sorrow, make almost as great a difference in the things we gaze on as the changing seasons.

We all require change. To look continually on the blazing sun, would blind us; to sit for ever in darkness, would drive us to despair. A palace would be a dungeon, were we confined within it; and venison and turtle become nauseous if they were our only food. Change we must have I could laugh at him who did nothing but weep, and weep for the unhappy being who did nothing but laugh. There is a time to do both. But having said so much about change, it is time that I should change my subject, for there is nothing like variety.

'Tis aye gude to keep up a hardy heart; as broken a ship's come to land. WALTER SCOTT.

AY! mope away, my boy, and look miserable, and see if that will do you any good. I would have you bound apprentice to an undertaker, that your days may be passed in attending funerals. That face of yours would be invaluable in such a situation; and would, infallibly, make

your fortune. And so, the sun is to shine, the trees are to put forth their green leaves, the birds are to warble, and all nature to rejoice, while you pull a dismal face, and endeavour to make others as miserable as yourself.

Every breath of heaven reproves such ingratitude. If you will keep a record of your troubles, you will have troubles enough to record; while he who keeps a grateful eye fixed on his blessings, shall be blessed in his basket and his store, in his going out and his coming in. There are seasons when the most grateful heart is oppressed, the most cheerful spirit overclouded, and the stoutest man brought down by affliction on his knees; but these are exceptions.

I blame you not that your pulse throbs with anguish; that your heart beats with agony, or that your eyes are filled with tears, for these are

things which none can avoid, though many are content to endure them, without calling on all the world to bear witness to their sorrows.

Regard that poor, houseless, husbandless widow! Her good man died of the fever; her son was killed in battle; her patrimony was claimed by another; and now, she has enough in this dark world to make her heart ache, if she thought well to spend her time in gazing upon it; but no! she looks upwards, where you ought to look.

The glittering hopes that heaven bestows
Emerging from a cloud of woes

Shall yield a purer light;

So, when the world in darkness lies,
A thousand stars bedeck the skies,

And sparkle through the night.

In the cottage yonder, on the common, lives old Jasper Jenkins. Never had any man a prettier farm, nor a tidier wife, nor more industrious children; but his good dame sickened and died, his sons got into bad company, and his farm turned out to be a losing concern. But though old Jasper lives in that cot on the common, farm

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