to live it down by perseverance in well doing; and by praying to God, that he would cure the distempered minds of those who traduce and injure us.”

About the middle of the year 1737, he felt the first approaches of that fatal disorder which brought him. to the grave. During his afflicting and lingering illness, his constancy and firmness did not forsake him. He neither intermitted the necessary cares of life, nor forgot the proper preparations for death.

He related to a friend, with great concern, that once his patience so far gave way to extremity of pain, that, after having lain fifteen hours in exquisite tortures, he prayed to God that he might be set free by death. His friend, by way of consolation, answered, that he thought such wishes, when forced by continued and excessive torments, unavoidable, in the present state of human nature; that the best men, even Job himself, were not able to refrain from such starts of impatience. This he did not deny, but said, "He that loves God, ought to think nothing desirable, but what is most pleasing to the Supreme Good

ness.

Such were his sentiments, and such his conduct, in this state of weakness and pain. As death approached nearer, he was so far from terror or confusion, that he seemed even less sensible of pain, and more cheerful under his torments. He died, much honored and lamented, in the seventieth year of his age.

LESSON FIFTY-NINTH.
Human Frailty.

Weak and irresolute is man;
The purpose of to-day,
Woven with pains into his plan,
To-morrow rends away.

The bow well bent, and smart the spring,
Vice seems already slain;

But passion rudely snaps the string,
And it revives again.

Some foe to his upright intent
Finds out his weaker part;
Virtue engages his assent,
But pleasure wins his heart.

'T is here the folly of the wise,
Through all his art, we view;
And while his tongue the charge denies,
His conscience owns it true.

Bound on a voyage of awful length,
And dangers little known,
A stranger to superior strength,
Man vainly trusts his own.

But oars alone can ne'er prevail
To reach the distant coast;

The breath of heaven must swell the sail,
Or all the toil is lost.

LESSON SIXTIETH.

Empress Catharine.

Catharina Alexowna, born near Derpat, a little city in Livonia, was heir to no other inheritance than the virtues and frugality of her parents. Her father being dead, she lived with her aged mother, in their cottage covered with straw; and both, though very poor, were very contented.

Here, retired from the gaze of the world, by the labor of her hands, she supported her parent, who was now incapable of supporting herself. While Catharina spun, the old woman would sit by, and read some

book of devotion. When the fatigues of the day were over, both would sit down contentedly by their fireside, and enjoy their frugal meal.

Though Catharina's face and person were models of perfection, yet her whole attention seemed bestowed upon her mind. Her mother taught her to read, and an old Lutheran minister instructed her in the maxims and duties of religion. Nature had furnished her, not only with a ready, but a solid turn of thought; not only with a strong, but a right understanding.

Her virtues and accomplishments procured her several solicitations of marriage, from the peasants of the country; but their offers were refused; for she loved her mother too tenderly to think of a separation.

Catharina was fifteen years old when her mother died. She then left her cottage, and went to live with the Lutheran minister, by whom she had been instructed from her childhood. In this house she resided, in quality of governess to his children; at once reconciling, in her character, unerring prudence with surprising vivacity.

The old man, who regarded her as one of his own children, had her instructed in the elegant parts of female education, by the masters who attended the rest of his family. Thus she continued to improve, till he died; by which accident, she was reduced to her former poverty.

The country of Livonia was at that time wasted by war, and lay in a miserable state of desolation. Those calamities are ever most heavy upon the poor; wherefore, Catharina, though possessed of so many accomplishments, experienced all the miseries of hopeless indigence. Provisions becoming every day more scarce, and her private stock being entirely exhausted, she resolved, at last, to travel to Marienburgh, a city of greater plenty.

With her scanty wardrobe, packed up in a wallet, she set out on her journey, on foot. She was to walk

through a region miserable by nature, but rendered still more hideous by the Swedes and Russians, who, as each happened to become masters, plundered it at discretion; but hunger had taught her to despise the dangers and fatigues of the way.

One evening, upon her journey, as she had entered a cottage by the way side, to take up her lodging for the night, she was insulted by two Swedish soldiers. They might probably have carried their insults into violence, had not a subaltern officer, accidentally passing by, come in to her assistance.

Upon his appearing, the soldiers immediately desisted; but her thankfulness was hardly greater than her surprise, when she instantly recollected, in her deliverer, the son of the Lutheran minister, her former instructer, benefactor, and friend. This was a happy interview for Catharina.

The little stock of money she had brought from home, was by this time quite exhausted; her clothes were gone, piece by piece, in order to satisfy those who had entertained her in their houses. Her generous countryman, therefore, parted with what he could spare, to buy her clothes; furnished her with a horse; and gave her, letters of recommendation to a faithful friend of his father's, the superintendent of Marienburgh.

Down the smooth stream of life the stripling darts,
Gay as the morn: bright glows the vernal sky,
Hope swells his sails, and passion steers his course.
Safe glides his little bark along the shore,
Where virtue takes her stand; but if too far
He launches forth beyond discretion's mark,

Sudden the tempest scowls, the surges roar,
Blot his fair day, and plunge him in the deep.

The small town of Parga, on the coast of Epirus, which maintained its independence for ages, under the protection of the Venetian republic, and which boldly contested for liberty for six months against the Turks, was, by a treaty, in which the British nation was a party, ceded to their most inveterate and deadly enemies. This event took place in 1814. Stipulations of a favorable kind were made in behalf of the Parguinotes; and it was agreed, that every one, who would rather withdraw from his country, than trust to the faithless promises of Ali Pacha,-for to him, they were then ceded,-was to have the privilege of retiring, and to have the value of his property paid to him by the Albanian tyrant.

When the commissioners of Great Britain and the Porte first met to ascertain what portion of the natives chose to relinquish their country, or share in its disgrace, they were called one by one, with the greatest formality, before the two commissioners; and all, without exception, declared, that, rather than submit to the Ottoman authority, they would forever abandon their country, were they even to lose all they possessed. They added, that, in quitting the land of their birth, they would disinter, and carry away the bones of their forefathers, that they might not have to reproach themselves with having left those sacred relics to the most cruel enemies of their race.

One of the Parguinotes, (named Glanachi Zulla,) who was deaf and dumb, being interrogated, in his turn, as to the course which he proposed to take, and