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tunity of laying up a treasure in a better place than any this world affords."

Suppose a stranger, who entered the chambers of a lawyer, being imagined a client, when the lawyer was preparing his palm for the fee, should pull out a writ against him. Suppose an apothecary, at the door of a chariot containing some great doctor of eminent skill, should, instead of directions to a patient, present him with a potion for himself. Suppose a minister should, instead of a good round sum, treat my Lord

or Esq. with a good broomstick. Suppose a civil companion, or a led captain should, instead of virtue, and honour, and beauty, and parts, and admiration, thunder vice and infamy, and ugliness, and folly, and contempt, in his patron's ears. Suppose when a tradesman first carries in his bill the man of fashion should pay it; or suppose, if he did so, the tradesman should abate what he had over-charged on the supposition of waiting. In short, --suppose what you will, you never can, nor will suppose anything equal to the astonishment which seized on Trulliber as soon as Adams had ended his speech. A while he rolled his eyes in silence, sometimes surveying Adams, then his wife, then casting them on the ground, then lifting them to heaven. At last, he burst forth in the following accents :—“Sir, I believe I know where to lay up my little treasure as well as another; I thank G— if I am not so warm as some, I am content; that is a blessing greater than riches; and he to whom that is given need ask no more. To be content with a little is greater than to possess the world, which a man may possess without being so. Lay up my treasure! what matters where a man's treasure is, whose heart is in the Scriptures ? there is the treasure of a Christian.” At these words the water ran from Adams's eyes; and catching Trulliber by the hand in a rapture, “ Brother," says he, “heavens bless the accident by which I came to see you! I would have walked many a mile to have communed with you, and, believe me, I will shortly pay


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you a second visit; but my friends, I fancy, by this time, wonder at my stay; so let me have the money immediately.” Trulliber then put on a stern look, and cried out, “ Thou dost not intend to rob me?" At which the wife, bursting into tears, fell on her knees, and roared out, “O dear sir, for heaven's sake don't rob my master-we are but poor people.” fool as thou art, and go about thy business," said Trulliber ;

dost think the man will venture his life ? he is a beggar, and no robber.” “Very true indeed," answered Adams. “I wish, with all my heart, the tithingman was here,” cries Trulliber; “I would have thee punished as a vagabond for thy impudence. Fourteen shillings indeed! I won't give thee a farthing. I believe thou art no more a clergyman than the woman there (pointing to his wife); but if thou art, dost deserve to have thy gown stript over thy shoulders, for running about the country in such a manner.” “I forgive your suspicions," says Adams; “but suppose I am not a "

a clergyman, I am nevertheless thy brother; and thou, as a Christian, much more as a clergyman, art obliged to relieve my distress.” “Dost preach to me?" replied Trulliber; “dost pretend to instruct me in my duty ?" “I facks, a good story,” cries Mrs. Trulliber,“ to preach to my master.” “Silence, woman,” cries Trulliber, “I shall not learn my duty from such as thee; I know what charity is better than to give to vagabonds.” “Besides, if we were inclined, the poor's rate obliges us to give so much charity," cries the wife. “Pugh I thou art a fool. Poor's reate! hold thy nonsense,” answered Trulliber: and then, turning to Adams, he told him, he would give him nothing. “I am sorry," answered Adams, that you

do know what charity is, since you practise it no better; I must tell

if you trust to your knowledge for your justification, you will find yourself deceived, though you should add faith to it without good works." "Fellow," cries Trulliber, “dost thou speak against faith in my house ? Get out of my doors; I will no longer remain under the same roof with a


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wretch who speaks wantonly of faith and the Scriptures." “ Name not the Scriptures,” says Adams. “How, not name the Scriptures! Do you disbelieve the Scriptures ?" cries Trulliber. “No, but you do," answered Adams, "if I may reason from your practice : for their commands are so explicit, and their rewards and punishments so immense, that it is impossible a man should steadfastly believe without obeying. Now there is no command more express, no duty more frequently enjoined, than charity. Whoever therefore is void of charity, I make no scruple of pronouncing that he is no Christian.” “I would not advise thee,” (says Trulliber) “to say that I am no Christian; I won't take it of you: for I believe I am as good a man as thyself;" (and indeed, though he was now rather too corpulent for athletic exercises, he had in his youth been one of the best boxers and cudgel-players in the county.) His wife, seeing him clench his fist, interposed, and begged him not to fight, but show himself a true Christian, and take the law of him. As nothing could provoke Adams to strike but an absolute assault on himself or his friend, he smiled at the angry look and gestures of Trulliber; and telling him, he was sorry to see such men in orders, departed without further ceremony.



The barge she sat in, like a burnish'd throne,
Burn’d on the water; the poop was beaten gold;
Purple the sails, and so perfumed, that
The winds were love-sick with them; the oars were


Which to the tune of flutes kept stroke, and made
The water, which they beat, to follow faster,
As amorous of their strokes. For her own person,
It beggar'd all description; she did lie

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vui-work nature ; on either side te Et dimpied boys, like smiling less -Tera-tw.vured lans, whose wind diese of ter ürecate cheeks which they Wasie ist undit, dic.

mez, like the Sereides, Sh. tended her i' the eyes,

es adornings:

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This. The city cast mo her; and Actons,

ist market-piace.cic sit alone, :in ar: whick, bu: for vacancy,

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you a second visit time, wonder at n immediately.” Tr cried out, “Thou which the wife, and roared out, my master-we: fool as thou art, liber; “dost th a beggar, and answered Adar man was her punished as a shillings inde thou art no (pointing to have thy g about the suspicions, clergyman a Christia relieve Trullibe "I fack to my shall n charit


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athers just onst an eye

as were in contempt. authength so fusion less

bid niet within grand continned warm;

the weather, spite of all been said before) of brim.

blour of my hat.
brown-and then men stared

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th both their eyes (they stared with one before).
2 wonder now was two-fold ; and it seemed
ange that a thing so torn and old should still
worn by one who might-

-but let that pass

! ad my reasons, which might be revealed it for some counter-reasons, far more strong, hich tied my tongue to silence. Time passed on. een spring, and flowery summer, autumn brown, ad frosty winter came,—and went and came, nd still through all the seasons of two years, 1 park and city, yea, at parties—balls 'he hat was worn and borne. Then folks


Vith curiosity, and whispers rose,
And questions passed about—how one so trim
In coats, boots, ties, gloves, trousers, could insconce
His caput in a covering so vile.

A change came o'er the nature of my hat.
Grease-spots appeared-but still in silence, on
I wore it and then family and friends
Glared madly at each other. There was one
Who said-but hold—no matter what was said ;
A time may come when I away, away-
Not till the season's ripe can I reveal
Thoughts that do lie too deep for common minds
Till then the world shall not pluck out the heart
Of this my mystery. When I will, I will !
The hat was now greasy, and old, and torn,
But torn, old, greasy, still I wore it on.
A change came o'er the business of this hat.
Women, and men and children, scowled on me
My company was shunned—I was alone!
None would associate with such a hat-
Friendship itself proved faithless for a bat.
She that I loved, within whose gentle breast
I treasured up my heart, looked cold as death
Love's fires went out-extinguished by a hat.
Of those who knew me best, some turned aside,

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