closely as thyself. Within us dwells the judge who never deceives, and whose voice is more to us than the applause of the world, and more than all the wisdom of the Egyptians and Greeks.

Uphold truth when thou canst, and be willing for her sake to be hated; but know that thy individual cause is not the cause of truth, and beware that they are not confounded. Do good for thy own satisfaction, and care not what follows. Cause no grey hairs to any one: nevertheless, for the right, even gray hairs are to be disregarded.

A man who has the fear of God in his heart, is like the sun that shines and warms, though it does not speak. Do that which is worthy of recompense, and ask none. Reflect daily upon death, and seek the life which is beyond with a cheerful courage; and, further, go not out of the world without having testified by some good deed thy love and respect for the Author of Christianity.

"DO IT, AND IT WILL BE DONE."

(Abridged from "Uncle Barnaby," by Mrs. Copley.)

ON my first visit to my uncle, I was struck with the promptitude, order, and despatch of business which prevailed throughout the house, and formed a perfect contrast to the scene by which Mrs. Harris was surrounded. However, as was generally the case with fresh inmates in the family, I more than once came in for my uncle's admonition.

Cousin Frank was always condescending and good-humoured towards me; and accommodated himself to the wishes and capacities of a younger companion, in no ordinary degree. Still, however, he acted by a plan; and sometimes when I applied to him to join me in play, he would reply, “I cannot come now, Samuel: I shall be engaged for an hour or more with my exercise." "What!" I inquired, "have you to write exercises in holiday time?" "Yes," replied Frank, "I must keep up my work, or I shall get behind-hand when I return to school. Have you nothing to do in that way, Samuel?" "Only two of Esop's fables to translate.” "Had you not better set about doing them?" "Yes, I can, to be sure; but there is no hurry: they will not take me long to do, and we have more than three weeks to come of the holidays."

My

uncle came in, and heard the close of the conversation. "My boy,” said he, “let me advise you now, in the morning of your days, to cultivate a habit of never leaving till to-morrow, not merely what absolutely ought to be done to-day, but that which might as well be done to-day; do it, and it will be done." On that occasion I took my uncle's advice, and I had no reason to regret it. I got my slate, and set about translating one of the fables; while thus engaged I felt very happy, and really interested in my work; it seemed no burden to me. By an hour's application two or three mornings, the thing was accomplished; thus I had plenty of time to look it over, correct any little mistakes that had occurred in the translation, and neatly to copy it for showing up on my return. Then I had for nearly three weeks the positive pleasure of knowing that it was done. When an excursion was proposed, or a pleasant party of friends expected, there were no untranslated fables to haunt me, and prevent my enjoyment; and on my return to school, I was prepared at once to lay them before the master, and received his kind expressions of approbation. Besides, I had gained real improvement. The sentiments of the fables were impressed on my mind, and the verbal corrections suggested by my uncle or Frank, fixed themselves on my memory, and advanced my knowledge of the language. And then, too, the pleasing recollection of that affair often served as a stimulus on other occasions again to act upon my uncle's maxim, which had resulted in so much satisfaction. I frequently coupled with it the recollection of a former vacation, when I had only some trifling matter to commit to memory, but which had been deferred from day to day, and every pleasure embittered by the recollection, "But my poem is not learned." On the last evening before my return to school, I sat up to a late hour, yawning and weeping over my book, which, at last, overcome with weariness and disgust, I laid under my pillow, hoping to resume it with better success in the morning; then, a hurried glance was all that I could bestow upon it. At school it was blundered through in a disgraceful manner, and left no trace of improvement on my mind.

My uncle often advised us, if in the course of reading or conversation we met with a word which we did not exactly understand, immediately to look it out in the dictionary. I have often done this with satisfaction and improvement; but I have sometimes been tempted to delay it: the book was not in

the room, or I did not like to break in upon the conversation, and I thought I would recollect the word and look for it when convenient. In such a case, consciousness that there was a word which I intended to look for, would haunt me for days and weeks; but I do not recollect any instance in which, if once suffered to escape, it ever recurred to me again. I have sometimes with shame asked Frank if he could tell me what word it was I said I would look for. He, too, has tried in vain to assist me, and we have generally concluded with, “Well, it shows that we ought to follow uncle's saying, "Do it, and it will be done."

