What to thyself thou wishest to be done;
Forgive thy foes; and love thy parents dear,

And friends and native land; -nor these alone;

All human weal and woe learn thou to make thine own.

There is a pleasure in the pathless woods,
There is a rapture on the lonely shore,
There is society where none intrudes
By the deep sea, and music in its roar;
I love not man the less, but nature more,
From these our interviews, in which I steal
From all I may be, or have been before,
To mingle with the universe, and feel

What I can ne'er express, yet cannot all conceal.

6 HUMBLE AND UNNOTICED VIRTUE. Hannah More.

O my son!

The ostentatious virtues which still press

For notice and for praise; the brilliant deeds
Which live but in the eye of observation-

These have their meed at once; but there's a joy
To the fond vōtaries of fame unknown,

To hear the still small voice of conscience speak
In whispering plaudit to the silent soul.
Heaven notes the sigh afflicted goodness heaves,
Hears the low plaint by human ear unheard,
And from the cheek of patient Sorrow wipes
The tear, by mortal eye unseen, or scorned.

Nay, shrink not from the word " Farewell,"
As if 't were friendship's final knell !
Such fears may prove but vain;
So changeful is life's fleeting day,
Where'er we sever, Hope may say
We part to meet again!

Mr. H. HA! Steward, how are you, my old boy? How do things go on at home?

Steward. Bad enough, your honor, the magpie's dead. Mr. H. Poor Mag! so he's gone. How came he to die? Stew. Over-ate himself, sir.

Mr. H. Did he, indeed? a greedy villain! Why, what did he get he liked so well?

Stew. Horse-flesh, sir; he died of eating horse-flesh.

Mr. H. How came he to get so much horse-flesh?

Stew. All your father's horses, sir.

Mr. H. What are they dead, too?

Stew. Ay, sir; they died of over-work.

Mr. H. And why were they over-worked, pray?

Stew. To carry water, sir.

Mr H. To carry water! and what were they carrying water for?

Stew. Sure, sir, to put out the fire.

Mr. H. Fire! what fire?

Stew. O, sir, your father's house is burned down to the ground.

Mr. H. My father's house burned down! and how came it set on fire?

Stew. I think, sir, it must have been the torches.

Mr. H. Torches ! what torches ?

Stew. At your mother's funeral.

Mr. H. Alas! my mother dead?

Stew. Ah, poor lady, she never looked up

Mr. H. After what?

Stew. The loss of your father.

Mr. H. My father gone, too?

after it!

Stew. Yes, poor gentleman, he took to his bed as soon as he heard of it.

Mr. H. Heard of what?

Stew. The bad news, sir, and please your honor.

Mr. H. What! more miseries? more bad news? No! you can add nothing more!

Stew. Yes, sir; your bank has failed, and your credit is lost, and you are not worth a shilling in the world. I made bold, sir, to come to wait on you about it, for I thought you would like to hear the news. ANONYMOUS.

LXXV. - THE DESTINY OF MAN.

1. THE solicitudes, the afflictions, the aspirations of this life, are a proof that Man, less contented here than the brute, has another destiny. If our end were here, if we had nothing after this life to expect, if here were our country, our final home, and the only scene of our felicity, — why does not our present lot fill the measure of our happiness and our hopes?

2. If we are born only for the pleasures of the senses, why do not these pleasures suffice? Why do they always leave such a void of weariness and dejection in the heart? If man have no higher destiny than that of the beast, why should not his existence, like the beast's, flow on without a care, without an inquietude, without a disgust, in the felicity of the senses and of the flesh?

3. If man may hope for a temporal happiness only, why does he find it nowhere, permanently, on the earth? Whence comes it that riches only bring disquiet; that honors speedily lose their charm; that pleasures fatigue; and that knowledge confounds him, and, far from satisfying, piques his curiosity? Whence is it that all these things collectively cannot fill the im

mensity of his desires, but still leave him something to long for?

4. All other creatures seem happy, after their nature, in their situation. The beasts of the field ruminate without envying the destiny of man, who inhabits cities and sumptuous palaces. The birds rejoice amid the branches and in the air, without thinking if there are creatures better off than they on the earth.

5. Throughout the domain of nature all are happy, all in their element, save only man; and he, in his best estate, is a stranger to absolute content; he only is a prey to his desires, is the sport of his anxieties, finds his punishment in his hopes, becomes sad and wearied in the midst of his pleasures, and finds nothing here below on which his heart can steadily repose.

Massillon

LXXVI.

CONQUERING WITH KINDNESS.

1. I ONCE had a neighbor- a clever man

one day, and said, "Esquire White, I want you to come and get your geese away.". Why," said I, "what are my geese doing?"—"They pick my pigs' ears when they are eating, and drive them away; and I will not have it." "What can I do?" said I."You must yoke them.". -"That I have not time to do now," said I. I do not see but they must run." If you' do not take care of them, I shall," said the shoemaker, in anger. "What do you say, Esquire White ?"—"I cannot take care of them now, but will pay you for all damages." he, "you will find that a hard thing, I guess."

66

--

“Well," said

2. So off he went, and I heard a terrible squalling among the geese. The next news was, that three of them were missing. My children went, and found them terribly mangled, and dead, and thrown into the bushes. " Now," said I, "all keep still, and .et me punish him." In a few days, the shoemaker's hogs broke into my corn. I saw them, but let them remain a long time. At last I drove them all out, and picked up the corn which they had torn down, and fed them with it in the road. By this time the shoemaker came up, in great haste, after them.

3. "Have you seen anything of my hogs ?" said he.

sir, you will find them yonder, eating some corn which they tore "In your field?"-"Yes, sir," said I;

down in my field.".

"hogs love corn, you know,

much mischief have they done?". 'O, not much,” said I.— Well, off he went to look, and estimated the damage to be equal to a bushel and a half of corn. "O, no," said I, "it can't be." Yes," said the shoemaker, " and I will pay you every cent of the damage." "No," replied I, "you shall pay me nothing. My geese have been a great trouble to you."

4. The shoemaker blushed, and went home. The next winter, when we came to settle, the shoemaker determined to pay me for my corn. "No," said I, "I shall take nothing." After some talk, we parted; but in a few days I met him on the road, and we fell into conversation in the most friendly manner. But when I started on he seemed lōth to move, and I paused. For a moment both of us were silent. At last he said, "I have something laboring on my mind."-" Well, what is it?""Those geese. I killed three of your geese, and I shall never rest until you know how I feel. I am sorry." And the tears came into his eyes.

66

5. "O well," said I, "never mind; I suppose my geese were provoking." I never took anything of him for it; but when my cattle broke into his fields, after this, he seemed glad, because he could show how patient he could be. "Now," said I to my children, "conquer yourselves, and you can conquer with kindness where you can conquer in no other way." ANON.

LXXVII.

HORATIUS OFFERS TO DEFEND THE BRIDGE. 1. THEN outspake brave Horatius, the captain of the gate: "To every man upon the earth death cometh, soon or late; And how can man die better than facing fearful odds For the ashes of his fathers and the temples of his gods?

2. "Hew down the bridge, Sir Consul, with all the speed ye may; I, with two more to help me, will hold the foe in play.

In yon strait path a thousand may well be stopped by three;

Now, who will stand on either hand, and keep the bridge with me?'