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hour of calmness to ourselves; and begin to enjoy the peace which it will certainly bring?

8. If others have behaved improperly, let us leave them to their own folly, without becoming the victim of their caprice, and punishing ourselves on their account. Patience, in this exercise of it, cannot be too much studied by all who wish their life to flow in a smooth stream. It is the reason of a man, in opposition to the passion of a child. It is the enjoyment of peace, in opposition to uproar and confusion.

Dr. Hugh Blair, from one of whose sermons this extract is taken, was born at Edinburgh, in the year 1718. He was licensed to preach, by the presbytery of that city, in 1741. In 1762, he was appointed_professor of rhetoric and belles-lettres, in the Edinburgh University. He acquired great distinction, and was eminently useful, both as a speaker and a writer.

His sermons, and his lectures upon rhetoric, are written in a style which few authors have equalled, and which, for perspicuity and elegance, none have surpassed. He died at the age of eighty-two years.

The advice given in the extract, is very salutary. We ought to meet all the ills of life without a murmur. The above piece should be read in a colloquial manner.

114. THE DAUGHTER'S REQUEST.-Anonymous.

1. My father, thou hast not the tale denied—
They say that ere noon to-morrow,
Thou wilt bring back a radiant, smiling bride,
To our lonely house of sorrow.

2. I should wish thee joy of thy coming bliss,
But tears are my words suppressing;
I think of my mother's dying kiss,
And my mother's parting blessing.

3. Yet to-morrow I hope to hide my care;
I will still my bosom's beating
And strive to give to thy chosen fair
A kind and courteous greeting.

4. She will heed me not, in the joyous pride
Of pomp, and friends, and beauty;
Ah! little heed has a new-made bride,
Of a daughter's quiet duty.

5. Thou gavest her costly gems, they say, When thy heart first fondly sought her Dear father, one nuptial gift, I pray, Bestow on thy weeping daughter.

6. My eye even now on the treasure falls, I covet and ask no other;

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It has hung for years on our ancient walls;
'Tis the portrait of my mother!

7. To-morrow, when all is in festal guise,
And the guests our rooms are filling,
The calm, meek gaze of these hazel eyes
Might thy soul with grief be thrilling;

8. And a gloom on thy marriage banquet cast,
Sad thoughts of their owner giving;
For a fleeting twelvemonth scarce has past
Since she mingled with the living.

9. If thy bride should weary or offend,

That portrait might awaken feelings
Of the love of thy fond departed friend,
And its sweet and kind revealings;

10. Of her mind's commanding force, unchecked
By feeble and selfish weakness;
Of her speech, where dazzling intellect
Was softened by christian meekness.

11. Then, father, grant that at once, to-night,
Ere the bridal crowd's intrusion,

I remove this portrait from thy sight,
To my chamber's still seclusion.

12. It will nerve me to-morrow's dawn to bear,It will beam on me protection,

When I ask of Heaven in faltering prayer,
To hallow thy new connexion.

13. Thou wilt waken, father, in pride and glee, To renew the ties once broken;

But nought on earth remains to me,
Save this sad and silent token.

4. The husband's tears may be few and brief, He may woo and win another;

But the daughter clings in unchanging grief To the image of her mother!

115. THE UNIVERSAL PRAYER.-Pope.

1. Father of all! in every age,

In every clime, adored,

By saint, by savage, and by sage,
Jehovah, Jove, or Lord!

2. Thou great First Cause, least understood,
Who all my sense confined
To know but this, that Thou art good,
And that myself am blind;

3. Yet gave me, in this dark estate,
To see the good from ill;
And binding nature fast in fate,
Left free the human will.

4. What conscience dictates to be done,
Or warns me not to do,

This, teach me more than hell, to shun
That, more than heaven, pursue.

5. What blessings thy free bounty gives,
Let me not cast away;

For God is paid, when man receives;
To enjoy, is to obey.

6. Yet not to earth's contracted span,
Thy goodness let me bound,
Or think thee Lord alone of man,

When thousand worlds are round.

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9. Save me alike from foolish pride,
Or impious discontent,

At aught thy wisdom has denied,
Or aught thy goodness lent.

10. Teach me to feel another's wo;
To hide the fault I see;
That mercy I to others show,
That mercy show to me.

11. Mean though I am, not wholly so,
Since quicken'd by thy breath;
O, lead me wheresoe'er I go;
Through this day's life or death!

12. This day be bread and peace my lot;
All else beneath the sun,

Thou know'st if best bestow'd or not,
And let thy will be done.

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13. To thee, whose temple is all space,
Whose altar, earth, sea, skies!
One chorus let all beings raise!
All nature's incense rise.

Alexander Pope was born at London, in the year 1688. He possessed great poetical talents. His "Essay on Man" is very beautiful in language, and elaborate in disquisition. His "Universal Prayer" is a production of no ordinary merit. It should not be read in a hurried manner, and yet with earnestness. It seems to me, that a pause should be made a the end of a line in poetry, only when the construction is such as would render one proper and necessary in prose. The productions of poetica genius need no effort, on the part of the reader, to distinguish, by his elo cution, the former from the latter.

Pope was crooked, and when tauntingly told so, he would say, "God mend me.' ,, His constitution was feeble; but by abstaining from the use of intoxicating drinks, and poisonous tobacco, he lived until the 56th year f his age.

116. REFLECTIONS AT SEA.-Rev. Howard Malcom.

1. Amid the numerous discomforts of a long sea voyage, one is thrown upon his own resources, both for improvement and pleasure. But the mind, accustomed to view with intelligent and devout contemplation the works of God, can seldom be without materials, for lofty and purifying thought. And, surely the wide ocean and wider sky present a rich field, for the expatiation of our noblest thoughts.

2. Pacing the deck, or leaning against the bulwarks, towards setting sun, it would seem as though the most gross and thoughtless mind must rise, and expand, and feel delight. Far and near rolls "old ocean." Before Jehovah spread out the fairer scenery of the dry land, these restless billows swelled and sparkled, beneath the new-made firmament.

3. Thousands of years their wide less waste,

expanse remained a track

"Unconquerable, unreposed, untired,

And rolled the wild, profound, eternal bass,
In nature's anthem."

The storm then found no daring mariner to brave its fury, and the gentle breeze no repose on the fair canvass of the lordly ship. Age after age, the fowls of heaven and the tenants of the deep, held undisputed empire.

4. But now, every ocean is added to the dominion of man. He captures its rulers, he makes its surges his highway, and so dexterously adjusts his spreading canvass, as to proceed in the very face of the winds, to his desired haven. But O! how many have found in these same billows, a grave! How many a gallant ship has "sunk like lead in the mighty waters," where beauty and vigor, wealth and venerableness, learning and piety, find undistinguished graves!

5. To these lone deserts of pure waters, man pursues his brother with murderous intent; the silence is broken by thundering cannon; the billows bear away the stain of gore, and

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