Streams never flow in vain-where streams abound, How laughs the land with various plenty crowned! But time that should enrich the nobler mind, Neglected, leaves a dreary waste behind.

LESSON SIXTY-FIFTH.

Rural Charms.

Sweet Auburn! loveliest village of the plain, Where health and plenty cheered the laboring swain, Where smiling spring its earliest visits paid, And parting summer's lingering blooms delayed: Dear lovely bowers of innocence and ease! Seats of my youth, when every sport could please! How often have I loitered o'er thy green, Where humble happiness endeared each scene! How often have I paused on every charm! The sheltered cot; the cultivated farm,

The never failing brook, the busy mill,

The decent church, that topped the neighboring hill;
The hawthorn bush, with seats beneath the shade,
For talking age and whispering lovers made.
How often have I blessed the coming day,
When toil, remitting, lent its turn to play,
And all the village train, from labor free,
Led up their sports beneath the spreading tree'
While many a pastime circled in the shade,
The young contending as the old surveyed;
And many a gambol frolicked o'er the ground,
And sleights of art and feats of strength went round.
And still, as each repeated pleasure tired,
Succeeding sports the mirthful band inspired:
The dancing pair, that simply sought renown,
By holding out to tire each other down;
The swain, mistrustless of his smutted face,
While secret laughter tittered round the place,

The bashful virgin's sidelong looks of love,
The matron's glance that would those looks reprove.
Sweet was the sound, when oft, at evening's close,
Up yonder hill the village murmur rose.

There, as I passed, with careless steps and slow,
The mingling notes came softened from below.
The swain responsive as the milkmaid sung;
The sober herd that lowed to meet their young;
The noisy geese that gabbled o'er the pool;
The playful children just let loose from school;
The watch dog's voice, that bay'd the whisp'ring wind,
And the loud laugh that spoke the vacant mind;
These all, in soft confusion, sought the shade,
And filled each pause the nightingale had made.

LESSON SIXTY-SIXTH.

Inquisition in Spain.

The late Admiral Pye, having been on a visit to Southampton, and the gentleman under whose roof he resided having observed an unusual intimacy between him and his secretary, inquired into the degree of their relationship, as he wished to pay him suitable attention. The admiral informed him they were not related, but, their intimacy arose from a singular circumstance, which, by his permission, he would relate.

The admiral said, when he was captain, he was cruising in the Mediterranean. While on that station, he received a letter from shore, stating that the unhappy author of the letter was an Englishman; that, having been a voyage to Spain, he was enticed, while there, to become a papist, and, in process of time, was made a member of the inquisition; that there he witnessed the abominable wickedness and barbarity of the inquisitors. His heart recoiled at having embraced 41434B

a religion so horribly cruel, and so repugnant to the nature of God; and he was stung with remorse to think, if his parents knew what and where he was, their hearts would break with grief; that he was resolved to escape, if he (the captain) would send a boat in such a time and place; but begged secrecy, since, if his intentions were discovered, he would be immediately assassinated.

The captain returned for answer, that he could not, with propriety, send a boat; but, if he could devise any means to come on board, he would receive him as a British subject, and protect him. He did so; but, being missed, there was raised a hue and cry, and he was followed to the ship. A holy inquisitor demanded him, but he was refused. Another, in the name of "his holiness the Pope," claimed him; but the captain did not know him, or any other master, but his sovereign, King George.

At length, a third holy brother approached. The young man recognised him at a distance, and, in terror, ran to the captain, entreating him not to be deceived by him, for he was the most false, wicked, and cruel monster in all the inquisition. He was introduced, the young man being present; and, to obtain his object, began with the bitterest accusations against him; then he turned to the most fulsome flatteries of the captain; and, lastly, offered him a sum of money to resign him. The captain treated him with apparent attention, and said his offers were very handsome, and, if what he affirmed were true, the person in question was unworthy of the English name, or of his protection. The holy brother was elated. He thought his errand was acomplished.

While drawing his purse strings, the captain inquired what punishment would be inflicted on him. He replied, that was uncertain; but, as his offences were atrocious, it was likely his punishment would be exemplary. The captain asked, if he thought he

would be burnt in a dry pan. He replied, that must be determined by the holy inquisition; but it was not improbable. The captain then ordered the great copper to be heated, but no water to be put in.

All this while, the young man stood trembling; his cheeks resembled death; he looked to become an unhappy victim to avarice and superstition. The cook soon announced that the order was executed. "Then,

I command you to take this fellow," pointing to the inquisitor, and fry him alive in the copper!" This unexpected command thunderstruck the holy father. Alarmed for himself, he rose to be gone. The cook began to bundle him away. "O good captain, good captain.' "I'll teach him to attempt to bribe a British commander to sacrifice the life of an Englishman, to gratify a herd of bloody men.

وو

Down the holy inquisitor fell upon his knees, offering him all his money, and promising never to return, if he would let him be gone. When the captain had sufficiently affrighted him, he dismissed him, warning him never to come again on such an errand. What must be the reverse of feelings in the Englishman to find himself thus happily delivered! He fell upon his knees, in a flood of tears, before the captain, and poured out a thousand blessings upon his brave and noble deliverer.

66

'This," said the admiral to the gentleman, "is the circumstance that began our acquaintance. I then took him to be my servant; he served me from affection; mutual attachment ensued, and it has invariably subsisted and increased to this day."

wwwwww.

LESSON SIXTY-SEVENTH.

The unclouded Sun.

The unclouded sun! While I survey
The appointed ruler of the day,
My spirit ardent cries,

Enlighten, Lord, my darkened mind;
By Truth's bright beams I fain would find
Salvation's blessed prize.

The unclouded sun; an emblem bright
Of the approaching world of light,
Without a dark'ning veil!
Knowledge shall shine resplendent there,
Nor clouds nor tempests interfere,
But light and truth prevail.

Their sun shall never more decline,
But with unfading lustre shine
Throughout eternal days!
God is their "light and glory" too;
His presence evermore they view
And sing his worthy praise.

Dr. Fordyce in his Dialogues on education relates the following striking incident, which he says occurred in a neighboring state. A jeweller, a man of good character and considerable wealth, having occasion to leave home on business at some distance, took with him a servant. He had with him some of his best jewels and a large sum of money. This was known to the servant, who, urged by cupidity murdered his master on the road, rifled him of his jewels and money,