If the

child as to what ought to be done in that case. child said, exchange the coats; they answered no: that might be convenience, but not justice. For if the little man, by his virtues, had got himself a big coat, would it be justice to take it away from him and give it to a big man whose idleness had brought him to rags ?

That the Admiral had taken pains to educate his son in this sublime style, may, I think, very fairly be inferred from the following story of little William when only seven years old. Among his father's tenants was a poor man named Thomas Pearce, just such an honest good natured soul as every body loves. The Penn family set great store by him, and especially little William, whom honest Thomas had so often carried in his arms, and returning from the Fair, had brought him many a cake and apple. On some sudden emergence, the Admiral had got Tom with his cart to assist him. After looking, with an air of much sympathy on the poor man, where he wrought till the sweat in big drops trickled down his pallid face, little William came to the Admiral, and said "father an't you going to pay poor Tom Pearce for working for

you so?"

What makes you ask that, William, replied the Admiral.

Why, because, father, I think you ought to pay him. Why so, my son?

Why, because, father, I don't see why he should work so hard for you for nothing.

Well, I dare say, William, I shall pay him.

But, father, if you don't pay him money, I'll tell you what you ought to do.

What, my son?

Why, father, when poor Tom comes to want any work done, you should send your wagon to help him.

My cart, you mean, William, for you see I have only his cart..

Yes, father, but your wagon is not so much bigger than his cart as you are richer than poor Tom."

God bless my son, cried the Admiral, embracing him, I hope you'll be a BRAVE, HONEST-HEARTED ENGLISHMAN, as long as you live."

His

From a child, William was given to be sedate and thoughtful, which contributed much towards his improvement of those many providences, such as sickness, whether of himself or his parents, death of relations, frightful dreams, thunder-gusts, and so onwhich, like "line on line, and precept on precept," are meant of God to lead even children to wisdom. mother, of whom he was doatingly fond, often seized such providences to make good impressions on his mind. And these impressions were still more deepened by the dismal scenes which his father, sitting by the family fire-side, would often describe, when maddening nations "go down in ships on the mighty waters," to mix in bloody fight, among roaring winds and waves. Sometimes he would tell of the great ships of war-how, pierced by a thousand bullets in the dreadful fight, they suddenly disappear with all their shrieking crews, going down swift into their watery graves, while the dark mountain billows, closing over their hapless heads, leave no sign that there any ship had ever sailed before. At other times he would paint the hostile navies, in close and furious combat, hid in clouds of smoke and flame, when, all at once, their magazines taking fire, they blow up with the sound of a thousand thunders, while hundreds of ill-fated seamen, torn limb from limb, by the horrid blast, are thrown miles into the air, nor they nor ships ever seen again.

The earnestness with which little William would listen, and his changeful looks, often bathed in tears, strongly bespoke his kindred feelings, and how truly he mourned the wretched victims of war. But among the many things which the Admiral would tell, to im

prove the heart of his son, the following seems well worthy of remembrance, as it marks that constantly superintending providence which directs the affairs of

men.

On board of the Admiral's ship was a young officer of the name of Fenton, the only son of his mother, and she a widow. Fenton was giddy and dissipated in a high degree, which cost his mother many a tear. One day, as drowned in sorrow, she took leave of him. going on ship-board to fight the enemy, she repeated all her former good advice, giving him, at the same time, a beautiful little Bible, which she put into a side pocket made by her own hands, over his left breast. The two fleets met, and a most bloody conflict ensued. The ships grappled each other; and the eager crews, quitting their cannon, fought hand to hand, with pistols and cutlasses, as on dry ground. In the mortal fray, the decks all covered with the dying and the dead, Fenton was attacked by a stout Dutchman, who, presenting his pistol to his heart, drew the trigger. The ball struck. Feeling the shock, Fenton concluded he was mortally wounded, but being naturally brave, he continued to fight on with great fury, though not without secretly wondering that he did not fall. On the ceasing of the battle, which terminated in favour of the British, he began to search for his wound. But not a scratch could he find, nor even a drop of blood. This, no doubt, was great good news to him who had given himself up for dead. He then thought of his Bible, and drawing it from his side pocket, found it miserably torn by the ball, which, but for that strange stop, would have been buried in his heart. The thoughts of heaven and of his mother rushed on his mind. And, for the first time in his life, he fell on his knees and adored a God. Carefully opening his Bible, he found that the ball, after penetrating one half of the sacred volume, had stopped exactly at that fa mous verse-" Rejoice, O young man, in thy youth

and let thy heart cheer thee in the days of thy youth; and walk in the ways of thy heart and in the sight of thine eyes; but know thou, that for all these things God shall bring thee into judgment !" Fenton was so struck with this, as a call from heaven, that he immediately altered his life; and from a worthless reprobate became a GOOD CHRISTIAN-that is, A REAL GEN

TLEMAN.

CHAPTER II.

As a man must ask his wife, whether he is to be a rich man or a beggar; so, a child must ask his mother, whether he is to be a wise man or a fool, a saint or a demon for ever. It was in her warm bowels that he first received his "substance, yet being imperfect ;" and his first pulse of life from her throbbing heart. It was in her fond arms that he found his dearest cradle, and his sweetest pillow on her snowy orbs. There were the first eager drawings of his thirsty lips; and there the wanton pattings of his fingers, as filled with the fragrant nectar and gladdened through all his frame, he fell back on her arms, and laughed and jumped and crowed to her strong kissings and chirpings. And still with the rolling years, this tender attachment to his mother continued, "growing with his growth, and strengthening with his strength," because her banners over him were LOVE. Is he frightened? he runs to her for safety. Is he aggrieved? he carries all his complaints to her dear bosom. And while his father, that hardier parent, can turn away from him and sleep and snore insensible to his moans, he feels his mother's arms still pressing him closer and closer to her heart, or hears her tender sighs, as, bathing him with tears, she kisses his feverish lips, and answers him groan for groan.

O happy the child, whose mother, after thus winning his love, seeks to improve it as a ladder, whereby he may ascend to Heaven on the pleasant steps of early piety and virtue. This was the favoured lot of young William Penn. From concurrent testimony of all historians of that day, his mother was a daughter of wisdom. Far different from the credulous million, who, how often soever deceived by the world, will yet go on, like passionate lovers, to woo and woo again the same perfidious mistress. And though sent home chagrined and sad from many a joyless ball and rout, will still hope better things from some subsequent adventure.-Aye! that will do-another suit of diamonds and of silks !—A new and richer coach and still more flam ing harness." Thus fond of being led on, like children, by the butterfly attractions of hope. Not so the wiser Mrs. Penn. Disappointments served but to startle her into thought—and to spring suspicions of this world's vanity. As a delicate bird of the skies, accidentally lighting on a barren, and defrauded of the nectarine food she seeks, instantly lifts the ivory beak and pensive eye of disappointment, then, spurning the inhospitable soil, she spreads her golden plumes and with chirping joy springs towards her native element. Just so it was with the mother of young William Penn. Born for a better, she soon discovered that this world was not the place of her rest.-"A land of shadows, where hardly any thing is real but trouble; and nothing certain but death." Instantly she gave her heart to God. She sought an equal happiness for her son. How could a mother of her sensibility, behold his soft flaxen locks and tender cheeks of youth without tears of solicitude that he might have the LORD for his God?

Such were the views of Mrs. Penn with regard to her son. And correspondent was the education which she gave him. Oh how different from that which many an unfortunate child, now-a-days, receives from an ig

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