ton, who has been so kind as to come and inquire for you herself." I could perceive a transient glow upon his face. He rose from his seat.—“ If to know Miss Walton's goodness," said he," be a title to deserve it, I have some claim.” She begged him to resume his seat, and placed herself on the sofa beside him. I took my leave. His aunt accompanied me to the door. He was left with Miss Walton alone. She inquired anxiously after his health. "I believe," said he," from the accounts which my physicians unwillingly give me, that they have no great hopes of my recovery." She started, as he spoke; but, recollecting herself immediately, endeavoured to flatter him into a belief that his apprehensions were groundless. "I know," said he, "that it is usual with persons at my time of life, to have these hopes which your kindness suggests; but I would not wish to he deceived. To meet death as becomes a man, is a privilege bestowed on few: I would endeavour to make it mine: -nor do I think, that I can ever be better prepared for it than now; 'tis that chiefly which determines the fitness of its approach." Those sentiments," answered Miss Walton, are just; but your good sense, Mr. Harley, will own, that life has its proper value. As the province of virtue, life is ennobled; as such, it is to be desired.—To virtue has the Supreme Director of all things assigned rewards enough, even here, to fix its attachments." The subject began to overpower her.-Harley lifted up his eyes from the ground-"There are," said he, “in a low voice-" there are attachments, Miss Walton."-His glance met her's-they both betrayed a confusion, and were both instantly withdrawn. He paused some moments—“ I am," he said, “in such a state as calls for sincerity; let that alone excuse it-it is, perhaps, the last time we shall ever meet. I feel something particularly solemn in the acknowledgment; yet my heart swells to make it, awed as it is by a sense of my presumption,-by a sense of your perfections." He paused again—“ Let it not offend you," he resumed, "to know their power over one so unworthy. My heart will, I believe, soon cease to beat, even with that feeling which it shall lose the latest.-To love Miss Walton could not be a crime.—If to declare it is one, the expiation will be made." Her tears were now flowing without controul." Let me entreat you," said she, "to have better hopes-let not life be so indifferent to you; if my wishes can put any value upon it-I will not pretend to misun derstand you I know your worth--I have long known it --I have esteemed it-what would you have me say?~ I have loved it, as it deserved!" He seized her hand:— a languid colour reddened his cheek-a smile brightened faintly in his eye. As he gazed on her, it grew dim, it fixed, it closed-he sighed, and fell back on his seatMiss Walton screamed at the sight-his aunt and the servants rushed into the room-they found them lying mo tionless together.-His physician happened to call at that instant-every art was tried to recover them-with Miss Walton they succeeded-but Harley was gone for ever! Mackenzie. Advantages of uniting Gentleness of Manners, with I MENTIONED to you, some time ago, a sentence which I would most earnestly wish you always to retain in your thoughts, and observe in your conduct; it is, suaviter in modo, fortiter in re. I do not know any one rule so unexceptionably useful and necessary in every part of life. The suaviter in modo, alone, would degenerate and sink into a mean, timid complaisance, and passiveness, if not supported and dignified by the fortiter in re; which would also run into impetuosity and brutality, if not tempered and softened by the suaviter in modo: however, they are seldom united. The warm, choleric man, with strong animal spirits, despises the suaviter in modo, and thinks to carry all before him by the fortiter in re. He may, possibly, by great accident, now and then succeed, when he has only weak and timid people to deal with; but his general fate will be, to shock, offend, be hated, and fail. On the other hand, the cunning, crafty man, thinks to gain all his ends by the suaviter in modo only: he becomes all things to all men; he seems to have no opinion of his own, and servilely adopts the present opinion of the present person; he insinuates himself only into the esteem of fools, but is soon detected, and surely despised by every body else. The wise man-who differs as much from the cunning, as from the choleric man-alone joins the suaviter in modo with the fortiter in re. If you are in authority, and have a right to command, your commands, delivered suaviter in modo, will be willingly, cheerfully, and—consequently-well obeyed: where as, if given only fortiter, that is, brutally, they will rather, as Tacitus says, be interpreted, than executed. For my own part, if I bade my footman bring me a glass of wine, in a rough, insulting manner; I should expect, that, in obeying me, he would contrive to spill some of it upon me: and, I am sure, I should deserve it. A cool, steady resolution should show, that, where you have a right to command, you will be obeyed; but, at the same time, a gentleness in the manner of enforcing that obedience, should make it a cheerful one, and soften, as much as possible, the mortifying consciousness of inferiority. If you are to ask a favour, or even to solicit your due, you must do it suaviter in modo, or you will give those, who have a mind to refuse you either, a pretence to do it, by resenting the manner; but, on the other hand, you must, by a steady perseverance, and decent tenaciousness, show the fortiter In short, this precept is