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Lying is the vice of a villain, a coward and a slave. If a liar be discovered, he becomes forever suspected. “All that thou canst get by lying or dissembling, is, that thou wilt not be believed, when thou speakest the truth.”



A Little boy, playing on the side of a pond, fell into the water. His playmates cried, but could not help him out. He thought he should have been drowned, and must have been so; but at that moment, a noble dog happening to pass by, and hearing his cries, ran up to the pond, and said as well as he could, “I will help you out, little boy; ” and then instantly plunged in, and brought him safe on shore, without hurting a hair of his head.

When we see any one in trouble, we should imitate this noble creature, and if we can, try and help him out.


INGRATITUDE is a sin so shameful, that there never was a man found, who would own himself guilty of it. Ingratitude perverts all the measures of religion and society, by making it dangerous to be charitable and good natured; however, it is better to expose ourselves to ingratitude, than to be wanting in charity to the distressed.

He that promotes gratitude pleads the cause both of God and man, for without it, we can neither be sociable nor religious.

An ungrateful man is a reproach to the creation; an exception from all the visible world; neither the heavens above, nor the earth beneath, affording anything like him.


IN the winter season, a commonwealth of ants was busily employed in the management and preservation of their corn ; which they expose to the air, in heaps, round about the avenues of their little country habitations. A grasshopper, who had chanced to outlive the summer, and was ready to starve with cold and hunger, approached them with great humility, and begged that they would relieve his necessity, with one grain of wheat or rye. One of the ants asked him, how he had disposed of his time in summer, that he had not taken pains and laid in a stock, as they had done.


“Alas! gentlemen,” says he, “I passed away my time merrily and pleasantly, in drinking, singing, and dancing, and never thought of winter.” “If that be the case,” replied the ant, “all I have to say is, that they who drink, sing, and dance, in the summer, must starve in the winter.”


Who pleasures love
Shall beggars prove.


IF good we plant not, vice will fill the mind,
And weeds take up the space for flowers design'd,
The human heart ne'er knows a state of rest,
Bad tends to worse, and better leads to best.
We either gain or lose; we sink or rise,
Nor rests our struggling nature till it dies;
Those very passions that our peace invade,
If rightly pointed, blessings may be made.


ERE sin could blight, or sorrow fade,
Death came with friendly care,

The opening bud to heaven convey'd,
And bade it blossom there.


THE Alps are the highest mountains in Europe. They extend towards the north from the Mediterranean Sea, and separate Piedmont and Savoy from the adjacent countries; whence, stretching out their course to the east, they form a boundary between Switzerland and Italy, and terminate near the extremity of the Adriatic Sea, northeast of Venice. Romantic views and situations abound in these mountains, and draw the attention of visitors from distant countries. The tops of many of them are lost in the clouds, and covered with perpetual snow. When the warm rays of the sun melt the surface of the snow, the water rushes in torrents down the craggy sides of the mountains, sorming beautiful cascades. The hollow spaces that lie between the rugged summits are valleys, though raised at a vast distance above the level country. On some of the gentle declivities are found the glaciers, which are prodigious fields of ice, resembling a frozen sea, frequently extending many miles. They are separated by wild forests, corn fields, rich meadows, and cheerful villages. An English traveller, who was crossing these Alps, was once overtaken by the approach of night, and obliged to seek shelter among the peasants, who inhabited a small hamlet, overhung with the most fantastic rocks, and watered by a mountain torrent. He approached a venerable old man, with a long white beard, observing the rich tints of the declining sun, as he was sitting at the door of a cottage, surrounded by a group of lovely children, who were playing near him with the greatest marks of affection. One stole a kiss, whilst another climbed his back, and a curly-headed chubby boy sat upon his knee; the old man smiled tenderly upon them, and seemed to take pleasure in their artless gambols. On perceiving a stranger, he arose, and in the most hospitable manner, offered him the best accommodations his cottage could afford. The traveller made no refusal, but seated himself familiarly by the side of his aged host, and began to converse on the occupations and modes of life of these contented mountaineers. Whilst they were talking, a girl neatly dressed in a jacket and petticoat, with her hair confined in a silk net, prepared their supper on a table abroad. The repast was simple, but inviting. It consisted of bread, fruit, cheese, and bowls of cream. The master of the house entertained the stranger with a hearty welcome; and when supper was ended, amused him by relating the principal events of his life. “I have passed,” said he, “my whole life in this village, and am the oldest man in it. My neighbors regard me with wonder, as I am the only survivor of my family, except these little ones, who are growing up to fill the places of those who are gone, most of whom have fallen in the dangerous pursuit of the chamois

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