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And knceling on the sticks, she pray'd
To God that is the Judge of all.

13. She pray'd, her withered hand uprearing,
While Harry held her by the arm-
"God! who art never out of hearing,
O may he never more be warm !”
The cold, cold moon above her head,
Thus on her knees did Goody pray,
Young Harry heard what she had said,
And icy cold he turn'd away.

14. He went complaining all the morrow,
That he was cold and very chill:

His face was gloom, his heart was sorrow,
Alas that day for Harry Gill !

That day he wore a riding coat,
But not a whit the warmer he :
Another was on Thursday brought,
And ere the Sabbath he had three.

15. 'Twas all in vain, a useless matter,
And blankets were about him pinn'd:
Yet still his jaws and teeth they clatter,
Like a loose casement in the wind.
And Harry's flesh it fell away;
And all who see him say 'tis plain,
That live as long as live he may,
He never will be warm again.

16. No word to any man he utters,
Abed or up, to young or old;
But ever to himself he mutters,
"Poor Harry Gill is very cold."
Abed or up, by night or day,
His teeth they chatter, chatter still
Now think, ye farmers all, I pray,
Of Goody Blake and Harry Gill.

LESSON CVI.

The Three Warnings.-MRS. THRALE.

1. THE tree of deepest root is found
Least willing still to quit the ground.
"Twas therefore said by ancient sages,

That love of life increased with years
So much, that in our latter stages,
When pains grow sharp and sickness rages,
The greatest love of life appears.

2. This great affection to believe, Which all confess, but few perceive, If old assertions can't prevail,

Be pleased to hear a modern tale.

3. When sports went round, and all were gay On neighbor Dobson's wedding-day, Death called aside the jocund groom

With him into another room;

And looking grave, "You must," says he,
"Quit your sweet bride, and come with me."

4. "With you! and quit my Susan's side!
With you!" the hapless husband cried;
"Young as I am? 'tis monstrous hard!
Besides, in truth, I'm not prepared :
My thoughts on other matters go,
This is my wedding-night, you know."
What more he urged I have not heard:
His reasons could not well be stronger:
So Death the poor delinquent spared,
And left to live a little longer.

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5. Yet, calling up a serious lookHis hour-glass trembled while he spoke,"Neighbor," he said, "farewell! no more Shall Death disturb your mirthful hour: And farther to avoid all blame

Of cruelty upon my name,

To give you time for preparation,
And fit you for your future station,
Three several warnings you shall have,
Before you're summoned to the grave.
Willing, for once I'll quit my prey,
And grant a kind reprieve,

In hopes you'll have no more to say,
But, when I call again this way,

Well pleased, the world will leave."
To these conditions both consented,
And parted, perfectly contented.

6. What next the hero of our tale befell,
How long he lived, how wisely,-and how well
It pleased him, in his prosperous course,
To smoke his pipe, and pat his horse,-
The willing muse shall tell :-
He chaffered then, he bought, he sold,
Nor once perceived his growing old,
Nor thought of death as near;
His friends not false, his wife no shrew,
Many his gains, his children few,
He passed his hours in peace.

But, while he viewed his wealth increase,-
While thus along life's dusty road
The beaten track content he trod,-
Old Time, whose haste no mortal spares,
Uncalled, unheeded, unawares,

Brought on his eightieth year.

7. And now, one night, in musing mood, As all alone he sate,

The unwelcome messenger of fate

Once more before him stood.

Half killed with anger and surprise,
"So soon returned!" old Dobson cries.
"So soon, d'ye call it?" Death replies:
"Surely, my friend, you're but in jest:
Since I was here before

"Tis six-and-thirty years at least,
And you are now fourscore."

8. "So much the worse!" the clown rejoined: "To spare the aged would be kind :

Besides, you promised me three warnings, Which I have looked for nights and mornings."

"I know," cries Death, "that, at the best,

1 seldom am a welcome guest;

But don't be captious, friend, at least:
I little thought you'd still be able
To stump about your farm and stable:
Your years have run to a great length;
I wish you joy, though, of your strength."
9. "Hold!" says the farmer, "not so fast:
I have been lame these four years past."
"And no great wonder," Death replies:
"However, you still keep your eyes;

And sure, to see one's loves and friends,
For legs and arms would make amends."
"Perhaps," says Dobson," so it might;
But latterly I've lost my sight."
"This is a shocking story, faith;

Yet there's some comfort, still," says Death:
"Each strives your sadness to amuse :

I warrant you hear all the news."

10. "There's none," cries he; "and if there were,
I'm grown so deaf I could not hear."
"Nay, then," the spectre stern rejoined,
These are unreasonable yearnings:
If you are lame, and deaf, and blind,
You've had your three sufficient warnings:
So come along; no more we'll part."
He said, and touched him with his dart:
And now old Dobson, turning pale,
Yields to his fate-

-so ends my tale.

LESSON CVII.

The Dervis and the Two Merchants.-LACON.

1. THE ignorant have often given credit to the wise, for powers that are permitted to none, merely because the wise have made a proper use of those powers that are permitted to

all.

2. The little Arabian tale of the dervis, shall be the comment of this proposition. A dervis was journeying alone in the desert, when two merchants suddenly met him; "You have lost a camel," said he to the merchants; "indeed we have," they replied:

3. "Was he not blind in his right eye, and lame in his left leg?" said the dervis; "he was," replied the merchants; "had he not lost a front tooth?" said the dervis," he had," ́ rejoined the merchants; "and was he not loaded with honey on one side and wheat on the other?"-"most certainly he was," they replied, "and as you have seen him so lately, and marked him so particularly, you can, in all probability, conduct us unto him.”.

4. "My friends," said the dervis, "I have never seen your camel, nor ever heard of him but from you.' ""A pretty story, truly," said the merchants, "but where are the jewels which

formed a part of his cargo?" "I have neither seen your camel, nor your jewels," repeated the dervis.

5. On this, they seized his person, and forthwith hurried him before the cadi,* where, on the strictest search, nothing could be found upon him, nor could any evidence whatever be adduced to convict him, either of falsehood or theft.

6. They were then about to proceed against him as a sorcerer, when the dervis, with great calmness, thus addressed the court: "I have been much amused with your surprise, and own that there has been some ground for your suspicions; I have lived long, and alone; I can find ample scope for observation, even in a desert.

7. "I knew that I had crossed the track of a camel that had strayed from its owner, because I saw no mark of any human footstep on the same route; I knew that the animal was blind of one eye, because it had cropped the herbage only on one side of its path: and I perceived that it was lame in one leg, from the faint impression that particular foot had produced on the sand; I concluded, that the animal had lost one tooth, because wherever it had grazed, a small tuft of herbage was left uninjured, in the centre of its bite.

8. "As to that which formed the burden of the beast, the busy ants informed me that it was corn on the one side, and the clustering flies, that it was honey on the other."

LESSON CVIII.

On the Present and Future State.-ADDISON.

1. A LEWD young fellow seeing an aged hermit go by him barefoot, "Father," says he," you are in a very miserable condition, if there is not another world." "True, son," said the hermit; "but what is thy condition if there is ?"-Man is a creature designed for two different states of being, or rather for two different lives. His first life is short and transient; his second permanent and lasting.

2. The question we are all concerned in, is this-In which of these two lives is it our chief interest to make ourselves happy? Or, in other words--Whether we should endeavour to secure to ourselves the pleasures and gratifications of a life which is uncertain and precarious, and at its utmost length, of a very inconsiderable duration; or to secure to ourselves the pleasures of a A Turkish magistrate.

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