and in a spirit of meekness, humility, and condescen sion to their brethren, would not have a much surer and better effect than all their vain and empty babblings.

Far be it from me, my friend, to discourage a truly religious conversation ;-but there is a meekness of wisdom, as the Scripture beautifully expresses it, that will modestly avail itself of every favourable opportunity, and with a becoming zeal exert itself in the cause of truth. They who best know themselves are certainly best acquainted with human nature. Such persons will ever be careful, in their conversation and deportment, to be wise as serpents, and harmless as doves; to become all things to all men; that is, to study the various prejudices and infirmities of men, and form their discourse and conduct in such a manner, as will not have any tendency to disgust or affront them; but on the other hand, by forbearance and gentleness, will win their hearts, and thus command their attention. Caspipini's Letters.

A MOTHER'S ADVICE TO HER SON.

My mother, when she was in tolerable spirits, was now frequently describing the kind of woman she wished me to marry. I am so firmly persuaded, Charles, she would kindly say, of the justness of your taste, and the rectitude of your principles, that I am not much afraid that you will be misled by the captivating exterior of any woman who is greatly deficient, either in sense, or conduct; but remember, my son, that there are many women against whose characters there lies nothing

very objectionable, who are yet little calculated to taste, or to communicate rational happiness. Do not indulge romantic ideas of super-human excellence. Remember that the fairest creature, is a fallen creature. Yet, let not your standard be low. If it be absurd to expect perfection, it is not unreasonable to expect consistency. Do not suffer yourself to be caught by a shining quality, till you know it is not counteracted by the opposite defect. Be not taken in by strictness in one point, till you are assured there is no laxity in others. In character, as in architecture, proportion is beauty. The education of the present race of females is not very favourable to domestic happiness. For my own part, I call education, not that which smothers a woman with accomplishments, but that which tends to consolidate a firm and regular system of character; that which tends to form a friend, a companion, and a wife. I call education, not that which is made up of shreds and patches, of useless arts; but that which inculcates principles, polishes taste, regulates temper, cultivates reason, subdues the passions, directs the feelings, habituates to reflection, trains to self-denial, and more especially, that which refers all actions, feelings, sentiments, tastes and passions to the love, and fear of God. H. Moore.

SICKNESS and suffering come with double force upon guilt; anguish of mind lessens the strength, as well as increases the smart: 'tis like a wound in the sword hand; the man is disabled in that which should defend

him; he drops his guard, and his heart lies open to the next pass. To conclude, we ought to summon in all our force upon his occasion, and to fortify ourselves with recollection and good practice,―to animate our courage from the topics of honour and interest, from all the weighty considerations of this world and the next,-to take in the auxiliaries of religion, and implore the assistance of heaven, that pain may never force us to outlive our patience or our honesty,-that we may stand firm against the last assault, of what kind soever, and meet death with resolution, as it lies in the order of Providence; in short, that we may die without being conquered, carry a good conscience along with us, and leave an useful precedent behind us.

Jeremy Collier.

FEMALE CHARITY.

WOMAN all exceeds

In ardent sanctitude, in pious deeds,
And chief in woman charities prevail,
That soothe when sorrows or disease assail;
As dropping balm medicinal instils,
Health when we pine, her tears alleviate ills,
And the moist emblems of her pity flow,
As heaven relented with the watery bow;
Let pearls embellish tresses, dew the morn,
But beauties more divine, the maid adorn,
When mourning him she lov'd, her tender tear,
That else had blest his bed, embathes his bier..
Ask the poor pilgrim on this convex cast,
His grizzled locks distorted in the blast,-

Ask him what accent sooths, what hand bestows,
The cordial beverage, garment and repose;
O! he will dart a spark of ancient flame,
And clasp his tremulous hands, and woman name;
Peruse the sacred volume, Him who died,
Her kiss betrayed not, nor her tongue denied,
While even the apostle left him to his doom,
She linger'd round his cross, and watched his tomb.

Barret.

THE SECRET OF BEING ALWAYS EASY.

AN Italian bishop, who had struggled through many difficulties without repining, and met with much opposition in the discharge of his episcopal functions, without betraying the least impatience, was one day asked by a friend, who highly admired those qualities which he thought it impossible to imitate, if he could communicate the secret of being always easy? "Most readily," answered the bishop, "it consists in nothing more than making a right use of my eyes." His friend begged him to explain himself. "In whatever situation I am, I remember that, looking up to heaven, my principal business here is to get there; I then look down upon the earth, and call to mind how small a space I shall occupy in it, when I come to be interred; I then look abroad into the world, and see how many there are, who are in all respects more unhappy than myself. Thus, I learn where true happiness is placed, where all our cares must end, and how very little reason I have to repine or to complain.'

THE BETTER LAND.

I hear thee speak of the better land,
Thou call'st its children a happy band;
Mother, oh where is that radiant shore,
Shall we not seek it, and weep no more?
Is it where the flower of the orange blows,
And the fire flies dance through the myrtle boughs
"Not there, not there, my child."

Is it where the feathery palm trees rise,
And the date grows ripe, under sunny skies;
Or 'midst the green islands of glittering seas,
Where the fragrant forests perfume the breeze;
And strange bright birds, on their starry-wings,
Bear the rich hues of all glorious things?

"Not there, not there, my child."

Is it far away, in some region old,
Where the rivers wander o'er sands of gold,
Where the burning rays of the ruby shine,
And the diamond lights up the secret mine,
And the pearl gleams forth from the coral strand;
Is it there, sweet mother, that better land?
"Not there, not there, my child."

Eye hath not seen it, my gentle boy,
Ear hath not heard its deep songs of joy;
Dreams cannot picture a world so fair,
Sorrow and death may not enter there,

F