trembling, though naturally of a firm constitution, I shake as though I were in an ague fit. As to myself, I am of a steady, solid temper, not shining, indeed, but kind and liberal; quite a Lady Bountiful. Every one tastes of my beneficence, and I am of so grateful a disposition, that I have been known to return a hundred-fold for any present that has been made me. I feed and clothe all my children, and afford a welcome home to the wretch who has no other. I bear with unrepining patience all manner of ill usage: I am trampled upon; I am torn and wounded with the most cutting strokes; I am pillagea of the treasures hidden in my most secret chambers; notwithstanding which, I am always ready to return good for evil, and am continually subservient to the pleasure or advantage of others; yet, so ungrateful is the world, that because I do not possess all the airiness and activity of my sisters, I am stigmatized as dull and heavy. Every sordid, miserable fellow is called, by way of derision, one of my children; and if a person, on entering the room, do but turn his eyes upon me, he is thought stupid and mean, and not fit for good company. I have the satisfaction, however, of finding that people always incline towards me as they grow older; and that they who seemed proudly to disdain any affinity with me, are content to sink at last into my bosom. You will, probably, wish to have some account of my person. I am not a regular beauty; some of my features are rather harsh and prominent, when viewed separately; but my countenance has so much variety of expression, and so many different attitudes of elegance, that they who study my face with attention, find out continually new charms; and it may be truly said of me, what Titus says of his mistress, and for a much longer space, "Pendant cinq ans entières tous les jours je la vois, Though I have been so long a mother, I bave still a surprising air of youth and freshness, which is assisted by all the advantages of well-chosen ornament, for I dress well, and according to the season. This is what I have chiefly to say of myself and my sisters. To a person of your sagacity it will be unnecessary for me to sign my name. Indeed, one who becomes acquainted with any one of the family, cannot be at a loss to discover the rest, notwithstanding the difference in our features and characters. THE GAIN OF A LOSS. PHILANDER possessed a considerable place about the court, which obliged him to live in a style of show and expense. He kept high company, made frequent entertainments, and brought up a family of several daughters, in all the luxurious elegance which his situation and prospects seemed to justify. His wife had balls and routs at her own house, and frequented all the places of fashionable amusement. After some years passed in this manner, a sudden change of parties. threw Philander out of his employment, and at once ruined all his plans of future advancement. Though his place had been lucrative, the expense it led him into more than counterbalanced the profits; so that, instead of saving anything, he had involved himself considerably in debt. His creditors, on hearing of the change in his affairs, became so importunate, that, in order to satisfy them, he was compelled to sell a moderate paternal estate in a remote county, reserving nothing out of it but one small farm. Philander had strength of mind sufficient to enable him at once to decide on the best plan to be followed in his present circumstances; instead, therefore, of wasting his time and remaining property in fruitless attempts to interest his town friends in his favour, he sold off his fine furniture, and without delay carried down his whole family to the little spot he could still call his own, where he commenced a life of industry and strict frugality in the capacity of a small farmer. It was long before the female part of his household could accommodate themselves to a mode of living so new to them, and so destitute of all that they had been accustomed to regard as essential to their very existence. At length, however, mutual affection and natural good sense, and above all, necessity, brought them to acquiesce tolerably in their situation, and to engage in earnest in its duties. Occasional regrets, however, could not but remain; and the silent sigh would tell whither their thoughts had fled. Philander perceived it, but took care never to embitter their feelings by harsh chidings or untimely admonitions. But on the anniversary of their taking possession of the farm-house, he assembled them under a spreading tree that grew before their little garden, and while the summer's sun gilded all the objects around, he thus addressed them :— My dear partners in every fortune, if the revolution of a year have had the effect on your mind that it has on mine, I may congratulate you on your condition. I am now able, with a firm tone, to ask myself, What have I lost? and I feel so much more to be pleased with than to regret, that the question gives me rather comfort than sorrow. Look at yon splendid luminary, and tell me if its gradual appearance above the horizon on a fine morning, shedding light and joy over the wide creation, be not a grander as well as a more heart-cheering spectacle than that of the most magnificent saloon, illuminated with dazzling lustres. Is not the spirit of the wholesome breeze, fresh from the mountain, and perfumed with wild flowers, infinitely more invigorating to the senses than the air of the crowded drawing-room, laden with scented powder and essences? Did we relish so well the disguised dishes with which a French cook strove to whet our sickly appetites, as we do our draught of new milk, our home-made loaf, and the other articles of our simple fare? Was our sleep so sweet after midnight suppers and the long vigils of cards, as it is now, that early rising and the exercises of the day prepare us for closing our eyes as soon as night has covered everything with her friendly veil? Shall we complain that our clothes at present answer only the purpose of keeping us warm, when we recollect all the care and pains it cost us to keep pace with the fashion, and the mortification we underwent at being outshone by our superiors in fortune? Did not the vexation of insolent and unfaithful servants overbalance the trouble we now find in waiting on ourselves? We may regret the loss of society; but, alas! what was the society of a crowd of visitors, who regarded us merely as the keepers of a place of public resort, and whom we visited with similar sensations? If we formerly could command ieisure to cultivate our minds, and acquire polite accomplishments, did we, in reality, apply much leisure to these purposes, and is not our time now filled more to our satisfaction by employments of which we cannot doubt the usefulness ?-not to say, that the moral virtues we are now called upon to exercise, afford the truest cultivation to our minds. What, then, have we lost? In improved health, the charms of a beautiful country, a decent supply of all real wants, and the love and kind offices of each other, do we not still possess enough for worldly happiness? We have lost, indeed, a certain rank and station in life; but have we not acquired another as truly respectable? We are debarred the prospects of future advancement; but if our present condition be a good one, why need we lament that it is likely to be lasting? The next anniversary will find us more in harmony with our situation than even the present. Look forward, then, cheerily. The storm is past. We have been shipwrecked, but we have only exchanged a cumbrous vessel for a light pinnace, and we are again on our course. Much of our cargo has been thrown overboard, but no one loses what he does not miss." Thus saying, Philander tenderly embraced his wife and daughters. The tear stood in their eyes, but consolation beamed on their hearts. 897 WISE MEN. "You may remember, Arthur," said Mr. C. to his son, "that some time ago, I endeavoured to give you a notion of what a great man was. Suppose we now talk a little about wise men ?" "With all my heart, sir," replied Arthur. Mr. C. A wise man, then, is he who pursues the best ends by the properest means. But as this definition may be rather too abstract to give you a clear comprehension of the thing, I shall open it to you by examples. What do you think is the best end a man can pursue in life? 4. I suppose, to make himself happy. Mr. C. True. And as we are so constituted that we cannot be happy ourselves without making others happy, the best end of living is to produce as much general happiness as lies in our power. A. But that is goodness, is it not? ness. Mr. C. It is; and therefore wisdom includes goodThe wise man always intends what is good, and employs skill or judgment in attaining it. If he were to pursue the best things weakly, he could not be wise, any more than though he were to pursue bad or indifferent things judiciously. One of the wisest men I know is our neighbour, Mr. Freeland. A. What, the Justice? Mr. C. Yes. Few men have succeeded more perfectly in securing their own happiness, and promoting that of those around them. Born to a competent estate, he early settled upon it, and began to improve it. He reduced all his expenses within his income, and indulged no tastes that could lead him into excesses of any kind. At the same time he did not refuse any proper and innocent pleasures that came in his way; and his house has always been distinguished for decent cheerfulness and hospitality. He applied |