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I knew a child that used, when he heard a carriage approaching, to jump up to the window to see if the number of the horses were the same as the number of the wheels. “ Dere," he would say, “a coach wid four wheels, and only two horses, dat's wrong;” then, again, on another occasion, “ Dere! a coach wid four wheels, and four horses, dat’s right.” Now, the notion held by this little fellow that a carriage with four wheels ought to have four horses to draw it, however simple it might be, was much more merciful than the one you seem to entertain.
Get out of the cart, and do not be so hardhearted. Look at your poor dog lying down, panting, and lolling his tongue out of his mouth. If you knew what it was to be urged past your strength, you would have some compassion on the poor brute. This is not using, but abusing the animal creation. If ever, in the course of your lives, you should serve a hard-hearted master, perhaps your present cruelty may come to your remembrance.
There is an All-seeing Eye, which regards every action you commit; and He who formed that dog, is not ignorant that you have abused his creature. Be persuaded, then, to act more kindly in future, remembering that God can not only forgive those who repent of their evil deeds, but visit also, with his heaviest displeasure, those who continue in the practice of cruelty and oppression.
To every living thing be kind;
CALL ON A KEEPER OF LATE HOURS. Hark you, Francis; I understand that you have lately got into the habit—and a bad habit it is—of sitting up late at night. Now, I want to speak one word to you about it, as I pass by; and I hope you will remember what I say, for if you do not regard it now, the time may come when you will call it to mind with bitterness.
He who sits up late at night, makes provision for lying a-bed in the morning. He who sits up late at night, enters into a conspiracy against his eyesight. He who sits up late at night, does his best to injure his health. In short, as a good man has said, “He who sits up late at night, not only lights the taper of life at both ends, but runs a red hot poker through the middle of it.” If, then, you value your eyesight and your health, and wish to live long in the land, go to bed soon at night, and rise early in the morning.
CALL ON A BAD HUSBAND. Visitor. It is not an easy matter to mount up your stairs, Giles, for they are so dark and so narrow, that I was obliged to get the lodger below to set her door open to give me a little light. And how are you going on now?
Giles. Nothing to brag of; work is slack enough, and wages little or nothing; and my Turk of a landlord will have his rent if we lie on the boards. I mended a pair of shoes last week that I cannot get paid for; and my wife plagues my heart out, because I cannot keep her like a lady.
Visitor. But how wretchedly you keep your room, Giles! The bed not made, the room unswept, the window unopened! I wonder how you can live in this plight; there can be no comfort in it.
Giles. You may say that, sir; my wife has no comfort in her. If she can get a drop of gin, then she is happy; but when she cannot, there is no peace. She is either scolding the lads, or rating me like a pickpocket from morning to night. A wife ought to know better.
Visitor. I dare say she does know better; the misfortune is that she does not do better. She should make you comfortable.
Giles. Yes, sir, so everybody says. What
motght to be at home, the hour tous little pala care
is a wife good for, if she cannot see to things properly? A wife ought to be industrious, and not to let the grass grow under her feet. She onght to be as clean as a new penny. She ought to stay at home, and not to go out gossiping and tattling by the hour together. She ought to keep her room like a little palace. She ought to see that her husband's things are kept tidy, and the children's things too. She ought to attend to her own business, and set a proper example. She ought to
Visitor. Well, well, well, Giles; that's quite enough about your wife, in all conscience. You seem to know very well the duties of a wife, but are you quite as well acquainted with those of a husband; and do you practise them? Ay! ay! Giles; no one knows where the shoe pinches so well as he who wears it. You tell me by your looks, if I did not know it before, that your conscience is very far from being clear on this point. It is the duty of a husband to set his wife an example of industry, sobriety, integrity, and piety. If you are idle, your wife will be idle too; if you drink gin, gin will be drunk by her; if you run in debt needlessly, she will be sure to help you ; and if you live without God in the world, unless Divine grace arrest her steps, she will accompany you to destruction. If you will read this tract, Giles, and think a little less
of your wife's failings, and a little more about your own, I shall not despair of seeing you more comfortable the next time I call. Giles, ask forgiveness of God, seek the grace of the Redeemer; for when we rob God of his glory, by our neglect of his commandments, we rob our own souls of that peace which none but God can bestow.
CALL ON A RETIRED CHRISTIAN. How do you do, Stephen ?-reading a tract, I see. These little messengers of love flutter their wings, and fly about on errands of mercy everywhere now. What is that one you are reading, Stephen?
Stephen. It is Burder's tract “On the Lord's Prayer;" and a good thing it would be if every one read it who repeated that prayer, in our own country and in other lands.
Visitor. I think so, too, Stephen; and let us be thankful that it has been read by thousands and thousands of people. The Christian finds prayer a comfort in all he does, whether for his own good or that of others. What a mercy it is, that “we have not an High Priest which cannot be touched with the feeling of our infir-, mities;" but, on the contrary, one who suffers,
to "come boldly unto the throne of grace,