I remember calling with my uncle on several of his cottagers, to take them some seeds of a newly-introduced and very profitable vegetable, which my uncle had just received from London. All of them seemed much pleased with the kind thoughtfulness of their landlord, and quite disposed to try the experiment. On our way home, we called again at one of the cottages where we had left a parcel of seeds, to inquire for an umbrella, which Frank had left behind him. We knocked several times without being answered, and, concluding the family were all out, were taking our departure, when one of the children came in; father and mother, she said, were in the garden, clearing the ground, and putting in the seeds that his honour had given them; and she had been sent to the Hall with the umbrella that the young gentleman had left behind; for her mother said, "Take it at once, and then it will be out of harm's way, and ready if it should be wanted." The good man and his wife then appeared, bringing in their gardening tools. "You have been working late," said my uncle; "are you not very tired?" "Rather so, sir," replied the man; "but wife said we had better do it, and then it would be done; and I thought so too; so we both bestirred ourselves and set about it; it was not more than an hour's work: and now the seeds are in, ready for such weather as it pleases God to send us; the weather could not help forward the seeds before they were put in the ground." "Right, right," said my uncle; "let our part be done diligently, and then we may humbly expect a blessing to prosper it."

About two months afterwards, in one of our walks, we called again on some of the cottagers; my uncle was particularly concerned to know the success of the new experiment. In the several gardens there was a considerable disparity in the ad

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vancement of the crops; but in none was the difference so striking as that of the cottager where we called a second time, and that of his next door neighbour. As the gardens were only separated by a dwarf hedge, we had an opportunity of seeing both together. The former presented a fine bed of vegetables, vigorous in their growth, and advancing to just such a stage of maturity as would fit them to stand the approaching winter. The other had but a scanty sprinkling of stunted plants, some of them precociously running to seed; some languishing for want of moisture; and not any afforded a promise of surviving the winter, and requiting the owner for the ground they occupied. "How is it," inquired my uncle, "that your plantation is so much more flourishing than that of your neighbour?" "I cannot say, sir, I am sure, except it is the seed having been put in so much earlier." 'Ah, I recollect you sowed your bed the same night I brought you the seed." "I did so, sir, though I had a great mind to leave it till next day; but wife said, 'Do it, and then it will be done.' If you remember, sir, the rain set in that very night, and lasted a fortnight. Wife and I were glad enough to think that the seed was in the ground, and we once or twice asked our neighbour whether his was in; but he said the ground was so wet it was impossible to dig it; for that reason he was more than a fortnight behind us. Then came the long drought, which does not at all suit this kind of plant, as it requires a deal of moisture, especially at first; so you see, sir, he is not likely to have much luck with it this year; but I shall be able to help him with a few of my plants; for they will bear another thinning." "See, boys," said my uncle, addressing himself to us, "the wisdom of promptitude in attending to business, and doing what ought to be done. By diligently employing your own energies, which you can command, you put your work in a position to receive every advantage of circumstances which you could not command, but which you may improve-advantages which the idle and procrastinating throw away."

We had a young companion occasionally visiting at my uncle's, who sometimes adopted the saying, and in a sense acted upon it, but not exactly as my uncle recommended. Arthur was a quick lad, and when any thing was proposed that took his fancy, he would set about it directly, and say, "I will do it, and then it will be done." He quickly surrounded himself with materials and implements, and worked away at a great

rate. But he soon suffered himself to be diverted; some new object was taken up, and the old one deserted and forgotten. Arthur was famous for clever, but unfinished projects; and prompt, but not persevering activity. "Ah," said my uncle, "to begin a thing is not to Do it. That one little Saxon word comprehends to commence, to carry on, to complete an enterprise; and he who stops short of this, can never say that his work is done." I have more than once known Arthur's experiments or projects fail for want of due attention to my uncle's exposition of the saying, "Do it, and it will be done." To do a thing, means to do it properly, not half do it. Once well done, is twice done, or rather, done once for all."

"Do it, and it will be done." With what solemn emphasis does this apply to the infinite concern of a personal application to Christ for life and salvation! Intentions, purposes, and resolutions, never saved a soul. The nearest step to the door of the ark, if short of an actual entrance, was short of preservation. The manslayer might perish within sight and reach of the gate of the city of refuge: and the youth who lacked one thing, unless he obtained it, perished for want of the one thing needful. How unspeakably important, then, is it, immediately and decidedly to choose and secure an interest in that good part which shall never be taken away.

In conclusion, I will sum up a few of my uncle's arguments for enforcing his favourite maxim.

"Do it, and it will be secured against the possibility of being left undone."

"Do it while you have leisure, that it may be better done than if done in a hurry."

"Do it, that you may have time to review your work, and correct or improve it if required."

"Do it thoroughly, that you may not have the injury and disgrace of its being left half done."

"Do it yourself, that you may not be disappointed by trusting to others."

"Do it, in humble hope that the blessing of God may crown your feeble endeavours, and cause them to result in usefulness and honour far beyond your present calculations."