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of every child to make good use of the time and privileges of instruction he may enjoy. It is pleasant to see it, for too many boys and girls wickedly misimprove their opportunities. And yet it was not all right with William. He did not consecrate his talents to the service of Him from whom he received them; he made good use of the gift, but he forgot the Giver. The best motive for exertion was wanting with him. Ile loved to do well that he might be praised, and this low principle threw a shade over all his excel lence. He must have the stimulus of very well, or he could not go on. When he gave a correct answer or recited a passage with accuracy, his black eye would glance rapidly around the school to see what was thought of it; and he was disappointed if the usual expression of surprise at his intelligence was wanting. It was not even the love of knowledge, the desire to gain what is good and useful, that excited William. It was the simple love of praise.

William had a Christian home, and the ever watchful eye of a kind father had detected this failing in his child. The little circumstance that we have related, led him to think more seriously of a fault which had already caused him much anxiety.

The remark of William, apparently so trifling, evinced an undue dependence upon an unhealthy stimulant, and the very frankness of the appeal showed how unconscious the child was

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of his fault. Most parents would have passed by the remark with a kind smile, and more emphatic very well than usual-but it touched a chord of anxiety in the wakeful breast of Mr. Morrison, and, as he silently closed the book, he determined to consider the best method of checking this weakness in time.

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The law of God had been written on the heart of little William from his earliest infancy. He abhorred the vices of lying and stealing he was above any deception, and spoke the truth from his heart; he endeavored to keep holy the Sabbath day, and to do to others as he would have them do to him. Like the young moralist in the gospel, he could say, 'all these have I kept;' but in the eye of his perfect Master there was much yet to be done. The little boy loved to be "seen of men," and to hear their pleasant words of praise. He loved to hear that his teacher had said to Mr. S—, that William Morrison was the best scholar in school; and that Mr. S had said that Mr. Morrison ought to be proud of his boy.

If teachers would only encourage their pupils to seek the favor of God, how certain they might be of securing for them the approbation of earthly friends. But instead of this, how much needless pains are taken to inspire that principle of worldly ambition, which is ever so ready to spring up of itself.

The next evening, when his family assembled around the centre table, Mr. Morrison select

ed the closing verses of the is, as well as that which is to twelfth chapter of St. John's gospel, as the subject of their usual Scripture exercise. The children loudly condemned the conduct of the chief rulers, who having seen and been convinced by the miracles of the Saviour that he was the Messiah, refused to acknowledge him before

men.

Mr. Morrison asked them what they considered the reason of this perversity on the part of the rulers. They quickly replied, "The fear of the Pharisees, who would have deprived them of their offices, had they openly declared their belief in Jesus."

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"But the Evangelist adds another reason," said Mr. Morrison, as he emphatically repeated the verse -For they loved the praise of men, more than the praise of God! You see, my children, said Mr. Morrison, "to what an extent of sin and folly, the indulgence of the love of human praise can lead men, even to the tacit denial of their Lord and Saviour. These rulers were made happy by the applause and flattery of the Pharisees, as well as kept in office by their influence, and they could not bear the thoughts of losing their good opinion, for the Holy Spirit had not taught them that there was higher favor they would gain by the sacrifice.

Our case is a different one; confession of Christ brings upon us no persecutions, or sneers, or temporal trouble. On the contrary, his followers have the promise of the 'life which now

come.' But we must carefully examine our own hearts, and see that there is in them no latent preference of the praise of man to that of the Almighty. If there is, we are denying Christ by our conduct, though we profess to believe on him. We must all think seriously of this, and when we are trying to do well, let it be from some higher motive, than to gain the smiles and favor and flattering remarks of our friends; for if these are our first object, we are placing man before God in our affections."

It was now the hour of evening prayer, and the family assembled around the domestic altar. The father prayed that, as his children grew in years, they might, like their divine Lord, grow in favor with God and man; "but," he fervently added, "let thy approbation, most Holy Father, be ever the supreme object of their desire."

William had not spoken during the latter part of the Scripture lesson, and immediately after prayers, took his lamp and retired to his chamber.

The next day, when walking with his father, he said to him, "Father, I have been thinking about the passage of Scripture you read to us last evening. I am afraid I am like the chief rulers, for I love the praise of man very much. I was never conscious of it before, but now I see that I have been trying to study well, and be a good boy, only to be praised by my friends, without thinking whether God

would be pleased or not; and I

never considered how
this
wrong
was before. How, dear father,
can I rise above this fault? 1
thought, at first, that it was only
about a few things that I in-
dulged it, but I fear it mingles
with every thing I do."

"I am thankful, my dear boy,
that you are convinced of your
error," replied Mr. Morrison. "I
have observed it with pain, and
it was with reference to you
that I made the remarks of last
evening. You ask how you can
correct your fault. I know of
but one way.
Go to God, the
Fountain of all strength, and ask
for a heart to desire his appro-
bation supremely. Then, when
you try to excel, let it be with
the hope of obtaining the smile
of your heavenly Father, and
you will be sure of receiving
that of your earthly parents.
Be more anxious to merit than
to exact praise, and be satisfied
to do well, even if no person
knows it." If we think of our
Saviour's words, Wo unto
you when all men speak well of

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THE NAZARENE.

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[In the colleges of New England it is customary for the students to form societies, which celebrate their anniversaries by a public assembly, at which literary exercises are performed by members appointed for the purpose. The following article is the substance of a poem, delivered on such an occasion, which occurred We insert it for many years ago. our younger readers, with the consent of the author, who seemed almost to have forgotten that such an article existed, until we asked permission to insert it here, having found it among some old college papers, and remembering the strong and agreeable impression it made upon its auditors at the time of its delivery by the youthful poet. EDS.] o tell us no more of the far fairy land, Where the blue wave rolls over the gold bed

of sand,

Where the elfin race dance on the sunbeams

of day,

And the whole year is crowned with the ver

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bliss!

this.

you,' we shall not desire to hear For I know of a land far more lovely than the voice of praise from every side.

