heaven and earth! 'twill then be known, My charities were amply shown."

An Angel came. "Ah! friend," he cried "No more in flattering hopes confide: Can thy good deeds, in former times, Outweigh the balance of thy crimes? What widow or what orphan prays To crown thy life with length of days?A pious action's in thy power: Embrace with joy the happy hour. Now, while you draw the vital air, Prove your intention is sincere : This instant give a hundred pound: Your neighbours want, and you abound."

"But why such haste ?" the sick man whines, "Who knows as yet what heaven designs! Perhaps I may recover still:

That sum, and more, are in my will."

"Fool!" says the Vision, "now 'tis plain,
Your life, your soul, your heaven, was gain:
From every side, with all your might,
You scraped, and scraped beyond your right;
And, after death, would fain atone,

By giving what is not your own."

"While there is life, there's hope," he cried:
"Then why such haste?" so groaned and died.

LESSON XLV.

The Voice of the Seasons.-ALISON.

THERE is, in the revolution of time, a kind of warning voice, which summons us to thought and reflection; and every season, as it arises, speaks to us of the analogous character which we ought to maintain. From the first openings of the spring, to the last desolation of winter, the days of the year are emblematic of the state and of the duties of man; and, whatever may be the period of our journey, we can scarcely look up into the heavens, and mark the path of the sun, without feeling either something to animate us upon our course, or to reprove us for our delay.

When the spring appears, when the earth is covered with its tender green, and the song of happiness is heard in every shade, it is a call to us to religious hope and joy. Over the infant year the breath of heaven seems to blow with paternal softness, and the heart of man willingly partakes in the joyfulness of awakened nature.

When summer reigns, and every element is filled with life, and the sun, like a giant, pursues his course through the firmament above, it is the season of adoration. We see there, as it were, the majesty of the present God; and, wherever we direct our eye, the glory of the Lord seems to cover the earth as the waters cover the sea.

When autumn comes, and the annual miracle of nature is completed, it is the appropriate season of thankfulness and praise. The heart bends with instinctive gratitude before

Him, whose benevolence neither slumbers nor sleeps, and who, from the throne of glory, yet remembereth the things that are in heaven and earth.

To

The season of winter has also similar instructions. the thoughtful and the feeling mind it comes not without a blessing upon its wings; and perhaps the noblest lessons of religion are to be learned amid its clouds and storms.

LESSON XLVI.

Anecdote of Richard Jackson.-LONDON QUARTERLY REVIEW.

DURING the war of independence in North America, a plain farmer, Richard Jackson by name, was apprehended, under such circumstances as proved, beyond all doubt, his purpose of joining the king's forces; an intention which he was too honest to deny; accordingly, he was delivered over to the high sheriff, and committed to the county jail. The prison was in such a state, that he might have found little difficulty in escaping; but he considered himself as in the hands of authority, such as it was, and the same principle of duty, which led him to take arms, made him equally ready to endure the consequences.

After lying there a few days, he applied to the sheriff for leave to go out and work by day, promising that he would return regularly at night. His character for simple integrity was so well known, that permission was given without hesitation; and, for eight months, Jackson went out every day to labour, and as duly came back to prison at night. In the month of May, the sheriff prepared to conduct him to Springfield, where he was to be tried for high treason. Jackson said, this would be a needless trouble and expense; he could save the sheriff both, and go just as well by himself.

His word was once more taken, and he set off alone, to present himself for trial and certain condemnation. On the way he was overtaken in the woods by Mr. Edwards. a member of the council of Massachusetts, which, at that time, was the supreme executive of the state. This gentleman asked him whither he was going. "To Springfield, sir," was his answer, "to be tried for my life." To this casual interview Jackson owed his escape, when, having been found guilty, and condemned to death, application was made to the council for mercy,

The evidence and the sentence were stated, and the president put the question, whether a pardon should be granted. It was opposed by the first speaker: the case, he said, was perfectly clear; the act was unquestionably high treason, and the proof complete; and if mercy was shown in this case, he saw no reason why it should not be granted in every other.

Few governments have understood how just and politic it is to be merciful: this hard-hearted opinion accorded with the temper of the times, and was acquiesced in by one member after another, till it came to Mr. Edwards' turn to speak. Instead of delivering his opinion, he simply related the whole story of Jackson's singular demeanour, and what had passed between them in the woods.

For the honour of Massachusetts, and of human nature, not a man was found to weaken its effect by one of those dry, legal remarks, which, like a blast of the desert, wither the heart they reach. The council began to hesitate, and, when a member ventured to say, that such a man certainly ought not to be sent to the gallows, a natural feeling of humanity and justice prevailed, and a pardon was immediately made out.

Never was a stronger proof exhibited that honesty is wisdom. And yet, it was not the man's honesty, but his childlike simplicity, which saved his life; without that simplicity his integrity would have availed him little; in fact, it was his crime; for it was for doing what, according to the principles wherein he had been born and bred, he believed to be his duty, that he was brought to trial and condemned.This it is which renders civil and religious wars so peculiarly dreadful; and, in the history of such wars, every incident, which serves to reconcile us to humanity, ought carefully to be preserved.

LESSON XLVII.

Falls of Niagară.-HowISON.

THE form of Niagara Falls is that of an irregular semicircle, about three quarters of a mile in extent.

* Pron. sem'-e-ser kl.

This is