planted into a gentleman's house to have the up-bringing of his sons, though ignorant of the literature and of the very language of polished life. And, alas! how they are likely to be brought up-how they are, in fact, brought up, by one who, to keep himself in his place, having no better means- must cringe and flatter and indulge his pupils gratify their propensities and humours-connive at their tricks, and conceal their delinquencies! They know little of human life who do not know that it is from such education as such men can give that so many of our young gentry, and even nobles, grow up idle, headstrong, and disobedient — often the dissipated or profligate slaves of their own wayward passions. Neglecting every religious duty-scorning its ministers, and hating Greek and Latin, because religion and its ministers, and their studies, are all indissolubly associated in their minds with their first preceptor, who, whatever his mode of teaching may have been, has never remembered the first, the last, the sole purpose of all teaching and all learning; that of striving to the uttermost of his power to make his pupils good and useful and pious men, men devoted to the performance of duty, and willing to live or die for their country or their God, as God may see fit to require.

"And on the other hand, my dear fellow, will you try to figure to yourself the situation of an accomplished, cultivated, thoroughly-taught youth, who, whatever may have been his original rank, has all the mind and feelings of a true gentleman, when the necessity of his circumstances compel him to accept, and gratefully to accept, the first offer he may receive of a place as tutor, although it be among those who have not one feeling in common with him, nor one feeling towards him but that he is a dependant in their pay. His very labours in the most important work which can be trusted to a human being, that of training young immortal creatures for earth and for heaven, sink him, in the estimation of the ignorant or vulgar rich or great, to the rank of an inferior. In the drawing-room he is never expected to appear; and at the dinner table he is expected to sit as a mute. Whatever the conversation may be, though he could enlighten and enliven and delight by joining in the discussions, the sound of his voice would startle the company as much as if one of the candlesticks had spoken. It is very clear that in such cases the best tutor's best efforts may not succeed in bringing up his pupils to be either learned or virtuous, when father and mother in any way withhold their support to the means he may find needful to employ, or in any way sanction disobedience or faults which he has occasion to reprove. If they show him neglect, or slight his opinion, or scorn his judg ment, or sneer at him in his absence, his usefulness is at an end. And it is deplorable to think of the insane cruelty of many parents, especially mothers, on this most momentous subject; and Heaven pity any conscientious young man so situated!

"No doubt, there have been some young men transplanted into happier and fairer scenes than these among the good, the great, and the wise, who have not only welcomed them as equals, but as instructors; and when all the best powers and energies of their hearts and intellects have been called into action-but oh, boy, boy! these are rare occurrences, and few, few there be in humble rank, of the many who are educated for the church, who can look back on such an oasis in the dreary wilderness of their probationary life; therefore let me advise you not to look forward to it, but leave the ministry to those who are already by God's will in that rank of life which best fits them for it. Do you, my dear young friend, fix your heart and mind on an humbler but surer sphere of usefulness, in that rank where your mother has shown you what one pair of little hands, never idle, may accomplish. How constantly and energetically she has exerted herself for the most worthy and beneficial purposes, and how much good she has done! Even her unobtruded example has in many ways improved the

neighbourhood. Take her for your example: Let your aspirations be to rise in and to adorn that sphere in which her worth has hitherto enabled you, with God's blessing, to live and thrive. Here we have peace and plenty, and many humble but rational enjoyments; and the means of acquiring knowledge to fit us, in our turn, to instruct those whom, in the course of providence, it may become our duty to teach. Let us employ our one talent well to the best of our power; and rely upon it we shall in no wise lose our reward either here or hereafter. In doing this, rest assured the ministry will not suffer. Better far would it be were it left, more exclusively, in the hands of those whose natural rank and education fits, without such mortal toils and sufferings, for the fulfilment of its duties.

Simon then ceased for a while to speak, ending, as he generally did, with a few emphatic words, to which his bright expressive countenance and powerful voice gave such force and meaning, that I have sometimes found myself repeating them over and over for days after.

