Imatges de pàgina
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There is some soul of goodness in things evil,
Would men observingly distil it out,

For our bad neighbors make us early stirrers:
Which is both healthful, and good husbandry;
Besides they are our outward consciences,
And preaches to us all; admonishing
That we should dress us fairly for our end.
O momentary grace of mortal men,

Which we more hunt for than the grace of God!
Whe builds his hope in the air of men's fair looks,
Lives like a drunken sailor on a mast,

Ready with every nod to tumble down
Into the fatal bowels of the deep.

-Who shall go about

To cozen fortune and be honorable

Without the stamp of merit: let none presume
To wear an undeserved dignity.

O that estates, degrees and offices

Were not deriv'd corruptly, that clear honor
Were purchas'd by the merit of the wearer!
How many then should cover, that stand bare!
How many be commanded, that command!
-'Tis slander!

Whose edge is sharper than a sword; whose tongue
Outvenoms all the worms of Nile; whose breath
Rides on the posting winds, and doth belie

All corners of the world. Kings, queens and states,
Maids, matrons, nay, the secrets of the grave,
This viperous slander enters.

There is a tide in the affairs of men,

Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune :
Omitted, all the voyage of their life

Is bound in shallows, and in miseries.

To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,
Creeps in this petty space from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded time,
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusky death. Out, out, brief candle;
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player,
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,

And then is heard no more! It is a tale

Told by an ideot, full of sound and fury,

fying nothing.

He that would pass the latter part of his life with honor and decency, must when he is young, consider that he shall one day be old, and remember when he is old, that he had once been young. Avarice is always poor, but poor by her own fault.

The maxim which Periander of Corinth, one of the seven sages of Greece, left as a memorial of his knowledge and benevolence was, "Be master of your anger." He considered anger as the great disturber of human life; the chief enemy both of public happiness and private tranquility, and thought he could not lay on posterity a stronger obligation to reverence his memory, than by leaving them a salutary caution against this outrageous passion.

The universal axiom, in which all complaisance is included, and from which flow all the formalities which custom has established in civilized nations is, "That no man should give any preference to himself:" a rule so comprehensive and certain, that perhaps it is not easy for the mind to imagine an incivility without supposing it to be broken.

The foundation of content must spring up in a man's own mind; and he who has so little knowledge of human nature, as to seek happiness by changing any thing but his own disposition, will waste his life in fruitless efforts, and multiply griefs which he purposes to remove.

No rank in life precludes the efficacy of a well timed compliment. When Queen Elizabeth asked an ambassador how he liked her ladies, he replied, “ it was hard to judge of stars n presence of the sun."

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The crime which has been once committed, is committed gain with less reluctance.

The great disturbers of our happiness in this world, are our desires, our griefs, and our fears; and to all these the considertion of mortality is a certain and adequate remedy. Think says Epictetus) frequently on poverty, banishment and death, nd thou wilt never indulge violent desires, or give up thy eart to mean sentences."

The certainty that life cannot be long, and the probability hat it will be shorter than nature allows, ought to awaken very man to the active prosecution of whatever he is desirous to rform. It is true that no diligence can ascertain success; ath may intercept the swiftest career; but he who is cut off the execution of an honest undertaking, has at least the hoof falling in bis rank, and has fought the battle, though ke sed the victory,

Where we act according to our duty, we commit the event to Him by whose laws our actions are governed, and who will suffer none to be finally punished for obedience. But when in prospect of some good, whether natural or moral, we break the rules prescribed to us, we withdraw from the direction of superior wisdom, and take all consequences upon ourselves.

Employment is the great instrument of intellectual dominion. The mind cannot retire from its object into total vacancy, or turn aside from one object, but by passing to another. Without frugality, none can be rich; and with it, very few would be poor.

Though in every age, there are some, who by bold adventures or by favorable accidents, rise suddenly into riches; the bulk of mankind must owe their affluence to small and gradual profits, below which their expences must be resolutely reduced.

A man's voluntary expences should not exceed his income. Let not a man anticipate uncertain profits.

The happiness of the generality of the people is nothing if it is not known, and very little if it is not envied.

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To improve the golden moment of opportunity, and catch the good that is within our reach, is the great art of life. Many wants are suffered which might have once been supplied, and much time is lost in regretting the time which has been lost before.

One of the golden precepts of Pythagoras directs us, "That a friend should not be hated or little faults."

NARRATION.

STORY OF THE COBLER AND HIS SON.

