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from the discharge of its most trifling duties. It is to correct vanity, and repress pretension. It is to teach her to know her place and her functions; to make her content with the one, and willing to fulfil the other. It is to render her more useful, more humble, and more happy.

Such a woman will be, of all others, the best satisfied with her lot. She will not seek distinction, and, therefore, will not meet with disappointment. She will not be dependent on the world, and thus she will avoid its vexations. She will be liable to neither restlessness nor ennui; but she will be happy in her own home, and by her own hearth, in the fulfilment of religious and domestic duty, and in the profitable employment of her time.

LESSON XII.

The Greenwood Shrift. BLACKWOOD'S MAGAZINE.

OUTSTRETCHED beneath the leafy shade
Of Windsor Forest's deepest glade,
A dying woman lay;

Three little children round her stood,
And there went up from the greenwood
A woful wail that day.

“O mother!" was the mingled cry,
"O mother, mother! do not die
And leave us all alone."

"My blessed babes!" she tried to say,
But the faint accents died away

In a low, sobbing moan.

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And then, life struggling hard with death, And fast and strong she drew her breath, she raised her head;

And

up

And peering through the deep wood maze With a long, sharp, unearthly gaze,

"Will she not come?" she said.

Just then, the parting boughs between,
A little maid's light form was seen,
All breathless with her speed;
And following close, a man came on,
(A portly man to look upon,)
Who led a panting steed.

"Mother!" the little maiden cried,
Or e'er she reached the woman's side,
And kissed her clay-cold cheek -
"I have not idled in the town,

But long went wandering up and down,
The minister to seek.

"They told me here, they told me thereI think they mocked me every where ; And when I found his home,

And begged him on my bended knee
To bring his book, and come with me,
Mother! he would not come.

"I told him how you dying lay, And could not go in peace away Without the minister;

I begged him, for dear Christ, his sake,

But O! my heart was fit to break

Mother! he would not stir.

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"So, though my tears were blinding mc, I ran back, fast as fast could be,

To come again to you;

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And here - close by

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Who asked (so mild !) what made me fret; And when I told him true,

"I will go with you, child,' he said ; 'God sends me to this dying bed :' Mother, he's here, hard by." While thus the little maiden spoke, The man, his back against an oak, Looked on with glistening eye.

The bridle on his neck hung free,
With quivering flank and trembling knee,
Pressed close his bonny bay;

A statelier man, a statelier steed,
Never on greensward paced, I rede,

Than those stood there that day.

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But when the dying woman's face Turned towards him with a wishful gaze, He stepped to where she lay ;

And kneeling down, bent over her,

Saying, "I am a minister

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My sister! let us pray."

And well, withouten book or stole, (God's words were printed on his soul,) Into the dying ear

He breathed, as 'twere, an angel's strain, The things that unto life pertain,

And death's dark shadows clear.

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as the spirit ebbed away

He raised his hands and eyes to pray
That peaceful it might pass;

And then

the orphan's sobs alone Were heard, and they knelt every one Close round on the green grass.

Such was the sight their wandering eyes
Beheld, in heart-struck, mute surprise,
Who reined their coursers back,
Just as they found the long astray,
Who, in the heat of chase that day,

Had wandered from their track.

But each man reined his pawing steed,
And lighted down, as if agreed,

In silence at his side;

And there, uncovered all, they stood:
It was a wholesome sight, and good,
That day, for mortal pride.

For of the noblest of the land

Was that deep hushed, bare-headed band;
And central in the ring,

By that dead pauper on the ground,
Her ragged orphans clinging round,
Knelt their anointed king.*

LESSON XIII.

The Hebrew Mother. MRS. HEMANS.

THE rose was in rich bloom on Sharon's plain,
When a young mother, with her first-born, thence
Went up to Zion; for the boy was vowed
Unto the temple service. By the hand
She led him, and her silent soul, the while,
Oft as the dewy laughter of his eye

Met her sweet, serious glance, rejoiced to think
That aught so pure, so beautiful, was hers
To bring before her God.

So passed they on

O'er Judah's hills; and wheresoe'er the leaves

The royal minister was George the Third. The anecdote is related

on the authority of the Rev. George Crabbe.

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