No man was ever better entitled to direct and advise; for in all things he practised his own lessons, and exacted far more of himself than of others. If ever it might be said of any mere man, I might dare to say of him, that he went about continually doing good ;-- and at the end of a well-spent day, devoutly implored forgiveness of his Saviour and his God, because he had done so little. I loved him and revered him from my infancy as a father, and of late had begun to repeat that honoured title more tenderly in my heart, for it was mingled there with another, and that other was the name of Simon's daughter. I loved, I suppose, as other boys love; though, of course, I thought no boy or man had ever loved like me. Simon, probably, was aware of my feelings before I knew them myself; and soon spoke to me with all the frankness of his upright guileless heart. He threw no obstacles to torment, or provoke me to fly in the face of reason and duty; but he calmly explained the enormity of people marrying before having the means of providing for a family - a crime which he illustrated by many a woful example; and after pointing out, and placing me on the road through which I might, by my own efforts, obtain these means, we went on peacefully, like father and son, as before. He gave me the management, first of a part, and then of all his farm, during his summer journeys, and also encouraged me to take a small portion of it into my own hands, for which I paid him rent, like Jacob. I served him seven years, and they seemed to me but as seven days. I was not, like Jacob, cheated at the end of them; for these labours had their effect, and enabled me to acquire a legal title to call Simon father. That I have been happy beyond the common lot, will be easily believed, when I say, that Simon's daughter is worthy of her parentage.

Years have rolled on; how rapidly they roll, and with ever-increasing speed! Still they have found me a blest and happy man, in spite of an ordinary portion of the troubles and sorrows of this scene of trial.

During one of those years, circumstances occurred which made it needful for me to accompany Simon in his annual round of the summer fairs. All things having been prepared, on a sweet May morning we set off. Simon and I, as escort to his pony and covered cart, in which he conveyed his articles of merchandise, amongst which, and other annual contributions, was my mother's annual web of towelling, made of yarn, spun by herself from lint of her own growing. And, in spite of the perfection and cheapness to which the improvements of machinery have brought all species of goods, this still found a ready market among a certain class of substantial judicious housewives, who prefer laying out twenty shillings for what will last twenty or thirty years, to giving ten shillings for what will be worn out in five. I was very doleful for some miles; but wherever we went, Simon, acquainted with every turn, every house and tree, every place and person, had something to tell of all. In his company it was impossible

to continue dull or uninterested in what was passing around you. He was welcomed wherever he appeared. It seemed as if the kindness of his own heart made every other heart kind to him; and during this summer's excursion I often thought that he lived more in the same space of time than any other person. He never was dozened or indifferent. He was alive to every event and every one's interests. He knew every one's children by name; knew every one's subjects of joy and sorrow; and was ever ready with heart and hand to help and console and advise in the most effectual

manner.

On this grand event of our married life, this our first parting, in the sad ness of our hearts, I gave my sweet wife my promise to write down the events of every day, that on my return she might live along with me this to her a lost portion of existence. This promise I faithfully kept. The events, indeed, were few; but the anecdotes which the depot in Simon's memory furnished, and which the interest he took in all he saw called forth from others, were unnumbered, and might fill many goodly volumes. Whether I am right in thinking that a few of them will interest other people as they interested me, I cannot guess. We are most inadequate judges of the real importance of what is said, or done, or suffered by ourselves, or those we love; or the power of what has passed under our own eyes, or into our own ears, to excite interest in those who have no local attachments, and no small personal importance or vanity to bias their feelings. Little events that are near are so much greater than great ones afar off! An ugly little gray moth on my window at this instant hides from my eye the rising moon, and a feudal castle, with some miles of sea and land around it.

THE DEATH-BED.

"SIMON told me he meant to pay a visit to an old and intimate friend in the neighbourhood of this place, whom he never failed to see as he passed, and at whose house I would be heartily welcomed as his companion. It is only about four miles from this," said he; "we'll leave the pony here, and walk out in the afternoon."

