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"People may say this and that of being in jail; but for my part, 1 found Newgate as agreeable a place as ever I was in, in all my life. I had my belly-full to eat and drink, and did no work at all. This kind of life was too good to last for ever; so I was taken out of prison, after five months, put on board a ship, and sent off, with two hundred more, to the plantations. We had but an indifferent passage; for, being all confined in the hold, more than a hundred of our people died for want of sweet air; and those that remained were sickly enough, God knows. When we came ashore, we were sold to the planters; and I was bound for seven years more. As I was no scholar, (for I did not know my letters,) I was obliged to work among the Negroes; and I served out my time, as in duty bound to do.
"When my time had expired, I worked my passage and glad I was to see Old England again, because I loved my country. I was afraid, however, that I should be indicted for a vagabond once more; so did not much care to go down into the country, but kept about the town, and did little jobs when I could get them.
"I was very happy in this manner for some time, till one evening coming home from work, two men knocked me down, and then desired me to stand. They belonged to a pressI was carried before the justice; and, as I could give no account of myself, I had my choice left, whether to go on board a man-of-war, or list for a soldier. I chose the latter; and, in this post of a gentleman. I served two campaigns in Flanders, was at the battles of Val and Fontenoy, and received but one wound, through the breast here; but the doctor of our regiment soon made me well again.
"When the peace came on, I was discharged; and, as I could not work, because my wound was sometimes troublesome, I listed for a landman in the East-India Company's service. I here fought the French in six pitched battles; and I verily believe that, if I could read or write, our captain would have made me a corporal. But it was not my good fortune to have any promotion; for I soon fell sick, and so got leave to return home again, with forty pounds in my pocket. This was at the beginning of the present war; and I hoped to be set on shore, and to have the pleasure of spending my money. But the government wanted men; and so I was pressed for a sailor before ever I could set foot on shore.
"The boatswain found me, as he said, an obstinate fellow. He swore he knew that I understood my business well, but that I wanted to be idle. But I knew nothing of sea-busi
ness; and he beat me without considering what he was about. I had still however my forty pounds, and that was some comfort to me under every beating; and the money I might have had to this day, but that our ship was taken by the French; and so I lost all.
"Our crew was carried into Brest; and many of them died, because they were not used to live in a jail; but, for my part, it was nothing to me, for I was seasoned. One night as I was sleeping on the bed of boards, with a warm blanket about me, (for I always loved to lie well,) I was awakened by the boatswain, who had a dark lantern in his hand. Jack,' says he to me, 'will you knock out the French sentry's brains?' 'I don't care,' says I, striving to keep myself awake, 'if I lend a hand.' Then follow me,' says he; and I hope we shall do business.' So up I got, and tied my blanket (which was all the clothes I had) about my middle, and went with him to fight the Frenchmen.
"Though we had no arms, we went down to the door, where both the sentries were posted, and rushing upon them, seized their arms in a moment, and knocked them down. thence, nine of us ran together to the quay, and, seizing the first boat we met, got out of the harbour, and put to sea. We had not been here three days before we were taken up by the 'Dorset' privateer, who were glad of so many good hands; and we consented to run our chance. However, we had not as much luck as we expected. In three days we fell in with the Pompadour' privateer, of forty guns, while we had but twenty-three; so to it we went, yard-arm and yard-arm. The fight lasted for three hours; and I verily believe we should have taken the Frenchman, had we but had some more men left behind; but, unfortunately, we lost all our men just as we were going to get the victory.
"I was once more in the power of the French; and I believe it would have gone hard with me had I been brought back to Brest: but, by good fortune, we were retaken by the 'Viper.' I had almost forgot to tell you that, in that engagement, I was wounded in two places: I lost four fingers of the left hand; and my leg was shot off. If I had had the good fortune to have lost my leg and the use of my hand on board
a king's ship, and not aboard a privateer, I should have been entitled to clothing and maintenance during the rest of my life. But that was not my chance; one man is born with a silver spoon in his mouth, and another with a wooden ladle. However, blessed be God! I enjoy good health, and will for ever love liberty and Old England. Liberty, property, and Old England for ever, huzza!"
