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der; and he saw at once that it was one which his father had desired him, the week before, to take to the carpenter's to be mended. “ It was not safe,” he said, " and might break down any day; so be sure, Fred, you take it at once.”
Alas! Fred, from his old habit of putting off doing that which he was told to do, had neglected it from day to day, and had forgotten to warn his cousin that it was unsafe; and now what were the consequences? He was lying senseless before him, severely, if not fatally hurt; and his parents' grief, and all the misery which he should cause, passed quick as lightning through Fred's mind. He knelt in agony by his cousin's side, and fervently prayed that his life at least might be spared. James was carried to the house; and the surgeon
It was then found that his head was not much injured, though the severity of the fall had stunned him; but his leg was broken in two places, and it must of course be some weeks, if not months, before he could rise from his bed. The surgeon had no fears for his life at first; but towards the second night the fever was so high, that he was for some hours in great danger.
The distress of poor Fred during this night was greater than can be described. The moans which his cousin's pain drew from him at times, seemed to cut him to the heart; and his uncle and aunt's grief and anxiety were more than he could bear to see. He confessed, of course, to them, as well as to his father, that he had been the cause of the accident. They did not reproach him; for they saw that the workings of his own conscience were more powerful than any words of theirs could be, and they were too kind-hearted to add to his distress by shewing the full extent of theirs.
But I must bring my tale to an end. In time James recovered; but many months passed before he was able to walk at all, and indeed he was slightly lame to the end of his life. Fred felt that
he could never do enough for one upon whom his negligence had brought so much suffering; and he waited upon his cousin with the greatest attention and care throughout his illness. He was always upon the watch to fetch and carry for him; and would sit for hours by his bedside or easy chair, trying to amuse him by reading or talking to him. His prayers for his cousin's
recovery, and his resolutions to cure himself of the bad babit which had brought such misery upon him, were constant and earnest. The lesson he had received was most severe, and its effects were lasting. If he was ever tempted to put off doing what he was told to do,-and habits long indulged in can seldom be thrown off at once,-the recollection of his cousin's suffering, and the sight of his lameness, were constantly before him to remind him of his danger.
And now will any one venture to call Fred's “a little fault?” Many, it is true, have been guilty of it, and have not met with so severe a punishment; but all may be sure, that those who indulge in such á habit
will be useless and unprofitable all their days. Their times and opportunities of doing right and doing good will slip by them, day by day, unseen or unnoticed ; and they will be at last like the fig-tree which bore no fruit, and on which the awful sentence was pronounced, “ Cut it down: why cumbereth it the ground ?”'\
A VIRGINIAN king, when the Europeans had fixed a lock on his door, was so delighted to find his subjects admitted or excluded with such facility, that it was from morning to evening his whole employment to turn the key. We, among whom locks and keys have been longer in use, are inclined to laugh at the American amusement; yet I doubt whether I have a single reader who may not apply the story to himself, and recollect some hours of his life in which he has been equally overpowered by the transitory charms of some trifling novelty.—Dr. Johnson.
1 St. Luke xiii. 7.
VERSES BY A POOR MAN." The poor man speaks in the warmth of his heart Of the pleasures of sweet wild flowers ; They cost us nothing for all their delight, And bloom in the calm summer-hours. How the poor man is pleased to look round him and see Roses and daisies, and the sweet wild pea, The foxglove too, in its own tall pride, Hangs its purple bells by every hedge-side. But, oh, for the primrose in early spring, Oh, is it not truly a beautiful thing ? And when you go out in a balmy morn, You meet the rich breath of the sweet hawthorn.
And in evening time, by the shadowy dell,
We praise Thee, Lord, who dost us keep;
To guard us whilst we rest,
From devil, man, or beast;
From earth's entangling snares,
From pleasures vain, and cares,
Meek, mild, and full of love,
As sprung from the Holy Dove;
Make our minds radiant and bright, That in good works we may delight;
Not idly spend the day
In foolish sport and play,
like the industrious bee, May gain a heavenly treasury
Of gifts and graces, which
Will make us truly rich, Even in the midst of poverty.
21. St. Matthew.
MARY; OR, THE CHRISTIAN NAME. THE sun was just on the afternoon of the 31st of October. The sky was perfectly clear, and the deep red glow in the west sbaded softly and beautifully into the pale cold blue above.
Mrs. Ormond and her children sat at the window of the village parsonage, in front of which the garden sloped down rather a steep descent. A row of fine elms stood just below the garden, and through these, and almost close behind them, was seen the tower of the church. The village was a little beyond, extending into the little valley beneath, and the view was bounded by woody hills. The weather had been so calm, that the trees were still almost full of leaves, brilliant with every variety of autumnal colour, but ready to fall with the first breath of wind that might blow.
The party at the parsonage window had sat silent for some time, looking at the lovely prospect, and the bright calm sunset. Upon Mrs. Orrond's lap lay an infant of a few weeks old, asleep. Her eldest VOL. III.