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monished.” True wisdom, then, is the greatest honour. “ Exalt wisdom, and she shall promote thee; she shall bring thee to honour, when thou dost embrace her.” Manasseh, it seems, was a wicked boy; for we are told “he did that which was evil in the sight of the Lord.” Now all sin is “evil in the sight of the Lord;" it is that "abominable thing that he hateth.” We cannot hide our sins from God; though they be not done in the sight of any one else, they are all done in the“ sight of the Lord.” “Thou God seest me." “ If I say, Surely the darkness shall cover me; even the night shall be light about me.” Remember this, dear young friends, and never do what you know to be wrong, because God always sees you.
Manasseh grew up to be an ungodly man; and so naughty boys very often do. And then, what was the end of Manasseh's wickedness? Why " the Lord brought upon him the captains of the host of the king of Assyria, which took Manasseh among the thorns, and bound him with fetters, and carried him to Babylon.” Then, however, in his captivity he came to himself, and repented, and humbled himself before the Lord, and prayed, and the Lord“ heard his supplication, and brought him again to Jerusalem, into his kingdom. Then Manasseh knew that the Lord he was God.” Thus we hope he was saved after all; but he made work for repentance; and every naughty child is doing the same. Perhaps some are quite aware of it, and intend to repent some time; but it is foolish to do what we intend to répent of doing; and it is presumptuous too; for if we thus sin deliberately, God may not allow us time nor grace to repent. “ Now all these things happened unto them for ensamples : and they are written for our admonitioni, upon whom the ends of the world are come.”
CRUELTY AND KINDNESS TO CHILDREN. “ COME along, sir,” said Sally, the young nursemaid, to little Samuel ; " Come along, wake up, I have no time to dandle here; come along, I say,” and at the same time she
gave the little fellow a rude pull by the arm. " Oh, dear! Sally, you have hurt my arm so," said the little fellow, with eyes only half open; “I will wake, only let me stretch and think a moment. I was dreaming about my dear mamma. Oh, dear! how sorry I am she is gone to heaven ; she was so very kind to me when she was alive; she used to call me her precious boy, and tickle me awake in the morning. Oh, what a kind face she had?” “ Come, sir, jump up at once, without any more fuss,” repeated Sally, and, dragging him over the side of the bed, poor little Samuel knocked his head against the post. A loud crying was the consequence, and now and then the heart-stirring sentence, “Oh, how I wish my mamma could come back again!" But Sally cared not, neither the crying nor the little bursting heart found any sympathy within her bosom ; on she went, pulling the poor child this way and that way, turning up his hair in a rough manner, scrubbing the poor little skin till it was red
“Oh, dear! how you do hurt me, Sally! Oh, I wish my own dear mamma could come back to wash me again!” and then the poor little bereaved one was well nigh choked again with weeping. “ There, go down, you great baby, do,” said Sally, “ you are always crying."
The child went down with his eyes red, and his face flashed, and his heart very sad indeed. “ What is the matter, my son?” asked the father, as his anxious eye rested upon his motherless boy. “My head aches, pa, and my hair is turned back the wrong way, and my heart is patting against my side. Oh, I am so glad sister Jane is coming home to-day to dress me in the morning! she talks to me, and washes and dresses me like dear mamma ;" and the little fellow wept on his father's shoulder. The father wept too, and they took their breakfast in silence.
The next morning, sister Jane was at Samụel's bedside, and, gently patting his rosy cheek, she said, “ Come, little Sammy, it is time to awake
Sammy, Sammy! ope your eye,
For the sun is in the sky.'" Sammy smiled, and opened his eyes, but he was very sleepy.
Come, dear," continued the kind sister, "you do not know
what I have seen this morning in your little garden. I just ran round to see dear mamma's primroses, you told me about, and I saw a wee thing peeping up in your bed.” “ Did you, though ?” asked the little boy, jumping up, and looking very happy ; " What kind of thing was it ?” Oh, it was a tiny thing, with a white head,” continued Jane.
Ah, then, I know what it was; my little bonny rabbit is got out from his mother!” “No; the little thing I saw was not a little rabbit; it did not run away, and you may run out and look at it when you are ready for breakfast.”