It was a most lovely evening when we set off; summer was in all its glory; and he must have a cold or a wicked heart, who can gaze unmoved on all the varied charms which nature, in this delightful season, scatters around us. Whether we look abroad on the wide face of the country, and mark it clad in the glowing mantle of a coming harvest-that promise of comfort and abundance to thousands and thousands of dependent beings - or observe the minuter beauties lavished on every turf we tread beneath our feet, we have equal cause to adore the Father who so careth for us, and whose care we, alas! requite with such thoughtless ingratitude! Such were my reflections as we wound along the beautiful road that leads from L- towards the village of DI could have long indulged them in silence, but Simon was no admirer of silence. "The man," said he, "whom we are going to visit, is one of the most marked instances I have ever known of what can be effected by patient, prudent industry, and good management. He set out in life without a single sixpence, and he is now a wealthy farmer with houses and lands of his own; able to set his family most respectably into the world; and that, I am very certain, without having ever wronged any one of a penny. When quite a child, he was left an orphan, and the only guide and guardian he had was his grandmother, who maintained herself and him by spinning. William herded, as most country children do, for the neighbouring farmers, and did any other little jobs that offered through the summer, and with his small earnings was able

to go during the winter to the parish school. I have often heard him tell, that when he used to say to his grandmother, 'Oh, grannie, what 'll become o' me when I'm big, and have naebody to help me forward, or speak a gude word for me?' 'Haud your tongue, bairn,' she would say, 'turn up the buke there that's lyin' on your knee, and see wha it is that ca's Himsel' The Father of the fatherless, and the orphan's stay. Tak ye gude care to do your ain part faithfully, as far as in ye lies, and be ye vera sure He will not forget His promises. Blessed be His name.'

"But, grannie, what's my part;' what can sic a wee body as me do?' 'My bairn, your part is to be as gude as ye can; to labour at your buke, to impruve your sma' opportunities as muckle as possible. That buke tells ye of a Saviour who will guide all who trust in him. Be true, honest, and faithfu'; not only a reader but a doer of His word; for if we disobey His commandments, and follow after sin, we canna reasonably expect to partake in His promised mercy either here or hereafter. Be an honest man, as your father was afore ye; and aye mind this, "I have been young, and now am old, and never yet did I see the righteous forsaken, or his children begging their bread."

"It was thus that with 'godly simplicity' the poor old woman rooted in the heart of her orphan boy those feelings of strict honesty and pious dependence on Providence for which he is so remarkable." "But," said I," there must have been something uncommon or strange in his lot that has enabled him to rise from such extreme poverty to wealth and consequence."

"Nothing either strange or uncommon," rejoined Simon," any more than that he who sowed the field before us should reap the harvest. William reaped the happy fruits of a good and early established character. A wealthy farmer, for whom he had herded for two or three summers, thinking him a quiet industrious boy, took him as an under ploughman; and with this farmer he remained twelve years, having in that time risen to be his principal servant, and greatly esteemed and trusted by his master. About this time a small farm in the neighbourhood fell out of lease; his master encouraged him to take it and begin for himself, and was so thoroughly convinced of William's honesty, that he even offered to be cautioner for his rent. William thanked him very gratefully, and, after consulting his grandmother, who was now bed-rid, he took the farm; and though the laird was a stranger to him, even here his good character availed him; the gentleman had made strict inquiry about him, and, after the bargain was concluded, showed him a letter from a man in the same parish, offering 51. more rent than William was to give. 'But,' says he, 'I understand his character is not so good as yours, and I considered 51. per annum well spent in buying an honest tenant. With what he had saved every year out of his wages, he was able to stock the little farm pretty well; but the first year or two he was sorely anxious, and toiled late and early to ensure success. Soon after his good auld grannie went to her rest, he took a wife, and he was most fortunate in his choice. His old master's only daughter had aye looked very kindly on him: she was very pretty, and would have better than a hundred pounds of portion; but she was neither clever nor managing. I well mind his saying to me, 'There's nae doubt a hundred pound is a heap o' siller, and to tell the real truth, it wad be vera convenient to me the noo, besides that she's a bonny loesome lassie, but, Simon, the thing that aye comes in my head is this, whan I've gotten the hundred pound, there's an end o't; for Jeanie is nae manager, she's a bit handless thing and it's no to be told how a man's fortune, as weel as his comfort, depend upon his wife; she can either haud in or put out his siller without his being able to tell how; anither thing, if we had bairns, I wud like to see them weel brought up, and I think she's no fit at a' for that. That's a job needs baith head and hands!"

