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4 never his mirih, his diversion, his solace ; it never makes him young again, with recalling his young times. The children of the very poor have no young times. It makes the very heart to bleed to overhear the casual street-talk between a poor woman and her little girl--a woman of the better sort of poor, in a condition rather above the squalid beings which we have been contemplating. It is not of toys, of nursery books, of summer holydays (fitting that age,) of the promised sight, or play: os praised sufficiency

at school. It is of mangling* and clear-starching, of the 5 price of coals, or of potatoes. The questions of the child,

that should be the very outpourings of curiosity in idleness, are marked with forecast and melancholy providence. It has coine to be a“ woman, before it was a child. It has learned to go to market; it chaffers, it haggles, it envies, it murmurs; it is knowing, acute, sharpened ;-it never prattles. Had we not reason to say, that the home of the very poor is no home?

How beautiful is night!
A dewy freshness fills the silent air,
No mist obscures, nor cloud, nor speck, nor stain,

· Breaks the serene of heaven:
In full-orbed glory yonder moon divine
Rolls through the dark blue clepths.

Beneath her steady ray,

The desert circle spreads,
Like the round ocean, girdled with the sky;

How beautiful is night!
Who, at this untimely hour,
Wanders o'er the desert sands?"

No station is in view,
Nor palm-grove islanded amid the waste.

The mother and her child;
The widowed mother and the fatherless boy

They, at this untimely hour
Wander o'er the desert sands. — Southey.

* Mangling, an operation with clothes used instead of ironing.

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LESSON LXIII.
Death of Saul and Jonathan, and David's Lamenta-

tion.-BIBLE. I Now the Philistines fought against Israel, and the men of Israel fled from before the Philistines, and fell down slain in Mount Gilboa. And the Philistines followed hard upon Saul and upon his sons; and the Philistines slew Jonathan, and Abinadab and Malchi-shua, Saul's sons. And the battle went sore against Saul, and the archers hit him ; and he was sore wounded of the archers. Then said Saul

unto his armor-bearer, Draw thy sword, and thrust me · through therewith; lest these uncircumcised come and

thrust me through, and abuse me. But his armor-bearer 2 would not: for he was sore afraid. Therefore Saul took

a sword, and sell upon it. And when his armor-bearer saw that Saul was dead, he fell likewise upon his sword, and died with him. So Saul died, and his three sons, and his armor-bearer, and all his mcn, that same day together.

And when the men of Israel that were on the other side of the valley, and they that were on the other side Jordan saw that the men of Israel fled, and that Saul and his sons were dead, they forsook the cities, and fled; and the Phil

istines came and dwelt in them. And it came to pass on 3 the morrow, when the Philistines came to strip the slain, that they found Saul and his three sons fallen in Mount Gilboa.' And they cut off his head, and stripped off his armor, and sent into the land of the Philistines round about, to publish it in the house of their idols, and among the people. And they put his armor in the house of Ashtaroth : and they fastened his body to the wall of Beth-shan.

And when the inhabitants of Jabesh-gilead heard of that which the Philistines had done to Saul, all the val

iant men arose, and went all night, and took the body of 4 Saul, and the bodies of his sons from the wall of Beth

shan, and came to Jabesh, and burnt them there. And they took their bones, and buried them under a tree at Jabesh, and fasted seven days.

Now it came to pass on the third day, that behold, a man came out of the camp from Saul, with his clothes rent and earth upon his head : and so it was, when he came to David, that he fell to the earth, and did obeisance. And Da

vid said unto him, From whence comest thou? And lie

said unto him, Out of the camp of Israel am I escaped. And 5 David said unto him, How went the matter? I pray thee,

tell me. And he answered, That the people are fled from the battle, and many of the people also are fallen and dead; and Saul and Jonathan his son are dead also. And David said unto the young man that told him, How knowest thou that Saul and Jonathan his son be dead? And the young man that told him said, As I happened by chance upon Mount Gilboa, behold Saul leaned upon his spear; and lo, the chariots and horsemen followed hard after him. And

when he looked behind him, he saw me, and called unto

6 me. And I answered, Here am I. And he said unto Come, Who art thou? And I answered him, I am an Ama

lekite. He said unto me again, Stand, I pray thee, upon me, and slay me : for anguish is come upon me, because my life is yet whole in me. So I stood upon him, and slew hiin, because I was sure that he could not live after that he was fallen : and I took the crown that was upon his head, and the bracelet that was on his arın, and have brought them hither unto my lord. Then David took hold

on his clothes, and rent them; and likewise all the men 7 that were with him : And they mourned and wept, and fast

ed until even, for Saul and for Jonathan his son, and for the people of the Lord, and for the house of Israel; because they were fallen by the sword.

