LESSON X.

The Cottage Family.

1. In the month of May, when Nature had just assumed a pleasing aspect, and adorned herself with wreaths of flowers, I took a tour in the country. On a delightful evening, when the sun, weary with his journey, was about to plunge himself in the western ocean, a walk was proposed. A mild zephyr was playing on the surface of the wheat fields, whose pliant tops gently yielded to its touch.

2. The trees, too, expressed assent to its breathing, by waving their tender boughs and new-formed leaves. All nature appeared in a happy mood. We entered a vast plain covered with beautiful herbage, on which were grazing several flocks of sheep. In the progress of our amusing ramble, we arrived at an enchanting grove.

3. At the border of the wood, on the brink of a small hill, I espied a path leading through a lively glen, whose banks were decorated with ivy. Wrapt in meditation, I pursued the windings of this charming vale, and listened to the streamlet rippling over its pebbly bed, till I imperceptibly lost my companions. However, strolling along, I came to a lofty hill, which, with considerable difficulty, J

ascended.

4. Not far from its summit, I discovered a small cottage, situated in a little cluster of oaks, close to the side of a brook. The neatness of its white-washed front, and jasmine-covered roof, attracted my attention. Coming near this little habitation of cleanliness, and being thirsty, I stepped towards the door, and addressing myself to a little girl standing on the threshold, asked for a drink of water.

5. The child, without saying a word, ran hastily to her mother, who was working in their garden, and cried out, "mother, there is a man at the house who wants some water." The good woman came bustling along, and with a welcoming smile, and polite courtsey, said, "walk in, sir, and I will have some water brought." I complied, and was comfortably seated on a clean block, which served for a chair.

6. Her little daughter Mary, tripped to the spring, and speedily returned with a pitcher of delightful water. The

freeness of her manners, and openness of her countenance, emboldened me to enter into a very interesting conversation. We had been talking some time, and presently heard little Mary cry out, "mother, yonder comes father." I raised my eyes, and saw a portly, healthy looking man, coming up to the door, with the smile of contentment on his brow.

7. After the customary salutations had passed between us, we commenced talking of the beauties of Spring, and the enjoyments of retired life. The farther we proceeded in conversation, the more his noble heart expanded. Forgetting I was a stranger, his fears were not roused, but freely communicated his sentiments with simplicity and warmth. Speaking of Christianity, he remarked, "she is the guardian of true happiness and consummate felicity."

8. "The first time," continued he, "I was convinced of my sinful state, was by the preaching of a Moravian. His description of the fall was so pathetic, and his arguments to establish the reality of its lamentable effects, were so conclusive and weighty, that I could not disbelieve the mournful truth, man is fallen.' I was now convinced that sin flowed through every vein of my heart, that I imbibed it at my mother's breast, and that it had infected every moral feeling of my soul.

9. "Clouds of darkness enveloped my affrighted conscience; I returned home, retired to my chamber, kneeled down, and attempted to pray, but all to no purpose. In this condition, I continued for three months. However, one day, when my misery was almost intolerable, I rushed into a wood trying to find relief; after roving about for some hours, I threw myself on the earth, and cried in the agony of hopeless distress, 'God be merciful to me a sinner."

10. "That moment the angel of mercy descended, and releasing me from the prison of guilt, in which I had been so long incarcerated, gave me the seal of gracious freedom. I leaped from the ground, hastened home and told my dear wife I had found him my soul desired to love.'-This deliverance from the oppression of sin, became a happy support in the affliction which succeeded.

11. "My landlord demanded an increase of rent; and knowing it was impossible for me to live under such exorbitant land rent, I determined to migrate to North America. Accordingly, having made every necessary arrangement, I left England, in hope of finding an asylum in the United

States. I arrived here, and purchasing this small tract of land, built this little cottage, in which I have lived in contentment, never forgetting the cheering promises of God, 'Lo, I am with you alway, even to the end of the world.'

12. "Behold the lilies of the field, they toil not, neither do they spin, yet your heavenly father clotheth them.' The Bible, that invaluable book, is my solace; the life of my soul; the star that directs me through the boisterous ocean of transitory existence to the throne of God.

13. "Whenever the tear of sorrow trickles down my cheek, I open this treasury of glorious and soul cheering promises, and find a balm for every wound of my soul. No change of fortune I hope will ever weaken my faith in God's word. He feeds the young ravens when they cry, and he will answer the voice of my prayer if it be agreeable to his revealed will."