Thus saying, he limped off, leaving me in admiration at his intrepidity and content. Nor could I avoid acknowledging that an habitual acquaintance with misery serves better than philosophy to teach us to despise it.-Goldsmith.
XIV.-A FATHER'S ADVICE TO HIS SON.
THE time draws nigh, dear John, that I must go the way from which none returns. I cannot take thee with me; I must leave thee in a world where good counsel is not superabundant. No one is born wise. Time and experience teach us to separate the grain from the chaff. I have seen more of the world than thou. Therefore I give thee this advice, the result of my experience.
Attach not thy heart to any transitory thing. The truth comes not to us, dear son; we must seek for it. That which you see, scrutinise carefully; and with regard to things unseen and eternal, rely on the Word of God. Search no one so closely as thyself. Within us dwells the judge who never deceives, and whose voice is more to us than the applause of the world, and more than all the wisdom of the Egyptians and Greeks.
Uphold truth when thou canst, and be willing for her sake to be hated; but know that thy individual cause is not the cause of truth, and beware that they are not confounded. Do good for thy own satisfaction, and care not what follows. Cause no grey hairs to any one: nevertheless, for the right, even gray hairs are to be disregarded.
A man who has the fear of God in his heart, is like the sun that shines and warms, though it does not speak. that which is worthy of recompense, and ask none. daily upon death, and seek the life which is beyond with a cheerful courage; and, further, go not out of the world without having testified by some good deed thy love and respect for the Author of Christianity. Goethe.
THE bird that soars on highest wing,
When Mary chose the "better part,"
And Lydia's gently-open'd heart
Was made for God's own temple meet;
Whose clothing is humility.
The saint that wears heaven's brightest crown,
In deepest adoration bends;
The weight of glory bows him down,
Then most when most his soul ascends;
1. What song-bird soars highest?
6. What is meant by the "better part"?
7. Should we not imitate Mary, and choose it too.
8. Under whose preaching did the Lord open Lydia's heart?
9. Name to me the most beautiful of all dresses for a female.
10. Does advancement in the christian life make the believer become proud? 11. Who bends lowest in presence of his God?
12. For what grace will he be most eminent, who stands nearest the throne of Jesus?
13. Have we anything of which to be proud being poor sinners?
14. Ought we not then all to pray in Christ's name for the grace of humility?
"NIGHTLY rest and daily bread, the ordinary use of our limbs, and senses, and under. standings, are gifts which admit of no comparison with any other. Yet, because almost every man we meet with possesses these, we leave them out of our enumeration. They raise no sentiment; they move no gratitude. Now, herein is our judgment perverted by our selfishness. A blessing ought in truth to be the more satisfactory, the bounty at least of the donor is rendered more conspicuous by its very diffusion, its commonness, its cheapness: by its falling to the lot, and forming the happiness, of the great bulk and body of our species, as well as of ourselves. Nay even when we do not possess it, it ought to be a matter of thankfulness that others do. But we have a different way of thinking. We court distinction. That is not the worst: we see nothing but what has distinction to recommend it. This necessarily contracts our views of the Creator's beneficence within a narrow compass; and most unjustly. It is in those things which are so common as to be no distinction, that the amplitude of the Divine benignity is perceived."-Paley.
THE sun is a glorious thing,
The moonlight is a gentle thing,
It shines upon the fisher's boat,
Or where the little lambkins lie,
The dew-drops on the summer morn,
The village children brush them off,
There are no gems in monarch's crowns.
And yet we scarcely notice them,
But tread them off in play.
Poor Robin on the pear-tree sings,
Beside the cottage door;
The heath-flower fills the air with sweets,
'Upon the pathless moor.
There are as many lovely things,
For those who sit by cottage-hearths