And David lamented with this lamentation over Saul, and over Jonathan his son: The beauty of Israel is slain upon thy high places : how are the mighty fallen! Tell it not in Gath, publish it not in the streets of Askelon ; lest the daughters of the Philistines rejoice, lest the daughters of the uncircumcised triumph. Ye mountains of Gilboa, let 8there be no dew, neither let there be rain upon you, nor

fields of offerings : for there the shield of the mighty is vilely cast away, the shield of Saul, as though he had not been anointed with oil. From the blood of the slain, from the fat of the mighty, the bow of Jonathan turned not back, and the sword of Saul returned not empty. Saul and Jonathan were lovely and pleasant in their lives, and in their death they were not divided : they were swifter than eagles, they were stronger than lions. Ye daughters of Israel, weep over Saul, who clothed you in scarlet, with

9 other delights; who put on ornaments of gold upon your apparel. How are the mighty fallen in the midst of the batile ! 0 Jonathan, thou wast slain in thy high places. I am distressed for thee, my brother Jonathan: very pleasant hast thou been unto me: thy love to me was wonderful, passing the love of women. How are the mighty fallen, and the weapons of war perished!

LESSON LXIV.

On receiving his Mother's Picture.-CowPER.
1 My mother! when I learned that thou wast dead,

Say, wast thou conscious of the tears I shed ?
Hovered thy spirit o'er thy sorrowing son,
Wretch even then, life's journey just begun?
Perhaps thou gav'st me, though unfelt, a kiss;
Perhaps a tear, if souls can weep in bliss-
Ah, that maternal smile! it answers—Yes.
I heard the bell tolled on thy burial day,
I saw the hearse that bore thee slow away,

And, turning from my nursery window, drew 2 A long, long sigh, and wept a last adieu!

But was it such ?--It was.--Where thou art gone,
Adieus and farewells are a sound unknown.
May I but meet thee on that peaceful shore,
The parting word shall pass my lips no more.
Thy maidens, grieved themselves at my concern,
Oft gave me promise of thy quick return.
What ardently I wished, I long believed,
And, disappointed still, was still deceived;

By expectation every day beguiled,
3 Dupe of to-morrow even from a child.

Thus many a sad to-morrow came and went,
Till all my stock of infant sorrows spent,
I learned, at last, submission to my lot,
But, though I less deplored thee, ne'er forgot.

Where once we dwelt our name is heard no more,
Children not thine have trod my nursery floor;

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And where the gardener Robin, day by day
Drew me to school along the public way,

Delighted with my bauble-coach, and wrapped 4 In scarlet mantle warm, and velvet capped,

'Tis now become a history little known,
That once we called the pastoral house our own.
Short-lived possession! but the record fair,
That memory keeps of all thy kindess there,
Still outlives many a storm, that has effaced
A thousand other themes less deeply traced.
Thy nightly visits to my chamber made,
That thou might'st know me safe and warmly laid.

Thy morning bounties ere I left my home, 5 The biscuit or confectionary plum ;

The fragrant waters on my cheeks bestowed
By thy own hand, till fresh they shone and glowed :-
All this, and, more endearing still than all,
Thy constant flow of love that knew no fall,
Ne'er roughened by those cataracts and breaks,
That humour interposed too often makes ;--
All this, still legible in memory's page,
And still to be so to my latest age,

Adds joy to duty, makes me glad to pay
6 Such honours to thee as my numbers may ;-

Perhaps a frail memorial, but sincere,
Not scorned in heaven, though litttle noticed here.

Could time, his slight reversed, restore the hours,
When, playing with thy vesture's tissued flowers, -
The violet, the pink, and jessamine,
I pricked them into paper with a pin
(And thou wast happier than myself the while,
Wouldst softly speak, and stroke my head, and smile)-

Could those few pleasant days again appear, 7 Might one wish bring them, would I wish them here?

I would not trust my heart—the dear delight
Seems so to be desired, perhaps I might.
But no-what here we call our life is such
So little to be loved, and thou so much,
That I should ill requite thee to constrain
Thy unbound spirit into bonds again.

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