14. He stopped, and gave way to the overflowings of his joy. We had been drawn into so pleasant and happy a train of thought, that each one remained in silent admiration of the mercies of God. When the emotions of my bosom had subsided, and fellow feeling assumed its proper tone, perceiving the evening star above the horizon, I took my hat, thanked them for their kindness, prayed a blessing upon them, and departed.

15. As I walked homeward, my mind contemplated with particular delight the firm character of this cottager's faith and the purity of his religious creed. The riches of the world, thought I, are trash indeed, compared with the wealth of this good man. With these meditations I retired to my bed, praying God to grant me the religion of this cottager. W. H. BORDLEY.

LESSON XI.

Death of a Friend.

1. There is a sort of delight which is alternately mixed with terror and sorrow, in the contemplation of death. The soul has its curiosity more than ordinarily awakened, when it turns its thoughts upon the subject of such who have behaved themselves with an equal, a resigned, a cheerful, a generous, or heroic temper in that extremity.

2. We are affected with these respective manners of behaviour, as we secretly believe the part of the dying person imitable by ourselves, or such as we imagine ourselves more particularly capable of. Men of exalted minds march before us like princes, and are, to the ordinary. race of mankind, rather subjects for their admiration than example.

3. Innocent men who have suffered as criminals, though they were benefactors to human society, seem to be persons of the highest distinction amongst the vastly great number of human race, the dead. When the iniquity of the times brought Socrates to his execution, how great and wonderful is it to behold him, unsupported by any thing but the testimony of his own conscience and conjectures of hereafter, receive the poison with an air of cheerfulness and good humour; and as if going on an agreeable journey, bespeak some deity to make it fortunate!

4. When Phocion's good actions had met with the like reward from his country, and he was led to death, with many others of his friends, they bewailing their fate, he walking composedly towards the place of execution, how gracefully does he support his illustrious character to the very last instant! One of the rabble spitting at him as he passed, with his usual authority he called to know if no one was ready to teach this fellow how to behave himself.

5. When a poor spirited creature that died at the same time bemoaned himself unmanfully, he rebuked him with this question, Is it no consolation to such a man as thou art to die with Phocion? At the instant when he was to die, they asked what commands he had for his son: he answered, to forget this injury of the Athenians. Niocles, his friend, under the same sentence, desired he might drink the potion before him; Phocion said, because he never had denied him any thing he would not even this, the most difficult request he had ever made.

6. These instances were very noble and great, and the reflections of those sublime spirits had made death to them what it is really intended to be by the author of nature, a relief from a various being ever subject to sorrows and difficulties.

7. Epaminondas, the Theban general, having received in fight a mortal stab with a sword which was left in his body, lay in that posture until he had intelligence that his troops had obtained the victory, and then permitted it to be

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drawn out, at which instant he expressed himself in this manner, "This is not the end of my life, my fellow-soldiers; it is now your Epaminondas is born, who dies in so much glory."

8. It were an endless labour to collect the accounts with which all ages have filled the world of noble and heroic minds that have resigned this being, as if the termination of life were but an ordinary occurrence of it.

9. This common-place way of thinking I fell into from an awkward endeavour to throw off a real and fresh affliction, by turning over books in a melancholy mood; but it is not easy to remove griefs which touch the heart, by applying remedies which only entertain the imagination. As therefore this paper is to consist of any thing which concerns human life, I cannot help letting the present subject regard what has been the last object of my eyes, though an entertainment of sorrow.

10. I went this evening to visit a friend, with a design to rally him upon a story I had heard of his intending to steal a marriage without the privity of us his intimate friends and acquaintance. I came into his apartment with that intimacy which I have done for very many years, and walked directly into his bed-chamber, where I found my friend in the agonies of death.

11. What could I do? The innocent mirth in my thoughts struck upon me like the most flagitious wickedness: I in vain called upon him; he was senseless, and too far spent to have the least knowledge of my sorrow, or any pain in himself. Give me leave then to transcribe my soliloquy, as I stood by his mother, dumb with the weight of grief for a son who was her honour and her comfort, and never until that hour since his birth had been an occasion of a moment's sorrow to her.

12. How surprising is this change! from the possession of vigorous life and strength, to be reduced in a few hours to this fatal extremity! Those lips which look so pale and livid, within these few days gave delight to all who heard their utterance; it was the business, the purpose of his being, next to obeying him to whom he is going, to please and instruct, and that for no other end but to please and instruct.

13. "Kindness was the motive of his actions, and with all the capacity requisite for making a figure in a conten