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ness.

UNWISE and unhappy is he who can not forgive and forget his injuries. The remembrance of them will come like a dark shadow across his heart, and embitter every fount of happi

The de'mon of hate will reign in his bosom, and make him, of all accountable creatures, the most miserable.

Have you been injured in purse or in character?. Let the smiling angel of forgiveness drive every resentful feeling from your soul, and shed its sunshine around your thoughts. Study not how you may revenge yourself, but study how you may return good for evil.

There was once a good bishop, named Boulter, whose constant habit it was to forgive all those who injured him; and the consequence was that he always enjoyed peace of mind. The following lines were written on him after his death. Who would not desire such an epitaph ?

« Some write their wrongs in marble ; -he, moro just, Stooped down serene, and wrote them in the dust

i There trod them down, the sport of every wind, Swept from the earth, and blotted from his mind : There, buried and effaced, he bade them lie, And grieved they could not ’scape the Almighty's oye.”

THE CONTENTED BLIND BOY.

O! SAY, what is that thing called light,

Which I must ne'er enjoy ?
What are the blessings of the sight?

O! tell a poor blind boy!

You talk of wondrous things you see ;

You say the sun shines bright; I feel him warm, but how can he

Or make it day or night?

My day or night myself I make

Whene'er I sleep or play ; And could I always keep awake,

With me 't were always day.

With heavy sighs I often hear

You mourn my hapless woe; But sure with patience I can bear

A loss I ne'er can know.

Then let not what I can not have

My cheer of mind destroy; While thus I sing, I am a king,

Although a poor blind boy.

CIBBER.

THE SEASONS.

Spring. Who is this beautiful virgin that approaches, clothed in a robe of light green? She has a garland of flowers on her head, and flowers spring up wherever she sets her foot. The snow which covered the fields, and the ice which was in the rivers, melt away when she breathes upon them. The young lambs frisk about her, and the birds warble in their little throats, to welcome her coming; and when they see her, they begin to choose their mates, and to build their nests. Youths and maidens, have you seen this beautiful virgin ? If you have, tell me who is she, and what is her name.

Summer.

Who is this that comes from the south, thinly clad in a light, transparent garment? Her breath is hot and sultry; she seeks the refreshment of the cool shade; she seeks the clear streams, the crystal brooks, to bathe her languid limbs. The brooks and rivulets fly from her, and are dried up at her approach. She cools her parched lip with berries, and the grateful acid of fruits, the seedy melon, the sharp apple, and the red pulp of the juicy cherry, which are poured out plentifully around her. The tanned hay-makers welcome her coming; and the sheep-shearer, who clips the fleeces of his flock with his sounding shears. When she comes, let me lie under the thick shade of a spreading beech-tree; let me walk with her in the early morning, when the dew is yet upon the grass ; let me wander with her in the soft twilight, when the shepherd shuts his fold, and the star of evening appears. Youths and maidens, tell me, if you know, who is she, and what is her name.

Autumn. Who is he that comes with sober pace, stealing upon us unawares ? His garments are red with the blood of the grape, and his temples are bound with a sheaf of ripe wheat. His hair is thin and begins to fall, and the auburn is mixed with mournful gray. He shakes the brown nuts from the tree. He winds the horn, and calls the hunters to their sports. The gun sounds. The trembling partridge and the beautiful pheasant flutter, bleeding, in the air, and fall dead at the sportsman's feet. Who is he that is crowned with the wheat-sheaf? Youths and maidens, tell me, if you know, who is he, and what is his name.

Wilinter.

Who is he that comes from the north, clothed in furs and warm wool? He wraps his cloak close about him. His head is bald; his beard is made of sharp icicles. He loves the blazing fire, high piled upon the hearth. He binds skates to his feet, and skims over the frozen lakes. His breath is piercing and cold, and no little flower peeps above the surface of the ground when he is by. Whatever he touches turns to ice. If he were to strike you with his cold hand, you would be quite stiff and dead, like a piece of marble. Youths and maidens, do you see him? He is coming fast upon us, and soon he will be here. Tell me, if you know, who is he, and what is his name.

BARBAULD.

Give the oa in throat the sound of long o; the ph in pheasant the sound of f; the ea in hearth the sound of a in father. Sound the aspirate in wheat. The ee in been has the sound of short i, as in pin; the ai in again, against, has the sound of short e, as in pen; the o in none has the sound of short u, as in gun. In get, yet, forget, &c., give the e the sound it has in pen. Do not say git, yit, &c. The t and e in often are not sounded. Do not say jest instead of just, or sence instead of since.

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EARLY one day in leafy June,
When brooks and birds are all in tune.
A Quaker, on a palfrey brown,
Was riding over Horsley Down.

Though he could see no houses near,
He trotted on without a fear;
For not a thief upon the road
Would guess where he his cash had stowed.

As thus he went that Quaker sly -
Another Quaker trotted by :

Stop, brother,” said the first; “the weather Is pleasant --- let us chat together.”

Nay,” said the stranger, “know'st thou not That this is a suspected spot? That robbers here resort, my brother ?A fig for robbers !" said the other :

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