Still more common is a splenetic humour towards our friends and acquaintances, often productive of sayings not the less cruel because they are witty, and displaying itself, when all wit is wanting, in low-born detraction. This is a humour, which, with the sinister practices resulting from it, is ever found to own the sway of habit; and when it is once fixed in the mental constitution, the misanthrope becomes at once miserable himself, and a fruit-. ful source of misery to all around him.

Who cannot trace the influence of custom, in the anxious thoughts, and studious penury of the miser, who, growing rich by slow degrees, starves himself and his dependants, in the same progressive ratio, from an ever-increasing terror of poverty ?

“What shall be given unto thee, or what shall be done unto thee, thou false tongue? Sharp arrows of the mighty, with coals of juniper:" (Psalm cxx. 4.) There is nothing more natural to man than this false tongue; it is inherent in his fallen nature, and is set in action by him who was a liar from the beginning, and "the father of it :" (John viii. 44.) Yet its flippant facility; first in paring down, or exaggerating truth, and at length in sacrificing and demolishing it, without reserve, and on all sorts of occasions-displays in a remarkable manner the insinuating influence, and in the end, the irrevocable tyranny of bad habit.

SYMPATHY AND SUCCOUR.

To such of my young readers as have been well instructed, or are in any degree right-minded, I need scarcely observe, that the question," What does the all-seeing God think of me?" is far more important than "What do my fellow-creatures think of me?"-that the enquiry, "What am I?" is more profitable than "What do I appear?" Nevertheless, if used subordinately, the opinion of man may assist us also. For since Scripture says, "With the same measure we mete, it shall be measured to us again," we may form some estimate of our own character, by the impression it makes on those around us. To this end, I am about to introduce to you three little girls, who held very different degrees in the love of those who knew then. And I think I may add, that according as you resemble the one or the other, will be the amount of affection felt for yourselves.

They had received the person, that a stranger Fanny was fourteen, and younger. Now, among

Fanny, Maria, and Eliza, were sisters. same instruction, and were so similar in scarcely knew them one from another. the others, who were twins, a year the friends with whom these young people associated, though many were sensible of Fanny's value, few felt for her anything so tender as love: most of them, on the contrary, loved Maria at first sight, but their regard invariably diminished, as their acquaintance increased. Eliza was the only one who gained and kept affection. This difference might be traced to the different degree and mode in which they observed the law of kindness. Fanny's rough and active nature, would do much to serve her fellowcreatures; but the law of kindness was never on her lips. With Maria, kind and appropriate words were always ready; but to afford effectual aid, comported not with her settled habits of selfindulgence. In Eliza, however, gentle manners and self-denying exertion were combined: so that, young as she was, she was applied to with confidence, for any service in her power to render. The few sketches I intend to give of these sisters, will, I think, illustrate the effects of succour without sympathy, sympathy without succour, and the happy results flowing from the union of both.

“How grieved I am, dear mamma,” said Maria, “that Ardley has been obliged to go so suddenly; especially now you are so weak and sadly. Poor thing! how distressed she seemed at her mother's danger. What will you do without her, mamma?”

"Why, my love, as our usual helps are busy in the harvestfields, we must do the best we can, and all make ourselves useful to-day."

"I wish now, I had written to cousin Augusta yesterday,” replied Maria thoughtfully; "it cannot be put off longer: and those flowers in my little garden I must move, or they will be too big to transplant. However, I will make all possible haste, and then come and ask you what I shall do."

"Mrs. Shenfield well knew how to estimate this promise of assistance and her eye turned towards her quiet Eliza, who was then entering the room.

"Mamma," she said, I may I take the little ones for a walk? I will take great care of them."

"Thank you, dear child! it will be the most useful thing you can do."

"And when we are gone, you will lie down on the sofa for an hour?" added Eliza, affectionately kissing her mother.

'I will endeavor to do so, when I have attended to a few necessary things."

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Well, you must not, dear mamma, tire yourself. Fanny, I am sure, will do anything she can."

Away went Eliza, and met her sister in the nursery. Ardley's mother so very ill?" Fanny enquired.

"Is

"O very ill indeed. The inflammation is not at all subdued, and Mr. Hensley thinks her in great danger. She is suffering acute pain."

"I heard she was in pain," rejoined Fanny; "so I sent some of the flannel aunt gave me for my charity-drawer, and asked mamma for some camphorated spirits, that they might dip it in: for I shall never forget the relief I found from using it.—But really one quarter of an hour could have made but little difference; what a confusion the nursery is left in," continued Fanny, as she busily brushed up the hearth.

