a religion so horribly cruel, and so repugnant to the nature of God; and he was stung with remorse to think, if his parents knew what and where he was, their hearts would break with grief; that he was resolved to escape, if he (the captain) would send a boat in such a time and place; but begged secrecy, since, if his intentions were discovered, he would be immediately assassinated.

The captain returned for answer, that he could not, with propriety, send a boat; but, if he could devise any means to come on board, he would receive him as a British subject, and protect him. He did so; but, being missed, there was raised a hue and cry, and he was followed to the ship. A holy inquisitor demanded him, but he was refused. Another, in the name of "his holiness the Pope," claimed him; but the captain did not know him, or any other master, but his sovereign, King George.

At length, a third holy brother approached. The young man recognised him at a distance, and, in terror, ran to the captain, entreating him not to be deceived by him, for he was the most false, wicked, and cruel monster in all the inquisition. He was introduced, the young man being present; and, to obtain his object, began with the bitterest accusations against him; then he turned to the most fulsome flatteries of the captain; and, lastly, offered him a sum of money to resign him. The captain treated him with apparent attention, and said his offers were very handsome, and, if what he affirmed were true, the person in question was unworthy of the English name, or of his protection. The holy brother was elated. He thought his errand was acomplished.

While drawing his purse strings, the captain inquired what punishment would be inflicted on him. He replied, that was uncertain; but, as his offences were atrocious, it was likely his punishment would be exemplary. The captain asked, if he thought he

would be burnt in a dry pan. He replied, that must be determined by the holy inquisition; but it was not improbable. The captain then ordered the great copper to be heated, but no water to be put in.

All this while, the young man stood trembling; his cheeks resembled death; he looked to become an unhappy victim to avarice and superstition. The cook soon announced that the order was executed. Then, I command you to take this fellow," pointing to the inquisitor, and fry him alive in the copper!" This unexpected command thunderstruck the holy father. Alarmed for himself, he rose to be gone. The cook began to bundle him away. "O good captain, good captain." "I'll teach him to attempt to bribe a British commander to sacrifice the life of an Englishman, to gratify a herd of bloody men."

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Down the holy inquisitor fell upon his knees, offering him all his money, and promising never to return, if he would let him be gone. When the captain had sufficiently affrighted him, he dismissed him, warning him never to come again on such an errand. must be the reverse of feelings in the Englishman to find himself thus happily delivered! He fell upon his knees, in a flood of tears, before the captain, and poured out a thousand blessings upon his brave and noble deliverer.

"This," said the admiral to the gentleman, "is the circumstance that began our acquaintance. I then took him to be my servant; he served me from affection; mutual attachment ensued, and it has invariably subsisted and increased to this day."

LESSON SIXTY-SEVENTH.

The unclouded Sun.

The unclouded sun! While I survey
The appointed ruler of the day,
My spirit ardent cries,

Enlighten, Lord, my darkened mind;
By Truth's bright beams I fain would find
Salvation's blessed prize.

The unclouded sun; an emblem bright
Of the approaching world of light,
Without a dark'ning veil!
Knowledge shall shine resplendent there,
Nor clouds nor tempests interfere,
But light and truth prevail.

Their sun shall never more decline,
But with unfading lustre shine
Throughout eternal days!
God is their "light and glory" too;
His presence evermore they view
And sing his worthy praise.

LESSON SIXTY-EIGHTH.

Power of Conscience.

Dr. Fordyce in his Dialogues on education relates the following striking incident, which he says occurred in a neighboring state. A jeweller, a man of good character and considerable wealth, having occasion to leave home on business at some distance, took with him a servant. He had with him some of his best jewels and a large sum of money. This was known to the servant, who, urged by cupidity murdered his master on the road, rifled him of his jewels and money,,

and suspending a large stone round his neck, threw him into the nearest canal.

With the booty he had thus gained, the servant set off to a distant part of the country, where he had reason to believe that neither he nor his master were known. There he began to trade; at first in a very humble way, that his obscurity might screen him from observation; and in the course of many years, seemed, by the natural progress of business, to rise into wealth and consideration; so that his good fortune appeared at once the effect and reward of industry and virtue. Of these he counterfeited the appearance so well, that he grew into great credit, married into a good family, and was admitted into a share of the government of the town. He rose from one post to another, till at length he was chosen chief magistrate.

In this office he maintained a fair character, and continued to fill it with no small applause, both as governor and judge; until one day as he presided on the bench with some of his brethren, a criminal was brought before him, who was accused of murdering his master. The evidence came out fully; the jury brought in their verdict that the prisoner was guilty, and the whole assembly waited the sentence of the president of the court with great suspense.

The president appeared to be in unusual disorder and agitation of mind; his color changed often; at length he arose from his seat, and descending from the bench, placed himself close to the unfortunate man at the bar, to the no small astonishment of all present. "You see before you," said he, addressing himself to those who sat on the bench with him, "a striking instance of the just awards of heaven, which, this day, after thirty years concealment, presents to you a greater criminal than the man just now found guilty." He then made a full confession of his guilt, and of all its aggravations. "Nor can I feel," continued he, " any relief from the agonies of an awakened conscience,

but by requiring that justice be forthwith done against me in the most public and solemn manner."

We may easily suppose the amazement of all the assembly, and especially of his fellow judges. However, they proceeded upon his confession to pass sentence upon him, and he died with all the symptoms of a penitent mind.

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LESSON SIXTY-NINTH.

Shepherd and Philosopher.

Remote from cities lived a swain,
Unvexed with all the cares of gain.
His head was silvered o'er with age,
And long experience made him sage;
In summer's heat and winter's cold,
He fed his flock and penned the fold;
His hours in cheerful labor flew,
Nor envy nor ambition knew;
His wisdom and his honest fame,
Through all the country raised his name.
A deep philosopher, (whose rules
Of moral life were drawn from schools)
The shepherd's homely cottage sought;
And thus explored his reach of thought.
Whence is thy learning? Hath thy toil
O'er books consumed the midnight oil?
Hast thou old Greece and Rome surveyed,
And the vast sense of Plato weighed?
Hath Socrates thy soul refined?
And hast thou fathomed Tully's mind?
Or, like the wise Ulysses thrown,
By various fates, on realms unknown:
Hast thou through many cities strayed,
Their customs, laws, and manners, weighed?
The shepherd modestly replied,