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5 hath devoured thy living with harlots, thou hast killed for him the fatted calf. And he said unto him, Son, thou art ever with me; and all that I have is thine. It was meet that we should make merry, and be glad : for this thy brother was dead, and is alive again ; and was lost, and is found.

.::1 And one of the Pharisees desired him that he would eat

with him. And he went into the Pharisce's house, and sat down to meat. And behold, a woman in the city, which was a sinner, when she knew that Jesus sat at meat in the Pharisee's house, brought an alabaster box of ointment, and stood at his feet behind him weeping, and began to wash his feet with tears, and did wipe them with the hairs of her head, and kissed his feet, and anointed them with the ointment. Now, when the Pharisee which had bidden him, saw it, he spake within himself, saying, This man, if 2 he were a prophet, would have known who, and what manner of woman this is that toucheth him : for she is a sinner. And Jesus answering, said unto him, Simon, I have somewhat to say unto thee. And he saith, Master, say on. There was a certain creditor, which had two debtors ; the one owed five hundred pence, and the other fifty. And when they had nothing to pay, he frankly forgave them both. Tell me, therefore, which of them will love him most? Simon answerod and said, I suppose that he, to

whom he forgave most. And he said unto him, Thou hasi 8 rightly judged. And he turned to the woman, and said unto Simon, Seest thou this woman? I entered into thy house, thou gavest me no water for my feet: but she hath washed my feet with tears, and wiped them with the hairs of her head. Thou gavest me no kiss : but this woman since the time I came in, hath not ceased to kiss my feet. My head with oil thou didst not anoint: but this woman hath anointed my feet with ointment. Wherefore, I say unto thee, Her sins, which are many, are forgiven; for she

loved much: but to whom little is forgiven, the same loveth 4 little. And he said unto her, Thy sins are forgiven. And they that sat at meat with him, began to say within them. selves, who is this that forgiveth sins also ? And he said to the woman, Thy faith hath saved thee; go in peace.

LESSON LXXX.

Allamont.--YOUNG. 1 The sad evening before the death of the noble youth, whose last hours suggested the most solemn and awful reflections, I was with him. No one was present, but his physician, and an intimate whom he loved, and whom he had ruined. At my coming in, he said, " You and the physician are come too late. I have neither life nor hope. You both aim at miracles.--You would raise the dead !” “Heaven,” I said, “ was merciful”—“ Or,” exclaimed he,“I could not have been thus guilty. What has it not done to bless and to save me! I have been too strong for Omnip2 otence! I have plucked down ruin !" I said, “ The blessed Redeemer”-“Hold! hold! you wound me! That is the rock on which I split : I denied his name !"

Refusing to hear any thing from me, or take any thing from the physician, he lay silent, as far as sudden darts of pain would perinit, till the clock struck : then, with vehemence he exclaimed, “Oh time! time! it is fit thou shouldst thus strike thy murderer to the heart! How art thou fled for ever !-a month! oh for a single week! I ask not for years, though an age were too little for the much I 3 have to do!" On my saying we could not do too much.

that heaven was a blessed place,--.“ So much the worse 'Tis lost ! 'tis lost! Heaven is to me the severest part of hell!” Soon after, I proposed prayer :-“ Pray you that can; I never prayed. I can not pray—nor need I. Is not Heaven on my side already? It closes with my conscience Its severest strokes but second my own.”

Observing that his friend was much touched at this, even to tears—(who could forbear? I could not)—with a most affectionate look, he said, “ Keep those tears for thyself. 1 4 have undone thee! Dost thou weep for me? That is cruel,

What can pain me more ?” Here his friend, too much affectod, would lave left him : "No, stay-thou still mayst hope ; therefore hear me. How madly have I talked! how madly hast thou listened and believed ! but look on my present state, as a full answer to thee, and to myself. This body is all weakness and pain; but my soul, as if stung up by torment to greater strength and spirit, is full powerful to reason-full mighty to suffer. And that which thus triumphs within the jaws of immortality, is, doubtless, im5 mortal. And as for a Deity, nothing less than an Almighty could inflict what I feel.”

I was about to congratulate this passive, involuntary confessor, on his asserting the two prime articles of his creed, extorted by the rack of nature, when he thus very passionately exclaimed :-“ No, no! let me speak on; I have not long to speak... My much-injured friend ! my soul, as my body, lies in ruins--in scattered fragments of broken thought! Remorse for the past, throws my thought on the

future. Worse dread of the future strikes it back on the 6 past. I turn, and turn, and find no ray. Didst thou feel half the mountain that is on me, thou wouldst struggle with the martyr for his stake, and bless Heaven for the flames! --that is not an everlasting flame; that is not an unquenchable fire.” How were we struck! yet soon after, still more. With what an eye of distraction, what a face of despair, he cried out, “My principles have poisoned my friend ; my extravagance has beggared my boy! my unkindness has murdered my wife! And is there another hell ? Oh! thou

blasphemed, yet indulgent Lord God! hell itself is a ref7 uge, if it hide me from thy frown !"

Soon after his understanding failed. His terrified imagination uttered horrors not to be repeated, or ever forgotten ; and ere the sun (which, I hope, has seen few like him) arose, -the gay, young, noble, ingenious, accomplished, and most wretched Altamont expired!

is tnis is a man of pleasure, what is a man of pain ? How quick, how total, is the transit of such persons! In what a dismal gloom they set for ever! How short, alas ! the day of their rejoicing! For a momer.t they glitter-they 8 dazzle! In a moment where are they? Oblivion covers their memories. Ah, would it did! Infamy snatches them from oblivion. In the long 'iving annals of infamy their triumphs are recorded.

Thy sufferings, poor Altamont! still bleed in the bosom of the heart-stricken friend—for Altamont had a friend. He might have had many. His transient morning might have been the dawn of an immortal day ; his name might have been gloriously enrolled in the records of eternity ; his memory might have left a sweet fragrance behind it, grateful to the surviving friend, salutary to the succeeding gen

9 eration. With what capacity was he endowed! with what

advantages for being greatly good! But with the talents of an angel, a man may be a fool. If he judge amiss in the supreme point, judging aright in all else, but aggravates his folly; as it shows him wrong, though blessed with the best capacity of being right.

Sure 'tis a serious thing to die :—my soul!
What a strange moment must it be, when near
Thy journey's end, thou hast the gulf in view!
That awful gulf no mortal e'er repassed,
To tell what's doing on the other side.
Nature runs back and shudders at the sight,
And every life-string bleeds at thought of parting-
For part they must; body and soul must part,
Fond couple, linked more close than wedded pair.
This wings its way to its Almighty Source,
The witness of its actions, now its judge;
That drops into the dark and noisome grave,
Like a disabled pitcher of no use.—Blair.

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Into so small a character
Removed far from our human sight;

But, if we steadfast look

We shall discern
In it, as in some holy book,
How man may heavenly knowledge learn.

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1 And is there care in heaven? and is there love

In heavenly spirits to these creatures base,
That may compassion of their evils move?

There is : else, much more wretched were the case

Of men than beasts. But, oh! the exceeding grace
Of highest God! that loves his creatures so,

And all his works with mercy doth embrace,
That blessed angels he sends to and fro,
To serve to wicked man,--to serve his wicked foe.

2 How oft do they their silver bowers leave,

To come to succor us, that succor want!
How oft do they with golden pinions, cleave

The flitting skies, like flying pursuivant,

Against foul fiends to aid us militant!
They for us fight, they watch and duly ward,
* And their bright squadrons round about us plant,
And all for love, and nothing for reward :
Oh! why should heavenly God to man have such

regard

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