to do is to cut my coat according to my cloth ;' that is, to shape my course according to my circumstances. I am sorry for William, but then he has a good education, and if he would but fall in with my views, I have no doubt he may live, if not as respectable as he has hitherto lived, yet with great comfort. But unfortunately William will not fall in with my views. His desire is to try his fortune in India: it is a wider field for him, he says, than is England. He seems, indeed, resolute in the matter, and unless you, my friend, who possess some influence over his mind, can prevail upon him to forego his intentions, I fear that I shall be deprived of my son as well as of my wealth. For the latter I

care but little: I can retire to some smaller cottage where I am persuaded I shall live with as much comfort on the wreck of my fortune, as I have done in my present residence with all my wealth."

I promised my old friend Gervase that I would endeavour to divert his son from his purpose, but I found him proof against all argument: he would leave the parents who had shown such tender anxiety for him, and seek his fortune in the Indies: there was gold there if not in England. It was in vain that I urged the duty which he owed to his parents,-that he should do nothing without their consent, and that if they refused their blessing on his exertions he would not prosper: he would not remain in England to be laughed at by his old companions: he must seek his fortune in India.

A few weeks found William Gervase on his

as ever.

route to the land of gold, and his parents in a small but neat cottage. It was a pleasure to me occasionally to call upon my old friend in his humble dwelling, for though he was reduced in circumstances his spirits remained as unbroken His dame and he, he has frequently observed, were still happy, and they were never more happy, he was pleased to say, than when I called upon them. It gave them pleasure that I, as some others had done, had not cast them off. They would have done me injustice had they supposed for one moment that any alteration in their circumstances could have estranged my heart from or rendered me indifferent to them. In the language of the honest old poet Wither:

"I have no friends, that once affected were,

But to my heart they sit this day as near

As when I most endear'd them, though they seem
To fall from my opinion or esteem:

For precious time in idle would be spent,
If I with all should always compliment;
And till my love I may to purpose show,
1 care not whe'er they think I love or no ;
For sure I am if any find me chang'd

Their greatness, not their meanness, me estrang'd."

No, no; my old friend Gervase has never had to complain that I slighted him because he lacked the gold he once possessed. His cheerfulness and cordiality are to me worth all the gold some twenty merchants might possess. One feature in his character, it is true, frequently gives me pain,-namely, that although he is aged, although "the keepers of the house tremble," and "he rises up at the voice of the bird," although "the grasshopper has become a burden to him," yet he too frequently forgets

that one grand fact in the life of man, that "the spirit shall return unto God who gave it." Still my old friend Gervase does not altogether forget that he is mortal: he knows that he shall die, and he sometimes talks of his approaching end with calmness, but I fear he does not " prepare to meet his God." He goes to church, and he has family prayers, but for all that he still lives to the world. I was in hopes that the event which caused him so much pain-the loss of his only son, would have weaned his heart from earth, but it is an acknowledged fact that the longer a man lives in the world, the more loth he is to leave it.

"The tree of deepest root is found

Least willing still to leave the ground;
'Twas therefore said by ancient sages
That love of life increas'd with years,

So much, that in our latter stages,
When pains grow sharp, and sickness rages,
The greatest love of life appears."

My old friend Gervase is not, indeed, a man who sets his heart upon the world; but then he is content to live in it, and does not show any anxiety to prepare for the day when he shall be I called out of it. His little cottage is all he wants in this world, and he is anxious to remain in it as long as possible. Possibly his rare spirits may have the effect of causing him to live thus contentedly, without thoughts of the future, for though he is bordering upon fourscore, yet is he light-hearted as the young man of twenty. It is refreshing to see him thus happy at his years, and especially as the sudden and melancholy death of his son caused him to anticipate a life of continued sorrow. My old

friend still deplores the loss of his son, and descants with fond affection on his memory; but the smile again plays upon his countenance, as in former years. It may not be so radiant as it once was, but it still shadows forth a happy and contented mind. Time is a great mitigator of the ills of life: but for this my old friend Gervase would have gone down to his grave in sorrow and in tears. There are few parents who could have sustained the loss of a beloved, though disobedient son with such fortitude as he has done; and my advice to all my young readers is, that they should avoid the conduct of William Gervase. The good child is a stork to his parents, and feeds them in their old age: he has a tender regard for their happiness: pays a cheerful attention to their advice; and shows a willing obedience to their commands.

CHAP. IV.

AN EMBLEM. FRANK GODDARD. HIS CHARACTER. OBTAINS A GOVERNMENT SITUATION. HIS FATHER'S PARTING ADVICE AND WARNING. HIS FIRST VISIT TO HIS PARENTS.-HIS SECOND VISIT.-A SCENE ON THE LAWN. CONVERSATION ON THE LOVE OF NATURE IN THE HUMAN BREAST. REMARKS ON THE GRATITUDE DUE FROM MAN TO GOD. THE DEATH OF MR. GODDARD. FRANK GODDARD BECOMES AN INFIDEL. CONVERSATION ON THE SOUL. THE RESULTS OF HIS INFIDEL VIEWS.

"My hopeful friends, at thrice five years and three,
Without a guide into the world alone

To seek my fortune did adventure me;
And many hazards I alighted on.

First England's greatest rendezvous I sought,
Where vice and virtue at the highest sit;
And thither both a mind and body brought,
For neither of their services unfit.

Both woo'd my youth, and both persuaded so,
That like the young man in our emblem here,
I stood and cried, Ah, which way shall I go?'
To me so pleasing both their offers were.
Vice, pleasure's best contentment promis'd me,
And what the wanton flesh desires to have:
Quoth Virtue, I will wisdom give to thee'

And those brave things which noblest minds do crave.'—
'Serve me,' said Vice, and thou shalt soon acquire
All those achievements which my service brings,'
'Serve me,' said Virtue, and I'll raise thee higher,
Than vices can, and teach thee better things."

Whilst thus they strove to gain me I espied
Grim Death attending Vice, and that her face
Was but a painted wizard, which did hide

The foul'st deformity that ever was."-WITHER.

THE engraving for this emblem is a youth standing between Virtue and Vice, each of which is endeavouring to secure him for their own. The idea is one of a universal application: Vice on the one hand endeavours to allure, and Virtue on the other, to charm every youth born into