in some particularly wicked cases, when a man has committed a murder, he is hanged, and then hung in chains from a gibbet, till his body falls to pieces, that all who pass by may take warning by the example." As late as 1830 this spectacle might be seen, in the case of pirates, on the banks of the Thames, and in most parts of the country they were still to be traced-sometimes standing for twenty years or more after the deed had been committed. Whilst Mr. Fairchild was speaking, the evening breeze shook the body upon the gibbet, rattling the chains by which it hung. "Let us go away!" said the children. “In a minute or two," said Mr. Fairchild; "but let me tell you the history of that wretched man before we go from this place." So saying, he sat down on the stump of an old tree, and the children gathered round him. When I first came into this part of the country, before any of you my children, were born," said Mr. Fairchild, "there lived in that old house which you see before us, a widow lady, who had two sons. The place, though old-fashioned, was neat and flourishing, the garden being full of fine old fruit trees, and the flower beds in beautiful order. The old lady was hospitable, kept an excellent table, and was always glad to see any of her neighbours who called upon her. Your mamma and I used sometimes to go and see her, and should probably have gone oftener, for we did not like to seem unneighbourly, only we could not bear to see the manner in which she brought up her sons, nor to witness the constant quarrels of the boys. She never sent them to school, lest the master should correct them, but hired a person to teach them at home; this man, however, was forbidden to punish them, and only tried to keep himself in favour with the foolish, indulgent mother. They were allowed to be with the servants in the stable and kitchen. Rivalry between them, on every occasion, the servants were accustomed to, and used to apply it to their own purposes. But the servants were ordered, by the unwise mother, not to deny them anything; so that they could call the servants names, swear at them, and even strike them; and the servants did not dare to answer them, lest they should lose a good and liberal place. The consequence was, that no really good servants would stay to be abused by such wicked, self-willed children. They were constantly quarrelling! As they grew older, James, the elder, despised Roger, because he, as the elder, was to have the house and land; and Roger, who was the stronger, in his turn despised and hated his brother James. As they grew up, they became more and more wicked, proud, and stubborn, sullen and undutiful. Their mother still loved them, in her way, so foolishly, that she did not see their faults; hoped they would improve, and would not suffer them to be checked, and they had early learnt to despise her. At length, when they became young men, their quarrels and hatred of each other rose to such a height, that they often would not speak to one another for days together; and sometimes they would have dreadful quarrels, and almost come to blows before their mother's face. One evening, in Autumn, after one of these quarrels, James, it is supposed, met Roger returning from shooting, just in the place where the gibbet now stands; they were alone, and it must have been nearly dark. Nobody knows what words passed between them, for the murderer never told; but the wicked Roger stabbed his brother with a case knife, and hid the body in a ditch in the garden, full of stagnant water and weeds. A year or more passed before it was discovered, and it was traced by the knife, with Roger's name on it, being found. He had gone to live for a time at a distance; but the servants remembered, when his brother was missing, and supposed to have gone off to sea, or left the country, that Roger used to be frequently looking about for something near where we stand, and these things came up when the body was accidentally found. Roger was condemned, and hanged upon that gibbet; and the poor old lady, thus deprived of both her sons, became deranged, and is shut up still in a place where such people are confined. The property is hers, and since that time the place has been left to decay: no one likes even to come round this way!" "O, what a shocking story!" said the children; “and that man who hangs there is Roger, who murdered his brother? Pray, let us go, papa." "Willingly, my dears," said Mr. Fairchild; "but I thought it well you should see for yourselves the end of anger, envy, and hatred. I wish to point out to you that when you quarrel, as you did this morning, you may not like these two brothers, think that death, and even hell, may be the end of such quarrels !" "Our hearts, by nature, my dear children," continued Mr. Fairchild, "are full of hatred. People who have not yet received new hearts, from God's Holy Spirit changing their natural dispositions, do not really love anybody but themselves: they naturally hate those who have offended them, and also those whom they think in any way better off than themselves. By nature I should hate Sir Charles Noble, because he is a richer man than myself; and you might hate his children, because they have more things than you. And could we take our natural hearts into Heaven, we should hate every Angel above ourselves; and even the glory of the Almighty God would be hateful to us! But when, through faith in the Saviour, we receive a new heart and nature, our hatred and selfishness towards God and our fellow-creatures is turned into kindness and love; we are then able to "love our enemies, bless them that curse us, do good to them that hate us, and pray for them that despitefully use us." "Papa," said the children, "shall we kneel down in this place, and pray for new hearts? 44 Willingly, my dear ones!" said Mr. Fairchild. So he knelt down on the grass, and his children round him; and they afterwards all went home. It was a very different scene to what had once happened by that deserted wall! And the breeze of the summer evening still shook the chains of the murderer, as the place was left, once more, to solitude and to decay! Do you, my dear young reader, feel still inclined to think that what I have said on forgiveness is too tame, too submissive for you? Only try the experiment; make constant efforts to subdue that temper-so proud, so irritable; learn to forgive, like Willie. You may not meet with entire success. There are natures less noble than such as Frank's, but I would ask you to do your part towards your brother or acquaintance. Only do so, and you will find in them something more kindly, more loving, more noble than you have supposed possible. There is a coldness, a distance, and pride, too often felt by English boys, which, if not striven against, will shut you out from much happiness, There is something shy and reserved in the English character, which foreigners, accustomed to warmer social intercourse between relatives, remark with surprise. Yet, is there anything you can condemn as unmanly in a kindly, affectionate manner between brothers, such as Harold and Ernest? Pity those perpendicular, frigid, accurate people, who never betray an emotion, never express an affection! Dry as a diagram, cold as a stone, entirely passionless in manner, yet never wittingly holding a wrong principle or doing a wrong thing! It was not always thus with some of them! They were once full of gentle feeling, but they stifled it, and it was chilled through being too shy, or too proud, to give it expression! By this reserve they inflicted upon themselves a fatal injury, they put their own hearts to death! Though this may not be your case, we have all need to guard against that false shame and that hateful pride which seal your lips against the expression of duty and affection towards your brothers and friends, which make you affect being more cold towards them than you are in reality, and sometimes, I fear, have tempted you to repulse by indifference those kind and loving friends, whom God, in His providence, has made to pass your path in youth. If you keep your social affections secret, if you hide them under a cold reserve, they will wither and die, like flowers in the dark. Give them free, light-hearted speech; bring them out into the fresh air and sunshine, that they may send forth a sweetness acceptable and well-pleasing to God and to man; for you must ever remember that "He that loveth not, knoweth not God; for God is love." "He prayeth best,-who loveth best, For the dear Lord who made us, He made and loves them all." "GLORY,"-AND "DUTY."-NAPOLEON.-A CONSCRIPT.-THE RETREAT FROM A BATTLE.-BADAJOZ, &c. YOUNG Moscow. "The troops covered themselves with "glory."-Bulletin of the First Napoleon. Our men of all ranks did their duty."-Duke of Wellington's despatches. "England expects every man to do his duty."-Nelson's Signal at Trafalgar. "Then shook the hills with thunder riven, "Few, few shall part where many meet, Campbell's "Hohenlinden." "The bursting shell,-the gateway wrenched asunder,— Is heard the roaring of the cannonade ! "The tumult of each sacked and burning village, "Down the dark future, through long generations, |