1. A YOUNG man, sen of a cobler in a small village near Madrid, having pushed his fortune in the Indies, returned to his native country with a considerable stock, and set up as a banker in Madrid. "In his absence, his parents frequently talked of him, praying fervently that Heaven would take him under its protection; and the vicar being their friend, gave them frequently the public prayers of the congregation for him.

2. The banker was not less dutiful on his part; for so soon as he was settled, he mounted on horseback, and went alone to the village. It was ten at night before he got there; and the honest cobler was a-bed with his wife, in a sound sleep, when he knocked at the door. Open the door, says the bank'tis your son Francillo.

3. Make others believe that if you can, eried the old man starting from his sleep; go about your business, you thieving rogues, here is nothing for you: Francillo, if not dead, is now in the Indies. He is no longer there, replied the banker; he is returned home, and it is he who now speaks to you; open your door and receive him.

4. Jacobo, said the woman, let us rise then; I really believe 'tis Francillo-I think I know his voice, The father, starting from bed, lighted a candle; and the mother, putting on her gown in a hurry, opened the door. Looking earnestly on Francillo, she flung her arms about his neck and hugged him with the utmost affection. Jacobo embraced his son in his turn, and all three, transported with joy after so long absence, had no end in expressing their tenderness.

5. After these pleasing transports, the banker put his horse into the stable, where he found an old milch cow, nurse to the whole family. He then gave the old folks an account of his voyage, and of all the riches he had brought from Peru. They listened, greedily, and every the least particular of his relation made on them a sensible impression of grief or joy. Having finished his story, he offered them a part of his estate, and entreated his father not to work any more.

6. No, my son, said Jacobo, I love my trade, and will not leave it off. Why, replied the banker, is it not now high time. to take your ease? I do not propose your living with me at Madrid: I know well that a city life will not please you; enjoy your own way of living; but give over your hard labor, and pass the remainder of your days in ease and plenty.

7. The mother seconded the son; and Jacobo yielded. To please you, Francillo, said he, I will not work any more for the public, but will only mend my own shoes, and those of my good friend the vicar. The agreement being concluded, the banker ate a couple of eggs and went to his bed, enjoying that pleasing satisfaction which none but dutiful children can feel or understand.

8. The next morning the banker, leaving his parents a purse Force hundred ducats, returned to Madrid; but was surprised to ste ducono at his house a few days thereafter. Myfa

, said he, what brings you here? Francillo, answered the ones! cobler, I have brought your purse; take it agaia; for› live by my trade, and have been ready to die with casmess, ever since I left off workia

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HONESTY REWARDED.

IPERRIN lost both parents, before he could articulate their names, and was obliged to a charity house for his education. At the age of fifteen he was hired by a farmer to be a shepherd, in the neighborhood of Lucetta, who kept her father's sheep. They often met, and were fond of being together.

2. Five years thus passed, when their sensations became more serious. Perrin proposed to Lucetta to demand her from her father: She blushed, and confessed her willingness. As she had an errand to town next day, the opportunity of her absence was chosen for making the proposal. You want to marry my daughter, said the old man. Have you a house to cover her, of money to maintain her? Lucetta's fortune is not enough for both.

3. It won't do, Perrin, it won't do. But, replied Perrin, I have hands to work. I have laid up twenty crowns of my wages which will defray the expense of the wedding. I'll work harder, and lay up more. Well, said the old man, you Get rich and my daughter

are young, and may wait a little. is at your service. Perrin waited for Lucetta's return in the evening. Has my father given you a refusal? cried Lucetta. Ah Lucetta! replied Perrin, how unhappy am I for being poor; but I have not lost all hopes. My circumstances may change for the better.

4. As they were never tired of conversing together, the night drew on, and it became dark: Perrin, making a false step, fell on the ground. He found a bag, which was heavy. Drawing towards a light in the neighborhood, he found that it was filled with gold. I thank heaven, cries Perrin, in a transport, for being favorable to our wishes. This will satisfy your father, and make us happy.

5. In their way to her father's house, a thought struck Perrin: This money is not ours; it belongs to some stranger ;. and perhaps this moment he is lamenting the loss of it. Let us go to the vicar for advice-he has always been kind to wie. Perrin put the bag into the vicar's hand, saying, that ac fat locked upon it as a providential present, to remove the en'y stacle to their marriage; but that he now doubled whit could lawfully retain it. The vicar eyed the lovers wi! 3 - tention..

He admired their honesty, which appeared ere a

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