"I commended his good sense, and agreed most heartily to what he said. The next time I came round this way I found him married, and it only needed a look at the neat well-ordered house, and the comfortable cleanly dinner to which we sat down, to be convinced he had gotten a wife with baith 'head and hands,' though that was her only portion. They've had a large family, and have four sons and two daughters still alive; I understand they are all dutiful, well-doing children, and when you see them, I'm sure ye 'll say ye never saw a handsomer family, but here's the honest man's house, and wae's me, I think every thing looks queer and silent about the door."

-

Every thing did indeed wear a sad and silent aspect as we drew near the house of William Shearman. The horses were wandering about idle, and the unyoked cart lay at the house-door, from which, as we approached, no one appeared, no sound of household work or merry song was heard. Just as Simon's hand was on the latch, he paused, for we now distinctly heard the slow and measured voice of one in prayer, "Wae's me," said Simon in a whisper, "the hand of sorrow is here, that's the voice of their minister, -we must wait till the prayer is done,-some one is ill, -Oh, which can it be!"-and as he spoke his honest countenance bore witness to the grief he felt. The prayer continued but a very few minutes; and mingled with there reached our ears the stifled sobs of grief, and, now and then, the groans as of one in pain. The moment it ceased, Simon went in, and dismal was the scene that met our eyes. The father was stretched upon a bed, surrounded by his sorrowing family, and never can I forget the expression of meek resignation, mingled with that of bodily anguish, which appeared on the countenance of the dying man-for dying he evidently was

and the various attitudes of affection and of wo in which his wife and children hung round him. His youngest daughter, a lovely girl about sixteen, sat in the bed behind him, giving, or supposing that she gave, the support which was more efficiently afforded by Matthew, his eldest son, the perfect stillness and stern composure of whose pale face formed a strong contrast with the child-like vehemence of his sister's grief. The mother sat upon the bed, with the hand of her faithful partner clasped in both of hers; but no tears flowed from her eyes, and her whole countenance had the bewildered look of one in a dream, who does not comprehend what is passing. Short and almost silent, though evidently sincere, was the welcome given to Simon; but in a moment they were all once more absorbed in attention to their father. "Oh, Allan," said Simon to a young man, "what is the matter? - what has befallen your father-in-law?" "A fall," said the young man; "coming from the field, standing in his cart, the horse started, and he was thrown out backwards on a heap of stones, the doctor says the collar-bone is broken, and sair injury dune about the neck." Before Simon could reply to this whispered communication, Matthew beckoned him to approach the bed; he did so, and as the son named him to his father, a bright gleam of intelligence passed over the old man's face; he made a violent effort to speak, but sinking nature could no longer be commanded; he turned his eyes on Simon with a look that seemed to ask for commiseration, and sunk back, exhausted, on the breast of his son. In a few minutes a slight convulsion moved the bed-clothes- then all was still-I saw it again, and Matthew bent forward as if to screen his father's face from the view of his poor mother, whose attention seemed suddenly roused by feeling the hand she grasped convulsed within her own. Matthew soon raised himself up, and as he did so, he closed the eyes of his parent. The mother started from the bed with a frantic gesture-"What is it, what is it, Matthew-I charge ye tell me, what is it?" Matthew gently laid down the poor mortal remains; and as he turned to his mother, and attempted to take her in his arms, he uttered in a deep sepulchral tone-"Mother, dear mother, be