"You are now convinced of your fault," continued Mr. Morrison, and have expressed a wish to correct it. This is the first step; now take the second, after seeking strength to do so. Go simply about your duty, remembering that God's all-seeing eye is upon you, and that you must give an account to Him of the use you have made of the time and talents committed to C. S. F. your care."

The banks of the Jordan are greener,
And Palestine's sky is serener,

And softer the murmur of Galilee's wave;
More shady the bowers,
And sweeter the flowers,

Which perennial bloom o'er the Nazarene's

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And that the place on which he humbly died, Should be more sacred still than every spot beside?

No son of a monarch born heir to a throne;
Nor warrior to gain one by skill of his own;
No Cræsus in riches, on whom fortune smiled;
This famed Nazarene was a poor peasant's
child.

On that blest and sacred morn,
When the lovely babe was born,
Angels came from heaven to earth,
To celebrate his wondrous birth.
Yes, and on that very night,
An eastern star of mildest light,
Showed the wise men where to find
The promised Saviour of mankind.
We need not now attempt to tell,
Where stood the peasant's humble cell,
And where this wondrous child did dwell

In infancy;

When in its mother's arms it smiled,
How oft that mother blessed the child,
And many a cheerless hour beguiled
In fondest care.

But sure his birth-place well might show
His parents' walk in life was low,
And he was born an heir to woe

And penury.

While fostered by his parents' care,
In humble life, mid homely fare,
Belike no learned men came there

To instruct the child.

As grows the wild plant of the wood,
That cultureless has always stood,
Nor pruned to make it straight and good,
So grew his mind.

But where do we find him at twelve years of age?

In childish employments does this child engage?

He's gone to Jerusalem, where the rich feast Is spread by the Pharisee, Scribe, and High Priest.

That festival's o'er, and the parents again Are on the way homeward to Galilee's plain; But lo! their surprise, when at evening they find

There, where the far famed Jewish temple shone,

In mean apparel clad, this child had roamed

alone.

And, while he sat, and heard the council speak,

Such look he cast, now so divinely meek,
And now sedate, now so severely grave,
Such questions now he asked, and now such
answers gave,

That wonder seized them all,
Who thronged that temple hall,
For ne'er before did fall
From human lips,
Words so divinely wise;
And ne'er had mortal eyes
Been seen, below the skies,

To cast such look.

The Pharisee trembled at what he saw, The hypocritic Scribe and Priest were filled with awe.

See, yonder vessel spreads her sail, Before the soft and cheering gale, And, as a bird through ether glides, O'er curling waters gently rides. But ab the perils of that hour! For soon the sky begins to lower; The winds are high, the billows roar, And all around is awful gloom; The vessel reels; a moment more Would plunge her in the watery tomb. That moment, through the mist is seen The meek, the wandering Nazarene. He stood on wave, and, extending his hand, He bade the poor mariner be of good cheer, He stood on a wave, and with awful command, He bade the rude elements cease their career; The waters heard the high behest, And calmly sunk again to rest.

Hark! the sad strain of that lunatic's scream, From the pale of yon grave-yard now peals on

the ear;

Like the shriek of one waked from a terrific dream,

'Tis wild as despair, and as painful as fear.

The child that came with them had tarried See, where he flies to the desert alone,

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Ere the fiends of his phrensy had fled like the wind,

O heavens! what object meets my palsied

eye?

And the sunshine of reason played over his That Nazarene is nailed upon a tree;

mind.

That beggar! hapless child of woe,
His eyes have ne'er beheld the light,
Day shuns him wheresoe'er he go,
His life is one continued night.
That beggar, where those cross-ways meet,
Has groped his way to a lonely seat;
With outstretched hands and suppliant air,
Implores the stranger passing there,
Of his abundance to bestow,
Small pittance on a child of woe.
The Nazarene came nigh,
And heard his prayerful sigh,

And kindly said, "Receive thy sight."
That moment, with surprise,
The beggar lifts his eyes,

And learns new joys of life and light.

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sleeping."

Christian, draw near, and see him bleed and die ;

Behold his wounds and cruel agony;

They pierced his side; the life-blood gushed;
His head is bowed; his voice is hushed;
The winds have stolen his vital breath;
His lifted eye is fixed in death.
Christian, does thy faith now fail thee?
Now thy Saviour 's in the tomb?
Say, do fears and doubts assail thee?
Art thou overwhelmed with gloom?
No, for yonder see him rise,
Triumphant from the shades of even,
Far above those azure skies,

To the pearly gates of heaven.

And hear him from his throne declare,
In heaven he ever lives to meet thee there.

THE BLACK CAT.

Mary. I love our large black cat very much, and I am sure she loves me very much too. Mamma says she thinks you were mistaken, John, when you said that cats had no affection in them. I am sure black Tabby has a great deal of affection for me, and a great deal of gratitude too, for all the milk I give her; you know she always jumps upon me first, when she comes into the room, on a summer's evening, after she has been watching us at work in our gardens.

George. Tabby does not take any notice of me in general; but

"And thou, youthful damsel, awake from thy last year, when we returned from London, I remember she showed She wakes, she moves, she breathes, she great delight on seeing me

The life-blood crimsons o'er her cheeks;

speaks.

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again.

Mary. I am sure she is a most affectionate creature, and is more sensible than a grey cat. What a clever way she has of opening the back door of the kitchen. She climbs up the wall, puts

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