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SYMPATHY AND BENEVOLENCE. Sympathy and benevolence constitute those finer feelings of the soul, which at once support and adorn human nature. What is it that guards our helpless infancy, and instructs our childhood, but sympathy? What is it that performs all the kii offices of friendship, in riper years, but sympathy ? What is it that consoles us in our last moments, and defends our characters when dead, but sympathy?

A person without sympathy, and living only for himself, is the basest and most odious of characters. Can one behold such a character sickening at another’s good, and not be filled with indignation ? Devoted as the world is to selflove, and estranged as it is from benevolence, no character of this kind, ever passed through life with respect, or sunk into the grave with pity.

THE PILOT AND THE SAILORS. AFTER a ship at sea had been driven some time before a furious storm, exposed every moment to the mercy of the waves, while the trembling passengers were bewailing their hard fate with many tears and sighs, and expected nothing but death, the weather suddenly cleared up, and the face of the ocean was covered with a smile. As the mariners were exulting with all the extravagance of joy at this bappy change of their affairs, the weary Pilot, who was grown wise by experience, thus reproved their basty mirth. My good lads,” said he, “ we ought to rejoice with caution, and complain without despair ; for the life of man is checkered alternately with joy and grief, and the frowns and smiles of fortune are alike inconstant."


GYPSIES. The Gypsies are a race of people with dark skins, who wander about from place to place, carrying their few articles of furniture with them. They are common in Spain, and parts of Germany, and a few are occasionally seen in England and France. They are never seen in America.

UNDERNEATH the greenwood tree,
Here we dwell right merrily,
Lurking in the grassy lane,
Here this hour — then gone again.
You may see where we have been,
By the burned spot on the green;
By the oak’s branch drooping low,
Wither'd in our fagot's glow;
By the grass and hedge-row cropp’d,

Where our asses have been grazing :
By some old torn rags we dropp’d

When our crazy tents were raising :
You may see where we have been ;
Where we are that is not seen,
Where we are,

it is no place
For a lazy foot to trace.
Over heath and over field,

He must scramble who would find us;
In the copse-wood close conceald,

With a running brook behind us.
Here we list to village clocks ;
Livelier sound the farmyard cocks ;
Crowing, crowing round about,
As if to point their roostings out;
And many a cock shall cease to crow,
Ere we shall from the copse-wood go.

QUIN. The instruction of king George III., in elocution, was assigned to the celebrated Quin, under whose direction plays were sometimes performed at Leicester House, by the young branches of the royal family. Quin, who afterwards obtained a pension for his services, was justly proud of the distinction conferred upon him ; and when he heard of the graceful manner in which his majesty delivered his first speech from the throne, he cried out, " Ay, I taught the boy to speak!”

The oak for grandeur, strength and noble size,

Excels all trees that in the forest grow;
From acorn small that trunk, those branches rise,

To which such signal benefits we owe.
Behold what shelter in its ample shade,

From noon-tide sun, or from the drenching rain,
And of its timber staunch, vast ships are made,

To sweep rich cargoes o’er the watery main.



" You mean, despicable thing,” said a candle to a candlestick, what were you made for but to wait on me?" “And pray tell me,” said the candlestick,“ of what use you would be without me, though now you shine so proudly, while I hold you up?”.

To grass, or leaf, or fruit, or wall,
The snail sticks close, nor fears to fall,
As if he grew there, house and all

Within that house secure he hides,
When danger imminent betides
Of storm, or other harm besides

Of weather.

Give but his horns the sliglitest touch,
His self-collecting power is such,
He shrinks into his house with much


Where'er he dwells, he dwells alone,
Except himself, has chattels none,
Well satisfied to be his own

Whole treasure.

Thus, hermit-like his life he leads,
Nor partner of his banquet needs,
And if he meets one, only feeds

The faster.

Who seeks him must be worse than blind,
He and his house are so combined,
If finding it, he fails to find

Its master.

EQUALITY. PALE Death, with equal foot, strikes wide the door, Of royal halls, and hovels of the poor.

THE CHRISTIAN REVELATION. Our Lord, at the very outset of his public instructions, marks, at once, in the strongest and most decided terms, the peculiar temper, spirit and character of his religion; and describes the Christian temper as humble, meek, lowly, devout, merciful, pure, peaceable, and unresisting.

The world calls it mean-spirited, tame and abject, yet notwithstanding all this, with the divine author of our religion, this is the favorite character; this is the constant topic of his commendation; this is the subject that runs through all the beatitudes. To this he assigns, under all its various forms, peculiar blessings.

To those who possess it, he promises that they shall inherit the earth; that they shall obtain mercy; that theirs shall be the kingdom of heaven; that they shall see God, and be called the children of God.

PRIDE THE BANE OF HAPPINESS. The odiousness of pride, and the evils attending it, have been the common topics both of ancient and modern moralists; but no observation seems more pointed than that which says, “ of all vices, pride seldomest obtains its end; for by showing our own pride, we pique the pride of other men, and thus, by aiming at honor and reputation, we reap derision and contempt.”

The envy which is sure to follow in the train of pride, has been happily illustrated by the fable of the Peacock, who no sooner begins to spread his gorgeous plumage, than the other birds begin to cry out against his ugly legs, and screaming voice.

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