the only way I know in the world, of being loved, without being despised; and feared, without being hated. It constitutes that dignity of character, which every wise man must endeavour to establish. in re. If, therefore, you find, that you have a hastiness in your temper, which unguardedly breaks out into indiscreet sallies, or rough expressions, to either your superiors, your equals, or your inferiors; watch it narrowly, check it carefully, and call the suaviter in modo to your assistance: at the first impulse of passion, be silent, till you can be soft. Labour even to get the command of your countenance so well, that those emotions may not be read in it—a most unspeakable advantage in business! On the other hand, let no complaisance, no gentleness of temper, no weak desire of pleasing, on your part; no wheedling, coaxing, nor flattery, on other people's; make you recede one jot from any point, that reason and prudence have bid you pursue: but, return to the charge, persist, persevere; and you will find most things attainable, that are possible. A yielding, timid meekness, is always abused and insulted, by the unjust and the unfeeling; but, meekness, when sustained by the fortiter in re, is always respected, commonly successful. In your friendships and connections, as well as in your enmities, this rule is particularly useful-let your firmness and vigour preserve and invite attachments to you; but, at the same time, let your manner prevent the enemies of your friends and dependants from becoming yours: let your enemies be disarmed by the gentleness of your manner; but, let them feel, at the same time, the steadiness of your just resentment; for, there is a great difference between bearing malice-which is always ungenerous-and a resolute self-defence-which is always prudent and justifiable. I conclude with this observation, That gentleness of manners, with firmness of mind, is a short, but full, description of human perfection, on this side of religious and moral duties. Chesterfield. The Elder's Death-bed. "JAMIE, thy own father has forgotten thee in thy infancy, and me in my old age; but, Jamie, forget not thou thy father, nor thy mother; for that, thou knowest and feelest, is the commandment of God." The broken-hearted boy could give no reply. He had gradually stolen closer and closer unto the loving old man; and now was lying, worn out with sorrow, drenched and dissolved in tears, in his grandfather's bosom. His mother had sunk down on her knees, and hid her face with her hand. "Oh! if my husband knew but of this-he would never, never desert his dying father!" And I now knew, that the Elder was praying on his death-bed for a disobedient and wicked son. At this affecting time, the Minister took the FamilyBible on his knees, and said, "Let us sing to the praise and glory of God, part of the fifteenth psalm;" and he read, with a tremulous and broken voice, those beautiful verses, "Within thy tabernacle, Lord, Who shall abide with thee? Ere the psalm was yet over, the door was opened, and a tall, fine-looking man entered, but with a lowering and dark countenance, seemingly in sorrow, in misery, and remorse. Agitated, confounded, and awe-struck by the melancholy and dirge-like music, he sat down on a chair, and looked with a ghastly face towards his father's bed. When the psalm ceased, the Elder said, with a solemn voice, "My son-thou art come in time to receive thy father's blessing. May the remembrance of what will happen in this room, before the morning again shine over the Hazel-glen, win thee from the error of thy ways! Thou art here to witness the mercy of thy God and thy Saviour, whom thou hast forgotten." The Minister looked, if not with a stern, yet with an upbraiding countenance, on the young man, who had not recovered his speech, and said, "William! for three years past your shadow has not darkened the door of the house of God. They who fear not the thunder, may tremble at the still small voice-Now is the hour for repentancethat your father's spirit may carry up to Heaven tidings of a contrite soul saved from the company of sinners!" 66 The young man, with much effort, advanced to the bedside, and at last found voice to say, Father-I am not without the affections of nature-and I hurried home the moment I heard that the minister had been seen riding towards our house. I hope that you will yet recover; and, if I have ever made you unhappy, I ask your forgiveness -for, though I may not think as you do on matters of religion, I have a human heart. Father! I may have been unkind, but I am not cruel. I ask your forgiveness." 46 Come near to me, William; kneel down by the bedside, and let my hand feel the head of my beloved son-for blindness is coming fast upon me. Thou wert my firstborn, and thou art my only living son. All thy brothers and sisters are lying in the church-yard, beside her whose sweet face thine own, William, did once so much resemble. Long wert thou the joy, the pride of my soul,—ay, too much the pride! for there was not in all the parish such a man, such a son, as my own William. If thy heart has since been changed, God may inspire it again with right thoughts. I have sorely wept for thee-ay, William when there was none near me-even as David wept for Absalom-for thee, my sou, my son!" A long deep groan was the only reply; but the whole body of the kneeling man was convulsed; and it was easy to see his sufferings, his contrition, his remorse, and his despair. The Pastor said, with a sterner voice, and austerer countenance than were natural to him, "Know you whose hand is now lying on your rebellious head? But |