husband, rest his soul, used to say, "Molly, you are as patient as Job', though you never had any children to lose, as he had." F. T. Job was a model of patience, madam, and few could lose their all with so much resignation. Mrs. C. Ah, sir', that is too true'; for even the small · loss I have suffered, overwhelms me! F. T. The loss of property, madam, comes home to the bosom of the best of us. Mrs. C. Yes, sir; and when the thing lost can not be replaced, it is doubly distressing. When my poor, good man, on our wedding day, gave me the ring, "Keep it, Molly," said he, "till you die, for my sake." And now, that I should have lost it, after keeping it thirty years, and locking it up so carefully all the time, as I did— F. T. We can not be too careful in this world, madam; our best friends often deceive us. Mrs. C. True, sir, true, but who would have thought that the child I took, as it were, out of the street, and brought up as my own, could have been guilty of such ingratitude? She never would have touched what was not her own, if her vagabond lover had not put her up to it. F. T. Ah, madam, ingratitude is the basest of all crimes! Mrs. C. Yes; but to think that the impudent creature should deny she took it, when I saw it in the possession of that wretch myself. F. T. Impudence, madam, usually accompanies crime. But my time is precious, and the star that rules your destiny will set, and your fate be involved in darkness, unless I proceed to business immediately. The star informs me, madam, that you are a widow. Mrs. C. La! sir, were you acquainted with my deceased husband? F. T. No, madam; we do not receive our knowledge by Thy name is Mary, and thy dwelling-place is such means. Boston. Mrs. C. Some spirit must have told you this, for certain. F. T. This is not all, madam. You were married at the age of twenty years, and were the sole heir of your deceased husband. Mrs. C. I perceive, sir, you know every thing. F. T. Madam, I can not help knowing what I do know; I must therefore inform you that your adopted daughter, in the dead of night— Mrs. C. No, sir; it was in the day-time. F. T. Do not interrupt me, madam. In the dead of night, your adopted daughter planned the robbery which deprived you of your wedding-ring. Mrs. C. No earthly being could have told you this, for I never let my right hand know that I possessed it, lest some evil should happen to it. F. T. Hear me, madam; you have come all this distance to consult the fates, and find your ring. Mrs. C. You have guessed my intention exactly, sir. F. T. Guessed'! madam'. I know this is your object; and I know, moreover, that your ungrateful daughter has incurred your displeasure, by receiving the addresses of a worthless man. Mrs. C. Every word is gospel truth. F. T. This man has persuaded your daughter Mrs. C. I knew he did, I told her so. But good sir, can you tell me who has the ring? F. T. This young man has it. Mrs. C. But he denies it. F. T. No matter, madam, he has it. Mrs. C. But how shall I obtain it again? F. T. The law points out the way, madam,—it is my business to point out the rogue,—you must catch him. Mrs. C. You are right, sir,-and if there is law to be had, I will spend every cent I own, but I will have it. I knew he was the robber, and I thank you for the information. [Going.] F. T. But thanks, madam, will not pay for all my nightly vigils, consultations, and calculations. Mrs. C. Oh, right, sir! I forgot to pay you. What am I indebted to you? F. T. Only five dollars, madam. Mrs. C. [Handing him the money,] There it is, sir. I would have paid twenty rather than not have found the ring. F. T. I never take but five, madam. Farewell, madam, your friend is at the door with your chaise. [He leaves the room.] [Enter, Friend.] Friend. Well, Mary, what does the fortune-teller say? Mrs. C. Oh, he told me I was a widow, and lived in Boston, and had an adopted daughter,—and, Friend. But you knew all this before, did you not? Mrs. C. Yes; but how should he know it? He told me, too, that I had lost a ring,— Friend. Did he tell you where to find it? Mrs. C. Oh yes! he says that fellow has it, and I must go to law and get it, if he will not give it up. think of that? What do you Friend. It is precisely what any fool could have told you. But how much did you pay for this precious information? Mrs. C. Only five dollars. Friend. How much was the ring worth? Mrs. C. Why, two dollars, at least. Friend. Then you have paid ten dollars for a chaise to bring you here, five dollars for the information that you had already, and all this to gain possession of a ring not worth one quarter of the expense! Mrs. C. Oh, the rascal! how he has cheated me! I will go to the world's end but I will be revenged. Friend. You had better go home, and say nothing about for every effort to recover your money, will only expose your folly. it ; QUESTIONS.-1. What had Mrs. Credulous said, by which the fortuneteller knew all the circumstances relative to the loss of her ring? 2. How was she told she must get her ring? 3. What did she pay the fortuneteller? 4. How much for the chaise? 5. What was her ring worth? 6. Was she a bright dame? LESSON LXVII. UN FAL' TER ING, steady. CON TENT MENT, satisfaction. CON' FI DENCE, faith; reliance. FRU I" TION, realization; enjoyment. 1 AL' LE GO RY is a word of Greek origin. It is made up of two parts; ALL, other; and EGORY, discourse; the literal meaning of the compound being, discourse about other things; that is, things other than those expressed by the words, literally interpreted. Allegory is, therefore, the genaral name for that class of compositions, as Fables, Apologues. Parables, and Myths, in which there is a double signification one literal and the other figurative; the literal being designed merely to give a more clear and impressive view of that which is figurative. FAITH, HOPE, AND CHARITY.-AN ALLEGORY.1 1. MANY years ago, three beautiful sisters came into our world to lighten the burdens of earth's toiling pilgrims, and aid them in preparation for a higher state of existence. Alike commissioned by the Great Father, they were sent on errands of mercy, and were not to turn away from scenes of darkness, sorrow, and suffering. 2. FAITH had a firm, unfaltering step; HOPE, a beaming eye, ever turned to the future; and LOVE, a pitying glance, and a helping hand. They journeyed confidingly together; and when they found a stricken being in danger of perishing by the wayside, FAITH Soothingly whispered, "My Father doeth all things well;" HOPE pointed to the cooling shade just in advance; and LOVE assisted him to rise, and aided his feeble steps. 3. Groups of fair children played near the path in which they were traveling. Some of these did not understand the tones of FAITH; but they all listened eagerly to the alluring strains of HOPE, who painted brighter scenes than those they were enjoying, and flowers more fragrant than any they yet had gathered. LOVE delighted to linger with the youthful band, lessening their trials, and increasing their pleasures. 4. Her gentle touch arrested the little hand that was lifted against a playmate, and her soothing voice calmed the angry passions which were swelling in the bosom. When a child stumbled in the way, she tenderly raised it up again, or when a thorn pierced the unwary finger, she kindly removed it, and bound up the bleeding wound. 5. While the sisters were busy in their appropriate mission, a pale-cheeked lad mingled with the group of merry children, though too weak to share their sports. FAITH stole to his side, and whispered of the great Parent above, |