But now a faint tick was heard below from the pendulum, who thus spoke: -"I confess myself to be the sole cause of the present stoppage; and I am willing, for the general satisfaction, to assign my reasons. The truth is, that I am tired of ticking." Upon hearing this, the old clock became so enraged, that it was on the very point of striking.

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Lazy wire!" exclaimed the dial-plate, holding up its hands. "Very good!" replied the pendulum, "it is vastly easy for you, Mistress Dial, who have always, as everybody knows, set yourself up above me, it is vastly easy for you, I say, to accuse other people of laziness!-you, who have had nothing to do all the days of your life, but to stare people in the face, and to amuse yourself with watching all that goes on in the kitchen! Think, I beseech you, how you would like to be shut up for life in this dark closet, and to wag backwards and forwards, year after year, as I do."

"As to that," said the dial, " is there not a window in your house, on purpose for you to look through ?"-" For all that," resumed the pendulum, "it is very dark here; and although there is a window, I dare not stop, even for an instant, to look out at it. Besides, I am really tired of my way of life; and if you wish, I'll tell you how I took this disgust at my employment. I happened this morning to be calculating how many times I should have to tick in the course of only the next twenty-four hours; perhaps some of you, above there, can give me the exact sum."

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The minute-hand, being quick at figures, presently replied, "Eighty-six thousand four hundred times.". Exactly so," replied the pendulum; "well, I appeal to you all, if the very thought of this was not enough to fatigue one; and when I began to multiply the strokes of one day by those of months and years, really it is no wonder if I felt discouraged at the prospect; so, after a great deal of reasoning and hesitation thinks I to myself, I'll stop."

The dial could scarcely keep its countenance during this harangue; but resuming its gravity, thus replied: "Dear Mr. Pendulum, I am really astonished that such a useful, industrious person as yourself, should have been overcome by this sudden action. It is true, you have done a great deal of work in your time; so have we all, and are likely to do; which, although it may fatigue us to think of, the question is, whether it will fatigue us to do. Would you now do me the favor to give about half a dozen strokes to illustrate my argu

ment?"

The pendulum complied, and ticked six times in its usual pace. "Now," resumed the dial, "may I be allowed to inquire, if that exertion was at all fatiguing or disagreeable to you?" "Not in the least," replied the pendulum, "it is not of six strokes that I complain, nor of sixty, but of millions." "Very good," replied the dial; "but recollect, that though you may think of a million strokes in an instant, you are required to execute but one; and that, however often you may hereafter have to swing, a moment will always be given you to swing in." "That consideration staggers me, I confess," said the pendulum. "Then I hope," resumed the dial-plate, "we shall all immediately return to our duty; for the maids will lie in bed if we stand idling thus."

Upon this, the weights, who had never been accused of light conduct, used all their influence in urging him to proceed; when, as with one consent, the wheels began to turn, the hands began to move, the pendulum began to swing, and to its credit, ticked as loud as ever; while a red beam of the rising sun that streamed through a hole in the kitchen, shining full upon the dial-plate, it brightened up, as if nothing had been the matter.

When the farmer came down to breakfast that morning, upon looking at the clock, he declared that his watch had gained half an hour in the night.

MORAL.

A celebrated modern writer says, "Take care of the minutes, and the hours will take care of themselves." This is an admirable remark, and might be very seasonably recollected when we begin to be "weary in well-doing," from the thought of having much to do. The present moment is all we have to do with, in any sense; the past is irrecoverable; the future is uncertain; nor is it fair to burden one moment with the weight of the next. Sufficient unto the moment is the trouble thereof. If we had to walk a hundred miles, we should still have to set but one step at a time, and this process continued, would infallibly bring us to our journey's end. Fatigue generally begins, and is always increased, by calculating in a minute the exertion of hours.

Thus, in looking forward to future life, let us recollect that we have not to sustain all its toil, to endure all its sufferings, or encounter all its crosses, at once. One moment comes laden with its own little burdens, then flies, and is succeeded by another no heavier than the last:-if one could be borne, so can another and another.

Even looking forward to a single day, the spirit may sometimes faint from an anticipation of the duties, the labors, the trials to temper and patience, that may be expected. Now this is unjustly laying the burden of many thousand moments upon one. Let any one resolve always to do right now, leaving then to do as it can; and if he were to live to the age of Methuselah, he would never do wrong. But the common error is to resolve to act right after breakfast, or after dinner, or tomorrow morning, or next time: but now, just now, this once; we must go on the same as ever.

It is easy, for instance, for the most ill-tempered person to resolve that the next time he is provoked, he will not let his temper overcome him; but the victory would be to subdue temper on the present provocation. If, without taking up the burden of the future, we would always make the single effor

at the present moment; while there would, at any one time, be very little to do, yet, by this simple process continued, everything would at last be done.

It seems easier to do right to-morrow than to-day, merely because we forget that when to-morrow comes, then will be now. Thus life passes with many, in resolutions for the future, which the present never fulfils.

It is not thus with those, who, "by patient continuance in well-doing, seek for glory, honor, and immortality." Day by day, minute by minute, they execute the appointed task, to which the requisite measure of time and strength is proportioned; and thus, having worked while it was called day, they at length rest from their labors, and their works "follow them."

Let us then," whatever our hands find to do, do it with all our might, recollecting that now is the proper and accepted time."

LESSON CXXX.

The Death of the Dominie.

-THOMAS HOOD.

"Take him up, says the master." — Old Spelling-book.

My old schoolmaster is dead. He "died of a stroke," and I wonder none of his pupils have ever done the same. I have been flogged by many masters, but his rod, like Aaron's, swallowed all the rest. We have often wished that he whipped on the principle of Italian penmanship-up strokes heavy, down strokes light; but he did it in English round hand, and we used to think with a very hard pen. Such was his love of flogging, that for some failure in English composition, after having been well corrected, I have been ordered to be revised. I have heard of a road to learning, and he did justice to it; we certainly never went a stage in education, without being weli horsed. The mantle of Dr. Busby descended on his

shoulders and on ours. There was but one tree on the playground- a birch, but it never had a twig or a leaf upon it. Spring or Summer, it always looked as bare as if the weather had been cutting, at the latter end of the year. Pictures they say, are good incentives to learning, and certainly we never got through a page without cuts; for instance, I do not recollect a Latin article without a tail-piece. All the Latin at that school might be comprised in one line

"Arma virumque cano."

An arm, a man, and a cane. It was Englished to me one day in school-hours, when I was studying Robinson Crusoe instead of Virgil, by a storm of bamboo that really carried on the illusion, and made me think for a time that I was assaulted by a set of savages. He seemed to consider a boy as a bear's cub, and set himself literally to lick him into shape. He was so particularly fond of striking us with a leather strap on the flats of our hands, that he never allowed them a day's rest. There was no such thing as Palm Sunday in our calendar. In one word, he was disinterestedly cruel, and used as industriously to strike for nothing, as others strike for wages. Some of the elder boys, who had read Smollet, christened him Roderick, from his hitting like Random, and being so partial to Strap.

His death was characteristic. After making his will he sent for Mr. Taddy, the head usher, and addressed him in the following words: -"It is all over, Mr. Taddy—I am sinking fast-I am going from the terrestrial globe to the celestial and have promised Tompkins a flogging-mind he has it, and don't let him pick off the buds—I have asked Aristotle" (here his head wandered), "and he says, I cannot live an hour-I don't like that black horse grinning at me— cane him soundly for not knowing his verbs-Oantego to, non quod odio habeam-O, Mr. Taddy it's breaking up with me the vacation's coming- there is that black horse