• What can it be, I wonder! it was not there yesterday.” Sammy, I dare say you could have seen it, yesterday," replied Jane ; “but perhaps it had not opened its case to look at the sun then." “ Well, sister Jane, you do puzzle me—is it alive?" “ Yes, it has life, but not the same kind of life that you have, nor yet the kind of life your bonny rabbit has.” “Well-how very funny! Oh, I am so glad you are come home, dear sister; I am so happy again now;" and the little affectionate fellow clasped his arms round Jane's neck with delight. “ There, little boy, now you are ready," said the kind girl; “so, when you have thanked gentle Jesus for taking care of you through the night, and asked Him to watch over you during the day, you will have plenty of time to run round the garden before papa is ready for breakfast.” “Ah, ah! Miss Jenny, I have found you out,” said little Samuel as he ran in with a shining morning face, and kissed his kind sister, “it is a beautiful little snow-drop; but
poor mamma is not here now, for me to give it to her when it is grown up, as I used to do."
No, dear, she is notdear mamma! This is true, but she is gone where there is no winter—no sorrows; where everlasting spring abides, as the hymn says, and never-withering flowers. We must try to be like her, dear Sammy, and then we shall go to her; but we will not talk about her now, as I hear papa's foot," said the thoughtful girl," and we must try to make him as happy as we can; and I will tell you now all about what I have seen at Uncle James's." How
many tears might be prevented, and how much illtemper and evil passion might be avoided, if young servants,
and elder sisters, would only act kindly towards little chil dren—they are pulled about and handled roughly-frowned upon and spoken crossly to-when a kind word and gentle manners would win their love, and make them obedient. It is, indeed, a sad misfortune to poor little helpless children. when they are given in charge to an ill-tempered person. A good-tempered conscientious nursemaid, or a thoughtful elder sister, may prove a great blessing to a mother, as well as to the little ones, over whom they have great power. If such
persons would only take the directions of the Bible for their guide, and the meek and lowly Jesus for their example, they would be happy themselves, and be the means of diffusing happiness in the circles where they move. It would be a good plan, perhaps, for a family, where cross looks and hard words are seen and heard, to learn that nice little text, and repeat it at family worship—"Be ye kindly affectioned one to another.”—From the Mother's Friend,
SPEECH OF THE TOWN PUMP. OLD WINSFORD, having met with the following speech of the Town Pump, thinks it will greatly interest his young friends, and therefore has great pleasuire in sending it to the “ Juvenile Companion.” SCENE—The corner of two principal Streets. The Town
Pump talking through its nose. Noon, by the north clock! Noon, by the clock! High noon, too, by the hot sun-beams which fall scarcely aslope upon my head, and almost make the water bubble and smoke in the trough under my rose. Truly, we public characters have a rough time of it. Among all the town officers, who sustain for a single year, the burden of such manifold duties as are imposed in perpetuity upon the Town Pump. The title of town-treasurer is rightfully mine; and as guardian of the best treasure the town has, the overseers of the poor ought to make me their chairman, since I provide bountifully to the pauper, without expense
to the ratepayer. I am at the head of the fire department, and one of the physicians of the Board of Health. As a keeper of the peace, all water-drinkers will confess me equal to the constable. I perform some of the duties of the townclerk, by promulgating public notices, when pasted on my front. To speak within bounds, I am chief person of the municipality, and exhibit an admirable pattern to my brother officers, by the cool, steady, upright, downright, and impartial discharge of my duties, and the constancy with which I stand to my post.
Summer or winter, nobody seeks me in vain ; for, all day long, I am seen at the busiest corner, just above the market, stretching out my arms to rich and poor alike; and at night, I hold a lantern over my head, both to show where I am, and keep people out of the gutters. At this sultry noontide, I am cup-bearer to the parched populace, for whose benefit an iron goblet is chained to my waist. I cry aloud to all and sundry in my plainest accents, and at the very tip-top of my voice. Here it is, gentlemen; here is the good liquor! walk up, walk up, gentlemen, walk up, walk up! Here is the superior stuff! Here is the unadulterated ale of father Adam! better than Cognac, Hollands, Jamaica, strong beer, wine, tea, coffee, or cocoa. Here it is by the hogshead or the glass, and not a farthing to pay! Walk up, gentlemen, and help yourselves. It were a pity if all this outcry should draw no customers. Here they come. A hot day, gentlemen; quaff and away again, so as to keep yourselves in a nice cool state. You, my friend, will need another cupful to wash the dust out of your throat, if it be as thick there as it is on your shoes. I see you have trudged half a score miles to-day; and, as a wise man, have passed by the taverns, and stopped at the running brooks ; otherwise, betwixt heat without and fire within, you would have been burnt to a cinder, or melted down to nothing at all, in the fashion of a jelly-dish. Drink and make room for that fellow who seeks my aid to quench 'the fiery fever of last night's potations, which he drained from no cup of mine. Welcome, most rubicund sir; you and I have been great strangers, hitherto; nor, to confess the truth, will my