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THE SICK MAN AND THE ANGEL.

John Gay.
" Is there no hope ?" the sick man said.
The silent doctor shook his head,
And took his leave with signs of sorrow,
Despairing of his fee to-morrow.

When thus the man with gasping breath:-
“ I feel the chilling wound of death :
Since I must bid the world adieu,
Let me my former life review.
I grant, my bargains well were made,
But all men over-reach in trade;
'Tis self-defence in each profession,
Sure self-defence is no transgression.
The little portion in my hands,
By good security on lands,
Is well increased. If unawares,
My justice to myself and heirs,
Hath let my debtor rot in jail,
For want of good sufficient bail ;
If I by writ, or bond, or deed,
Reduced a family to need,
My will hath made the world amends ;
My hope on charity depends.
When I am numbered with the dead,
· And all my pious gifts are read,
By heaven and earth 'twill then be known
My charities were amply shown."

An angel came. “Ah, friend !” he cried, “No more in flattering hope confide. Can thy good deeds in former times Outweigh the balance of thy crimes ? What widow or what orphan prays To crown thy life with length of days ? A pious action's in thy power, Embrace with joy the happy hour.

Now, while you draw the vital air,
Prove your intention is sincere.
This instant give a hundred pound;
Your neighbours want, and you abound.”

“But why such haste ?" the sick man whines;
" Who knows as yet what Heaven designs ?
Perhaps I may recover still;
That sum, and more, are in my will."

“Fool,” says the angel, “now 'tis plain,
Your life, your soul, your heaven was gain,
From every side, with all your might,
You scraped, and scraped beyond your right;
And after death would fain atone,
By giving what is not your own.”

“While there is life, there's hope,” he cried;
" Then why such haste ?" He groaned, and died.

EARLY RISING.

ANONYMOUS

EARLY rising is one of those good and proper habits which few except invalids dare openly to impugn-it has everything to recommend it, and nothing to retard it in public estimation except that it is opposed to ease and self-indulgence and yet, how few there are who systematically persevere in the habit! It promotes health, punctuality, morals, and despatch both in study and business, and yet it is not observed; a result which, we apprehend, arises from the very simple reason, that we do not pay the attention that we ought to all or any of these matters. At some stage of existence most persons have risen early, or resolved to do it; but custom has become to them a second nature, and they contentedly plod on in their old way; while others still cherish the idea of reform, although, for the last few years, they have tried the experiment for a morning or two, and as regularly broken through it.

One-half of the world does not know how the other half lives, and it has often struck us that loiterers in bed would be surprised were they to see the revelations of morning life. At dawn of morn, an indescribable freshness floats over creation, which is discoverable at no other period of the day; and redolent with the buoyancy of healthy repose, the step is firm and elastic, the eye clear, the mind unclouded, and the whole man generous and noble. In such a state, ordinary scenes would be enjoyed with high relish; but the incense breathing” of the infant day, like all other kinds of infant beauty, has a sweetness of its own.

We may be mistaken, but we do not think that great crimes have usually been committed in the morning, which is a consideration of some importance. But not to dwell on that, or on the landscape beauty of vernal day, seeing that the one inquiry pertains to the statist and the other to the poet, we affirm that there is a pleasantness in the bustle of morning life which has a peculiar charm. The labourers go sturdily to their work, and do not drag their limbs as at night. At the sea-side the din of departing and arriving steam-boats is exhilarating; and the waters seem instinct with life, as they sparkle in crystal expanse, or as they are ploughed into green and white furrows by the sharp prows of the vessels which glide merrily on their surface. All operative undertakings have their attractions; while to those who cultivate science, the rocks, flowers, shells, trees, birds and fishes, are all so many different objects in the great museum of nature, which invite the wanderer to study and improvement. Golf, cricket, and archery, have healthy charms for the young and robust; and, indeed, except bird-nesting and bird-shooting, we know none of the usual occupations of the morning which are objectionable. All these, however, are for recreation, and those who have business should mind it in the morning, although we cannot help saying that where a man works about twelve hours a-daywith proper regard to method, and to the discharge of relative duty-he should be perfectly able, on an average, to get through all necessary business within that period.

IMMORTALITY.

Rev. W. E. CHANNING, D.D. WHEN I think of myself as existing through all future ages—as surviving this earth and that sky—as exempted from every imperfection and error of my present beingas clothed with an angel's glory-as comprehending with my intellect, and embracing in my affections an extent of creation, compared with which the earth is a point—when I think of myself—as looking on the outward universe, with an organ of vision that will reveal to me a beauty, and harmony, and order, not now imagined—and as having an access to the minds of the wise and good, which will make them in a sense my own ;-when I think of myself—as forming friendships with innumerable beings, of rich and various intellect, and of the noblest virtue—as introduced to the society of heaven-as meeting there the great and excellent, of whom I have read in history—as joined with the “just made perfect,” in an ever-enlarging ministry of benevolence—as conversing with Jesus Christ, with the familiarity of friendship—and especially, as having an immediate intercourse with God, such as the closest intimacies of earth dimly shadow forth ;—when this thought of my future being comes upon me,—whilst I hope, I also fear, the blessedness seems too great; the consciousness of present weakness and unworthiness is almost too strong for hope.

But when, in this frame of mind, I look round on the creation, and see there the marks of an Omnipotent

Goodness, to which nothing is impossible, and from which everything may be hoped—when I see around me the proofs of an Infinite Father, who must desire the perpetual progress of his intellectual offspring—when I look, next, at the human mind, and see what powers a few years have unfolded, and discern in it the capacity of everlasting improvement—and, especially, when I look at Jesus, the conqueror of death, the heir of immortality, who has gone, as the forerunner of mankind, into the mansions of light and purity,–I can and do admit the almost overpowering thought, of the everlasting life-growth-felicity of the human soul.

HOW LITTLE BESSIE FELL ASLEEP.

ANONYMOUS.

Hug me closer, closer, mother,

Put your arms around me tight;
I am cold and tired, mother,

And I feel so strange to-night!
Something hurts me here, dear mother,

Like a stone upon my breast;
Oh! I wonder, wonder, mother,

Why it is I cannot rest.

All the day, while you were working,

As I lay upon the bed,
I was trying to be patient,

And to think of what you said ;
How the kind and blesséd Jesus

Loves his lambs to watch and keep,
And I wish He'd come and take me

In His arms that I might sleep.

Just before the lamp was lighted

Just before the children came

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