heart. I went to scenes where I would not have had my mother's eye pursue me, indulgent as she is, for all the world. Shall I tell you, Sir, my present sickness is in consequence of my vices; and I bear the secret sting in my body and my soul. I soon joined a club of young men, whose principles conformed to their practices, and we were accustomed to meet on Saturday evening; that once calm evening of preparation; to ridicule our Bible; to blaspheme our Saviour, and to fortify ourselves in our courses. I am exhausted-I am faint-call in

But

my mother. Here he sunk, and his distracted mother came rushing into the room, for she thought him dying. "Speak, William, speak," said she, "shall this good man pray for you." "Yes," said he, "pray that I may live; for I cannot-I must not die. Pray that I may live-I am not prepared to go. Pray, pray, pray that I

may live."

Here my grandfather kneeled down by his bedside, and took out his white pocket handkerchief, and, while the mother bent over her son, grasping his hand and laving his forehead, he offered a short

but fervent prayer. He prayed for his life, to be sure, but he prayed more fervently, I thought, for his repentance. When he had done, the youth lay in a stupor, grasping his mother's hand and already half a corpse. She, with a woman's solicitude to catch some gleam of hope in the last extremity, with a frantic earnestness pressed his hand and said, "Speak,

William, are you resigned to the will of God? If you cannot speak, squeeze my hand. O say that you are willing." But he lay motionless; and so far as I could discern, in the awful language of Shakspeare, he died and made no sign.

As we rode home that forenoon, my grandfather seemed lost in meditation. He was a man that never

wept, but there was a volume in his face. "John," said he, as we reached the gate, "remember and learn." These pithy words rang in my ears for weeks afterwards; and as I retired that night to my mournful. pillow, I could not help saying when alone-Let me die the death of the righteous, and let my last end be like his.

THE PURITAN.

No. 8.

O dark, dark, dark amid the blaze of noon,

Irrevocably dark, total eclipse,

Without all hope of day.

Samson Agonistes. 180.

In a shoemaker's shop, in a town not far from Boston, about sixty years ago, worked Samuel Smallcorn, a youth who was placed there by his father, that, under a sponsible master, he might learn a reputable trade. Sam was an honest lad, sometimes easily imposed upon, from the simplicity of his heart, though by no means lacking in understanding. He was rather credulous, because he never wished to impose upon others; and hence, he was the butt of the wit of some of his fellow-apprentices, whose malice, in the law phrase, supplied their years. Sam had been honestly educated-had been taught his catechism, which he could repeat, every word of it, with all the commandments and the reasons annexed. He had the highest respect for his father, who was the

cestors.

worthy representative of a long line of Puritan anIn the same shop worked Phil Blake, who was the suspected son of a very suspicious mother. One day, when Sam was quoting, very innocently, some of the sayings of his father, Blake cut him short, by remarking

'Your father, Sam, is a sly old fox; he has more blots on his character than you know of.'

'Blots!' said Sam, 'what blots? He is as honest a man as ever trod sole-leather.'

'That may be,' said Blake; but, let me tell you, what you never knew before, and what you may as well know now as at any other time-he has one son that is not your brother.'

Impossible!' cried Sam; 'you are joking.'

'No, upon my soul; it is the truth. I should not fear to lay my hand on the Bible, and say-that your father has one son, that is not your brother.'

Sam heard the awful assertion, and turned as pale as death. His father! his respected father!—a member of the church, and once having two votes for the office of deacon!-could the venerable old Mr. Smallcorn have an illegitimate son! It was just after breakfast; but the contents of the morning meal did not stay long on Sam's stomach. He was sick of the world; sick of his father; sick of himself; and it seemed to him, as it did to Brutus under the rock, that virtue was an empty name. He worried over the tidings all that day; nor was it, until the shades of

dewy evening came over the earth, that he found out

the dreadful amphibology for Blake asked him, whether he himself was brother to himself?' and whether he was not his father's son?' Then poor Sam had a second penance to undergo-being laughed at for his credulity.

For my part, I sympathize with poor Sam Smallcorn, and I detest Blake, whom I devoutly hope was brought afterwards to the gallows; for there are cases when credulity is more honorable than unbelief. Indeed, I do not know a phrase, which is more abused than that of 'credulous people.' What is it that makes a man credulous? If, moved by a tale of wo,. you give to a being whose form is emaciated and whose eyes are sunk in sorrow, some skeptical old Hunks, who loves his purse better than his conscience, will call you credulous, for hastily believing a false story of misery. If you think it best to part with your gold to spread the purest principles, purer than fined gold, you will be regarded as the dupe of some holy cheats, whose chief design, however, seems to be to cheat mankind into virtue and happiness. Some people seem to have a mortal aversion to any kind of credulity, which lays the least tax on their selfishness, or calls for any benevolent exertion. It is credulous to believe, that the sufferings of the poor are great, or that there are such beings as the poor. It is credulous to believe the Bible; or to suppose, that the Author of nature values the salvation