Seest thou a man wise in his own conceit'? there is more hope of a fool than of him.

The slothful man saith', there is a lion in the way', a lion is in the streets'.-As the door turneth on its hinges, so doth the slothful on his bed.

He that passeth by and meddleth with strife not belonging to him', is like one who taketh a dog by the ears.

As a mad man who casteth firebrands, and arrows, and death', so is he who deceiveth his neighbor, and saith', Am I not in sport'?

Where no wood is, the fire goeth out'; so where there is no tale-bearer the strife ceaseth.

Let another man praise thee', and not thine own mouth'— a stranger', and not thine own lips.

Faithful are the wounds of a friend', but the kisses of an enemy are deceitful.

Thine own friend', and thy father's friend', forsake not`, nor go into thy brother's house in the day of thy calamity'; for better is a neighbor who is near', than a brother far off.

A continual dropping in a very rainy day', and a contentious woman', are alike. Whoever hideth her hideth the wind', and the ointment of his right hand which betrayeth itself.

The wicked flee when no man pursueth', but the righteous are bold as a lion.

He that covereth his sins shall not prosper'; but whoso confesseth and forsaketh them' shall have mercy.

As a roaring lion, and a ranging bear', so is a wicked ruler over the poor people.

A man who doeth violence to the blood of any person' shall fly to the pit-let no man stay him.

He that tilleth his land shall have plenty of bread'; but he that followeth after vain persons shall have poverty enough. He that hasteth to be rich hath an evil eye', and considereth not that poverty shall come upon him.

He that rebuketh a man' shall afterwards find more favor than he who flattereth with the tongue.

Whoso robbeth his father or his mother, and saith', it is no transgression', the same is the companion of a destroyer. He that trusteth in his own heart is a fool'; but whoso walketh wisely shall be delivered.

He that being often reproved hardeneth his neck, shall be suddenly destroyed', and that without remedy.

When the righteous are in authority the people rejoice'; but when the wicked beareth rule the people mourn.

The rod and reproof give wisdom'; but a child left to himself bringeth his mother to shame.

Correct thy son' and he will give thee rest', yea', he will give delight to thy soul.

Seest thou a man who is hasty in his words' ?-there is more hope of a fool than of him.

Many seek the rûler's favor'; but every man's judgment cometh from the LORD.

Every word of God is pure'; he is a shield to them who put their trust in him. Add thou not to his words lest he reprove thee', and thou be found a liar.

The eye that mocketh at his father, and despiseth to obey his mother, the ravens of the valley shall pick it out', and the young eagles shall eat it.

She seeketh wool and

Who can find a virtuous woman'? for her price is far above rubies. The heart of her husband doth safely trust in her', so that he will have no need of spoil. She will do him good' and not evil' all the days of her life. flax', and worketh diligently with her hands. She is like the merchants' ships-she bringeth her food from afar. She riseth, also, while it is yet night', and giveth meat to her household', and a portion to her maidens.-She openeth her mouth with wisdom', and in her tongue is the law of kindness. She looketh well to the ways of her household', and eateth not the bread of idleness. Her children rise up, and call her blessed'; her husband also', and he praiseth her.Favor is deceitful', and beauty is vain'; but a woman that feareth the LORD shall be praised.

LESSON XCII.

VISIT TO A SICK BED.

ONE morning, when my grandfather had just finished his third cup of souchong tea', there came a message for him to visit a young man apprehended to be dying in a distant part of the town. There was something startling in the very terms'; youth, and death, are ideas so contrary in all our common trains of thinking', that it is only by a painful

example that we can be compelled to yoke them together. I was immediately despatched, with the help of David', to put the old bay horse, with a star in his forehead, into a chaise. My grandfather put on his light blue coat', placed in his shoes his square silver buckles', and took down his threecornered beaver', seized his ivory-headed cané, and in ten minutes we were riding, as fast as the horse would carry us', to the widow Russel's, whose only son was apprehended to be on his dying bed.

It had been so often my lot to drive my grandfather on such expeditions, that perhaps I should have felt little emotion', had I not known young Russel, a few weeks beforé, blooming in all the promises of youth and expectation. He was the son of a fond mother, who was ready to testify her fondness for her son by the most boundless indulgences. There was a passion in the young lads of B- about that timé, to cast off their rustic slough*, and to go into Boston and polish their manners behind a counter'; insomuch that I have seen many a hard hand and brown face, blackened by the dust of a potato field', after a few months' residence with a city shopkeeper', become as soft and as white as a barber's. They exchanged the honest simplicity of the country for all the vice and affectation of a town life. I remember that my aunt Hannah used to compare them to grubworms changed into butterflies'; and what was very wonderful', some parents, sober enough themselves', seemed to rejoice in the transformation.