"Why, I dare say," replied Eliza, "Ardley never gave it one thought. Suppose you or I were suddenly to hear dear mamma was in danger, I am sure every thing else would go clean out of our minds. But you will soon be able to set all straight, for I am just come to take the little ones out."

"You take them out! I am sure you can never manage with them. I had much better come and help you."

"O yes, I can. Mamma has given me leave; and you will be so useful to her at home."

"Well! at any rate, I will help to dress them. Mary, you are quite old enough to dress yourself Come, Willy, put away your playthings: how dirty your hands are, they will have to be washed before you go out."

Willy began to cry; and Mary said, she was sure she couldn't button her spencer, and she did not wish to go at all.

Poor Eliza feared the little republic would be all in commotion. Possessing, however, some portion of feminine tact, she set about smoothing matters as well as she could.

"No; let me carry this through, dear Fanny," she said: "there

is one thing that I know mamma will tire herself with, if we do not forestall her; and that is, counting up the linen for the washerwoman,"

"What, has not Ardley set down the linen? That is without excuse; for it ought to have been done when her brother came." Before Eliza had time to reply, Fanny was in another room, sorting and preparing the weekly bundle. So taking up the toybox, she addressed herself to the little boy, "Here, Willy, is your box, see how quickly you can put them in. Come, Mary," she added in a cheerful tone, "you must not look cross this bright morning. Of course Fanny did not mean you to fasten the spencer, but she wished you to be quick, and so do I; for I should like to have time to reach the Hazel-wood."

Up jumped Mary. Willy's hands were presented for washing, and "the Hazel-wood! the Hazel-wood!" resounded from all sides. In ten minutes they were all on their way; and a very pleasant walk they enjoyed, in the care of their good natured sister. Fanny's activity was very useful at home, and when the family met at dinner, all things were prosperously accomplished. By that time, Jane, the housemaid, having hastened her work, was able to take the place of nurse for the rest of the day. Maria blushed, as she joined the party, with a letter neatly sealed up in her hand.

"I am so sorry," she began, "that I could be of no use this morning; but I have only just finished. The garden took so much longer than I expected."

"We have managed very comfortably;" replied Mrs. Shenfield. "I am only sorry on your own account, that you cannot share the pleasure Fanny and Eliza must feel, in having been really valuable."

So ended the first day. On the next, a respectable woman whom they sometimes employed, left her gleaning for a few hours, to render assistance.

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"You were very good to come, Mrs. Burton," observed Maria. I am so glad you were able; for now, dear mamma will neither be fatigued nor anxious." Then, turning to her sisters, she added, "I wish I had been at liberty yesterday, for now the need is over."

Fanny and Eliza, however, still found plenty to do: and when

Mrs. Shenfield, after being detained for some time by a visitor, re-entered the nursery, the former was diligently engaged with the basket of stockings and socks; while the latter's light step was soon heard on the stairs, bringing a cup of arrow-root, which she had requested the cook to make.

"Now take it, dear mamma, before you get faint:" was her kind exhortation, as she placed her little waiter on the table; accompanying the words by an affectionate kiss.

.

A tear started in their parent's eye. "Thank you, dear children, for all your love and assistance: this will refresh me very much; it is the best thing you could have brought. And you, Fanny, have been diligent, so far to reduce the contents of the basket.” "Why I knew," answered Fanny, “ they must be done; so I thought I might as well set about them.”

"A very philosophic conclusion! "replied her mamma, smiling. I give you credit, however, my Fanny, for a much kinder motive. And now we will sit down, and finish the work together."

"O that will be pleasant," said Eliza; resuming her employment on a baby's nightcap, of which she was crimping the border. "How glad I am that this is the vacation.”

"And now,” observed Fanny, “if my lady Maria had not some unfortunate engagement, she might have read to us."

'Hush, Fanny!" said her mamma : never suffer yourself to speak sarcastically of your sister. Maria ought to have been with you, making herself useful: as the day advances, she will feel this; and feel it more powerfully, than if I were to speak now."

"What an industrious party!" exclaimed Mr. Shenfield, as he entered the nursery; "it is really quite cruel to disturb it. But, mamma, I have had Peggy brought up from the meadow, thinking a ride would do you good this beautiful morning. We poor ignorant men! how little we know about stockings and babycaps."

Mrs. Shenfield smiled; and the little girls laughed heartily. "O do go, mamma,” said Eliza : while Fanny added, “we can do it all just as well without you."

"Words more kind than courtly;" observed her papa: "actions, however, speak loudest; and your's Fanny, are generally useful. So we will hope the acceptable phrases are to come.”