A voice to make the Christian thrill? "Hold on, thy station keep Let pure Religion's banner wave, O could the men who lived and died power Then would their voice conjure thee loud, Thou man of God, to stand, Untired, unwavering, unbowed, But ever lovely land. But mightier than the rising dead, And Freedom shall increase, Nobler than Athens ever knew, With holiness and peace! O, is there not some yearning mind In thy own native land, Fired, raptured, strengthened, and refined, By Grecian works, of all mankind Most beautiful and grand; By those deep thoughts and glowing words Which holy prophets blent In that dear language which the birds Their richest carols lent; Some gifted mind that will not rest Nor smother in its heaving breast The heaven-enkindled flame; Till the free spirit of our sires, Shall reïllume with holier fires, The land, whence world-enchanting lyres, And laws, and Freedom came? Stand fast, lone sentinel of Truth, Thy station as in youth! What though as yet our feeble age Can yield no prophet, bard, or sage, A champion for the time The day shall come when thou shalt see A chosen band along with theeAnd Greece, evangelized and free, Shine glorious and sublime! When Superstition's horrid lair, That sullen hag with serpent hair, Shall never more pollute the air Of that resplendent clime! Hold on! thy station keep, On Sunium's sea-dividing steep, LESSON CXXV. The Little Boy and his Ha'penny.-CHARLESTON COURIER. I was standing one day, in a retired part of Westminster Abbey, looking at the monuments, when I saw a little boy come in, of about ten or eleven years old. He was one of the sweetest and prettiest children I ever beheld. His fine countenance was bright with expectation, and lifted up with smiles of anticipated enjoyment. There was something so engaging in his appearance, that I continued to follow him with my eyes, as he went about surveying the different objects that presented themselves to his view. After having looked about for some time, a slight shade of melancholy passed over his brow, like a cloud dimming the mild lustre of a beautiful spring morning. The expectation, the curiosity, the anticipated enjoyment had fled. They had gradually yielded to that subdued and chastened feeling, which the holy stillness of the place, and the mournful memorials of departed souls, conspire to produce in every generous bosom. In the hurry of his entrance, he had not thought of taking off his hat but it seemed as if it now occurred to him, that there was an impropriety in wearing it in such a place; and he took it off with so reverent a bearing, that I almost fancied the words of the patriarch, "How dreadful is this place! This is none other but the house of God; and this is the gate of Heaven," were passing through his mind. He moved as if fearful of breaking the solemn silence that reigned within the sacred walls. There was one monument which he seemed to regard with peculiar interest. It was erected to the memory of Wm. Wragg, of South Carolina; representing in bas-relief, the melancholy shipwreck of that gentleman, and his little son floating ashore, on a raft, hastily constructed by his faithful servant. He next contemplated that of the unfortunate Andrè; apparently with much sympathy: but I area. was surprised to see him become suddenly agitated, stamp his foot on the ground, and turn away with indignation. I knew not, at the moment, the right he had to be indignant at the outrage committed by some Goth, in striking off the arm of the figure of General Washington. But soon the little ruffled visage became calm again, and settled into its wonted loveliness; and, as he passed slowly from object to object, his features assumed more and more of sedateness, until at length they exhibited a perfect picture of pensive contemplation. The sad lesson of mortality told from every tomb, had touched his tender heart. He became affected. He turned to go away; and was retiring with slow and measured steps, when his eye caught the charity-box, that stood in the middle of the He stopped. There was evidently something at work within him. There was a moral association going on. There were the tombs, and there was the charity-box. He regarded them alternately; he looked, and mourned the dead. He looked and felt compassion for the living; and while two pearly drops forced their way, beneath his beautiful eyelashes, the smile of an angel played upon his lips. His little hand instinctively insinuated itself into his little pocket, and drew forth a ha'penny. "It is all I have," said he. He cast a scrutinizing glance, to see whether he was observed; stepped up to the mute solicitor for the poor, and dropped into it his pure offering of benevolence. The humble coin fell to the bottom of the empty box with a sound that was reverberated through the lofty vault; and the receding echoes, as they grew fainter and fainter, seemed like the sweet accents of the blessed, whispering peace. In a transport of delight, I exclaimed, "Here is a deed worthy of Westminster Abbey!" and ran from my concealment, and clasped the little philanthropist in my arms. "And why were you ashamed?" said I. "I was afraid they would laugh at me," said he. "Laugh at thee! O! world, world! how often has thy senseless laugh put modest virtue out of countenance!" I slipped a half-crown into his hand, and told him to remember the strange gentleman whom he had met in the abbey. "I will take it," said he, "if you will let me put it in the charitybox too." "Thou shalt sanctify the gift," I replied-so hand in hand we walked up to the charity-box. My own reflections. the utter seclusion of the busy world, the still repose of the silent tenants of the grave, the dim twilight of the ancient pile, where tonsured monks once chanted the solemn hymn, and bore their glimmering tapers, together with the superadded tenderness inspired by the pure sacrifice of a little innocent heart, that I had just witnessed, all combined to press upon me with such softening influences, that I was upon the point of giving vent to emotions of the deepest feeling. As it was, I felt my heart uplifted—I looked up; a tear of pious joy glistened in his eye as he dropped the piece. It fell upon the ha'penny, the silver sound united with the brass, and ascended to Heaven in holy euphony. - We walked together to the door of the abbey, and, as we stood in the street about to separate, I asked him his name. He told it he was an American; he had been sent to England for education. - We parted, and I never saw him more. Whenever my spirits are depressed, or my temper becomes ruffled by the collisions of life, I call up the remembrance of this little boy and his ha'penny, and it never fails to soothe my distempered feelings, and to restore to me my good will to mankind. Drunkenness. JEREMY TAYLOR. AND now, after all this, I pray consider, what a strange madness and prodigious folly possess many men, that they love to swallow death and diseases and dishonor, with an appetite which no reason can restrain. We expect our servants should not dare to touch what we have forbidden to |