The widow Russel's house stood near the burying ground. It was a small white mansion, with a few willow trees before it', which grew in a little inclosed garden dedicated to grass and to flowers. As we walked up to the door, the knocker of which was muffled', it seemed to me that the very pinks and daffodils drooped their heads', as if conscious that youth and beauty were approaching the tomb. A profound silence reigned around the mansion'; the dust at the gate was worn by the wheels of the physician's sulky', who had turned away his steed for the last timè; and nothing now remained but for the mental' physician to minister, if possible, to a mind diseased', and fit a trifling spirit to take its flight to its Maker and its God. As we went in, his mother came, with tears in her eyes, to request my grandfather to deal gently

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with her son'; to be faithful', to be sure', but not to alarm his spirits with the horrors of his condition. "He must die, I know," said she'; no art can save him. But he is still cherishing foolish hopes of life, and a sudden fright might distract him. Oh, Sir, save his soul', but do not increase his weakness and accelerate his death."

We entered his chamber, and found him sitting up with several pillows at his back', near the head of his bed'; a green silk gown was thrown over his shoulders'; his bosom was ruffled with much caré, and a shining breastpin held the parts of his well-plaited shirt together'; in his hands he held a gold watch, which his fond mother had given him', and on his bed lay an inverted pamphlet', which he had just been reading, and which, on inspecting', I found to be the farce called the Wags of Windsor. He was excessively palè; his eyes prominent and staring; his breathing already difficult'; and he looked like a skeleton' dressed out in the fopperies of a beau. I never saw a more ghastly sight. He started, as we entered, as if he saw unexpected guests'; but my grandfather, with a kind of paternal familiarity', ap proached his bedsidé, took him by the hand', and asked him how he did, and how he felt. Oh, Sir', said he, I am growing better'; my mother and friends are somewhat alarmed about mé, but I conceive without reason. These last pills which my doctor has left mé, will set me on my legs again`, and next week I hope to ride out and take the fresh air', and in a fortnight return to my business. For, Sir', I always

choose to look on the bright side of things. Dea. O. And is life the only bright sidé ?

Russel. Yes, Sir'; if I were to die, I should be in despair indeed:

Dea. O. Why só?

Russel. Because I have been very wicked. I have no hope beyond the gravè; I have no peace of mind.

Dea. O. Well, my young friend', whether you livé or diè, it is vastly important that your peace be made with God. Tell me, do you believe in his word'? Have you confidence your Biblé ?

in

Russel. I once had.

Dea. O.

And how is it now'? Have you lost your compass'? Have you lost your path^?

Russel. Alas, Sir', the city is a bad place for a youth like mé, unfixed in his principles. If you will take this key

and unlock yonder trunk', you will find the book that has undone me.

Here, with his pale, trembling hand, he took out the key', and sent the old gentleman to the trunk', who went and took out the volume of some infidel', I forget whom. "There, Sir'," said hè, "there is the false wisdom which lured me in prosperity', and deserts me in my distress. I never told my mother my principles. Pray take the book and throw it into the fire."

"Well, my dear son'," said my grandfather, taking him by the hand, "it is never too late to repent', and you certainly now have no time to lose."

Russel. O, Sir', I cannot'; it is impossible; my heart is like a rock'; I have passed the exclusive line; I am gone forever.

Dea. O. But this is sinful despair'; God commands all men every where to repent', and invites all to accept his gospel.

Dress,

Russel. I wish, Sir', I had strength to tell you my story. There! adjust this pillow'; raise my head a littlè; let me breathe the fresh air'; I will try to speak. There was a time when I could not sleep without praying. But when I went to the city, I thought myself another man. and foppery, and amusement', and, I must say, vicé, occupied my heart. I went to scenes where I would not have had my mother's eye pursue me, indulgent as she is', for all the world. Shall I tell you, Sir', my present sickness is in consequence of my vices'; and I bear the secret sting in my body and my soul. I soon joined a club of young men, whose principles conformed to their practices, and we were accustomed to meet on Saturday evening', that once calm evening for preparation', to ridicule our Bible', to blaspheme our Savior', and to fortify ourselves in our courses. But I am exhausted-I am faint-call in my mother.

Here he sunk', and his distracted mother came rushing into the room', for she thought him dying. "Speak, William', speak," said she', "shall this good man pray for you?" "Yes," said hè, "pray that I may live'; for I cannot-I must not', die. Pray that I may live-I am not prepared to gō. Pray, pray, pray, that I may live."

Here my grandfather kneeled down by his bedside', and took out his white pocket handkerchief'; and, while the mother bent over her son', grasping his hand and laving his fore