The budding twigs spread out their fan. LESSON SEVENTY-SIXTH. THE CONVERTED ATHEIST. The famous astronomer, Kircher, having an acquaintance who denied the existence of a Supreme Being, took the following method to convince him of his error, upon his own principles. Expecting him upon a visit, he proeured a very handsome globe of the starry heavens, which, being placed in a corner of the room, at which it could not escape his friend's observation, the latter seized the first occasion to ask from whence it came, and to whom it belonged. ever made by "Not to me," said Kircher; "nor was it any person, but came here by mere chance!" That," replied his sceptical friend, "is impossible. You surely jest." Kircher, however, seriously persisting in his assertion, took occasion to reason with his friend upon his own atheistical principles. "You will not," said he, "believe that this small body originated in mere chance; and yet you would contend that those heavenly bodies, of which it is only a faint and diminutive resemblance, came into existence without order and design!" Pursuing this chain of reasoning, his friend was at first confounded, in the next place convinced, and ultimately Joined in a cordial acknowledgment of the absurdity of denying the existence of a God. LESSON SEVENTY-SEVENTH. THE HOUR OF DEATH. Leaves have their time to fall, And flowers to wither at the north wind's breath, And stars to set-but all, Thou hast all seasons for thine own, O death! Day is for mortal care, Eve for glad meetings round the joyous hearth, Night for the dreams of sleep, the voice of prayer— But all for thee, thou mightiest of the earth. The banquet hath its hour Its feverish hour of mirth, and song, and wine; There comes a day for grief's o'erwhelming power, A time for softer tears-but all are thine. Youth and the opening rose May look like things too glorious for decay, Leaves have their time to fall, And flowers to wither at the north wind's breath, Thou hast all seasons for thine own, O death! We know when moons shall wane, When summer birds from far shall cross the sea, Is it when spring's first gale Thou art where billows foam, Thou art where music melts upon the air; Thou art where friend meets friend, Thou art where foe meets foe, and trumpets rend The skies, and swords beat down the princely crest. Leaves have their time to fall, And flowers to wither at the north wind's breath, Thou hast all seasons for thine own, O death! LESSON SEVENTY-EIGHTH. DR BEATTIE AND HIS SON. It is much to be desired, that, in lessons to children, matters of fact, and examples taken from visible objects, should be made use of. This wise method of instruction was, perhaps, never more forcibly and more usefully employed, than in the following instance of Dr Beattie's son. The doctor, speaking of his son, thus observes: "He had reached his fifth or sixth year, knew the alphabet, and could read a little; but had received no particular information with respect to the Author of his being. [Surely, this was most culpable neglect in the parent.] In a corner of a little garden, without informing any person of the circumstance, I wrote, in the mould, with my finger, the three initials of his name, and, sowing garden-cresses in the furrows, covered up the seed, and smoothed the ground. "Ten days after, he came running to me, and, with astonishment in his countenance, told me his name was growing in the garden. I laughed at the report, and seemed inclined to disregard it; but he insisted upon my going to see what had happened. Yes,' said I, carelessly, But what is there 6 on coming to the spot, 'I see it is so. in this worth notice? is it not mere chance?' and I went away. He followed me, and, taking hold of my coat, said, with some degree of earnestness, It could not be mere chance, for that somebody must have contrived matters so as to produce it.' "So, you think,' said I, 'that what appears so regular as the letters of your name, cannot be by chance?' Yes,' said he, with firmness, 'I think so.' 'Look at yourself,' I replied; consider your hands and fingers, your legs and feet, and other limbs ; are they not regular in their appearance, and useful to you?' He said they were. Came you then hither,' said I, 'by chance?' 'No,' he answered, 'that cannot be; something must have made me.' 'And who is that something?' I asked. He said, 'I don't know.' "I had now gained the point I aimed at, and saw that his reason taught him, though he could not express it, that what begins to be, must have a cause; and that what is formed with regularity, must have an intelligent cause. I therefore told him the name of the Great Being who made him and all the world; concerning whose adorable nature I gave him such information as I thought he could in some measure comprehend. The lesson affected him greatly, and he never forgot it, nor the circumstance that introduced it." LESSON SEVENTY-NINTH. THE EVERGREENS. When summer's sunny hues ador But when the tints of autumn have The landscape that cold shadow shows, Thus thoughts that frown upon our mirth LESSON EIGHTIETH. ROBERT BRUCE. In 1306, Bruce, having taken shelter in the isle of Arran, sent a person in his confidence into Carrick, to learn how his vassals in that territory stood affected to the cause of their ancient lord. He enjoined the messenger, if he saw that the dispositions of the people were favourable, to make a signal, at a day appointed, by lighting a fire on an eminence above the castle of Turnberry. The messenger found the English in possession of Carrick; Percy, with a numerous garrison, at Turnberry; the country dispirited and in thraldom; none to espouse the party of Bruce, and many whose inclinations were hostile. From the first dawn of the day appointed for the signal, Bruce stood with his eyes fixed on the coast of Carrick; noon had already past, when he perceived a fire on the eminence above Turnberry; he flew to the boat and has 7 tened over; night surprised him and his associates, while they were yet on the sea. Conducting themselves by the fire, they reached the shore. The messenger met them, and reported, that there was no hope of aid. "Traitor!" cried Bruce, "why did you make the signal ?" "I made. no signal," cried he; "but observing a fire on the eminence, I feared it might deceive you, and I hastened hither to warn you from the coast." Bruce hesitated amidst the dangers that encompassed him, what to avoid, or what to encounter. At length, obeying the dictates of valour and despair, he resolved to persevere in his enterprise. He attacked the English, carelessly cantoned in the neighbourhood of Turnberry, put them to the sword, and pillaged their quarters. Percy from the castle heard the uproar; yet durst not issue forth against an unknown enemy. Bruce with his followers, not exceeding three hundred in number, remained for some days near Turnberry; but succours having arrived from the neighbouring garrisons, he was obliged to seek shelter in the mountainous parts of Carrick. Some years after this, however, Bruce stormed the castle, though at the expense of the destruction of the building. It was a favourite policy with Bruce, to destroy the castles which he took. He saw that the English, by means of forts judiciously placed, had maintained themselves in Scotland, with little aid from their sovereign. He wished to prevent such a misfortune from occurring for the future; and, perhaps, he apprehended, that when the country came to be settled in peace, the possession of fortified castles might render his own barons no less formidable to the crown than the English garrisons had been to the nation. LESSON EIGHTY-FIRST. THE TEMPEST STILLED. Fear was within the tossing bark, And waves came rolling high and dark, ་ |