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write?" The secretary could only say, "Ah, sire, the bomb!" " Well," replied the king, "what has the bomb to do with the letter I am dictating to you? Go on."

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The clock strikes one: we take no note of time,

But from its loss.

Is wise in man.

To give it then a tongue,
As if an angel spoke,

I feel the solemn sound. If heard aright,
It is the knell of my departed hours;

Where are they? with the years beyond the flood;
It is the signal that demands despatch;

How much is to be done! my hopes and fears
Start up alarmed, and o'er life's narrow verge
Look down-on what? a fathomless abyss;
A dread eternity! how surely mine!
And can eternity belong to me,

Poor pensioner on the bounties of an hour?

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A great inundation having taken place in the north of Italy, owing to an excessive fall of snow in the Alps, followed by a speedy thaw, the bridge near Verona was carried off by the flood, except the middle part, on which was the house of the toll gatherer, who, with his whole family, thus remained imprisoned by the waves, and in momentary danger of destruction.

They were discovered from the banks, stretching forth their hands, screaming, and imploring succor,

while fragments of this remaining arch were continually dropping into the water.

In this extreme danger, a nobleman who was present, held out a purse of one hundred sequins, as a reward to any adventurer who would take a boat and deliver the unhappy family.

But the risk was so great, of being borne down by the rapidity of the stream, of being dashed against the fragments of the bridge, or of being crushed by the falling stones, that not one, in the vast number of spectators, had courage enough to attempt such an exploit. A peasant, passing along, was informed of the proffered reward. Immediately jumping into a boat, he, by strength of oars, gained the middle of the river, brought his boat under the pile, and the whole family safely descended by means of a rope. "Courage!" cried he; now you are safe." By a still more strenuous effort, and great strength of arm, he brought the boat and family to the shore.

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"Brave fellow!" exclaimed the nobleman, handing him the purse, "here is the promised recompense. "I shall never expose my life for money," answered the peasant; my labor is a sufficient livelihood for myself, my wife, and children. Give the purse to this poor family, which has lost all."

LESSON FIFTIETH.

Fall of the Leaf.

See the leaves around us falling,
Dry and withered, to the ground;
Thus to thoughtless mortals calling,
In a sad and solemn sound:

"Sons of Adam, (once in Eden,

When, like us, he blighted fell,)

Hear the lecture we are reading;
'Tis, alas! the truth we tell.

"Virgins, much, too much presuming
boasted white and red;

On your

View us, late in beauty blooming,
Numbered now among the dead.

"Youths, though yet no losses grieve you,
Gay in health, and many a grace;
Let not cloudless skies deceive you;
Summer gives to autumn place.

"Yearly in our course returning,
Messengers of shortest stay;
Thus we preach this truth concerning,
Heaven and earth shall pass away.

"On the tree of life eternal,

Man, let all thy hopes be stayed;

Which alone for ever vernal,

Bears a leaf that shall not fade."

LESSON FIFTY-FIRST.

Courage and Generosity.

Forgiveness of injuries, and a merciful disposition towards those who have injured us, is an infallible mark of a great and noble mind, and is our indispensable duty as reasonable creatures, but more so as Christians. There is no instance more applicable to this point, than that in the life of the Marquis de Renty.

This illustrious nobleman was a soldier and a Christian, and had a peculiar felicity in reconciling the seeming opposition between the two different char

acters.

While he commanded in the French army, he had the misfortune to receive a challenge from a person of distinction in the same service.

The marquis returned answer, by the person that brought the challenge, that he was ready to convince the gentleman that he was in the wrong, and, if he could not satisfy him, he was willing to ask his pardon. The other, not satisfied with this answer, insisted upon his meeting him with the sword.

To this, he answered, that he was resolved not to do it, for God and the king had forbidden it; otherwise, he would have him know, that all the endeavors he had used to pacify him, did not proceed from any fear of him, but of the Almighty, and his displeasure; that he should go every day about his usual business, and, if he were assaulted, he should make him repent of it.

The angry man, not being able to provoke the marquis to a duel, and meeting him one day by chance, drew his sword and attacked him, who immediately wounded and disarmed both him and his second, with the assistance of a servant by whom he was attended.

But then did this worthy nobleman show the difference between a brutish and a true Christian courage: for he led them to his tent, refreshed them with wine and cordials, caused their wounds to be dressed, and their swords to be restored to them, and dismissed them with Christian and friendly advice, and was never heard to mention the affair afterwards to his nearest friends.

It was a usual saying of his, that there was more true courage and generosity in bearing and forgiving an injury for the love of God, than in requiting it with another; in suffering rather than revenging; because the thing was much more difficult: that wolves and bears had courage enough, but it was a brutish courage; whereas ours should be such as becomes reasonable creatures, and disciples of the benevolent Redeemer.

LESSON FIFTY-SECOND.

The Golden Mean.

Receive, dear friend, the truths I teach,
So shalt thou live beyond the reach
Of adverse fortune's power:
Not always tempt the distant deep,
Nor always timorously creep
Along the treacherous shore.

He that holds fast the golden mean,
And lives contentedly between
The little and the great,

Feels not the wants that pinch the poor,
Nor plagues that haunt the rich man's door,
Imbittering all his state.

The tallest pines feel most the power
Of wintry blast; the loftiest tower
Comes heaviest to the ground;
The bolts that spare the mountain's side,
His cloud-capt eminence divide,
And spread the ruin round.

The well-informed philosopher
Rejoices with a wholesome fear,
And hopes in spite of pain:

If winter bellow from the north,

Soon the sweet spring comes dancing forth,
And nature laughs again.

What if thine heaven be overcast?
The dark appearance will not last;
Expect a brighter sky;

The god that strings the silver bow
Awakes, sometimes, the muses too,
And lays his arrows by.

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