with every breath, and see friends thronging around him, anxiously gazing upon his features, as if for the last time; and retiring one by one with all the solemnity of mourners; and let it only be whispered, that the ablest physician in the neighbourhood has said, medical aid will not avail-he must die.-Every low-uttered sentence meets him like a thunderbolt, though his nearest kindred know it not. Every word that steals upon his sickened ear, tells of death. Of death inexorabe ; Of death" that blots out every hope of heaven." Now he is startled, the territories of death are in full view, and the caverns of despair seem thrown wide open, and the fiery gulfs beneath all fathomless, bespeak the avenging arm of Eternal justice. With a prospect so ominous of ruin, he prays unceasingly for mercy, and desires all to pray, that care for his salvation. In this paroxism of feeling, he would think it would be unkind to be told, that he is only "almost persuaded to be a Christian;" perhaps he already begins to think, that his prayers are heard; and soon he gathers a hope, that when death has performed its office, he shall be congregated with adoring seraphs, and all the myriads of the blessed, who encircle the throne of the Eternal. He is solicitous, that all around him should dry up their tears, for in his own apprehension he is quite on the verge of heaven. But lest he should deceive his best friends, and encourage others to delay repentance, till the last hour of life; a righteous providence rebukes the disease, and permits him to reoccupy his former place in society, and prove what is his moral character. Is there now exhibited a radical change of feeling? His conversation and his conduct testify not any. Was he ever any other than an almost Christian? Every friend and every foe testifies no other.

[To be continued]

23

[For the Monitor.]

FLUELLAN AND ANTONIO.

In the progress of every man's life there are seasons in which the feelings are swayed more by the influence of passion than of reason. On the duration of these seasons depends often the usefulness of a man's future life. If to the passions which are excited in his breast he finds no permanent check, not only his usefulness but his hapiness, is forever gone. How often have we seen the youthful bosom panting for revenge, and actuated by the most ferocious passions! And how often have we seen that same youth mourn over the excitement which might have produced the most fatal results!

Such was the disposition of Fluellan that every one loved him; and yet, however paradoxical it may seem, it was such that every one feared him. He was the boast of the circle in which he moved, and his, friendship was courted by all. But there was one blot upon his character which was not likely soon to be removed. He was subject to that sudden excitement of feeling which is so often the cause of sorrow and mourning. He could endure the keenest arrows which satire could hurl at him; but when the voice of slander was heard to traduce his character or that of his friends, none was more easily excited, and, perhaps, none more difficult to be reconciled. His associates were acquainted with the irritability of his temper and studiously endeavoured to avoid the most distant allusion to the faults of which he or his friends might have been guilty. It would have been strange however if, with the present disposition of man, Fluellan had never heard of these failings. It is saying something in his favour that his passions never rose so high when he himself was the object of censure, as when that censure was levelled at his associates. Unfortunately Antonio, unconscious of trespass ing on the feelings of any one present, pointed out, to a circle of which Fluellan was a part, an error in the conduct of an absent friend. The countenance of Fluellan burned with indignation, and from that moment he became the avowed enemy of him who was previ

ously his companion and friend, and nothing could unbend his resolution of retaliating on his innocent victim. Even the arguments of his friends were to no purpose. He asserted that it was not in the power of man to render his attempts abortive.

Antonio, also, was passionate; but it was only at the moment of provocation. He was sudden as the lightning in his resentment; but when the first ebullition of his passions was over, other feelings ennobled his mind. He received the challenge of Fluellan, not with the calmness of a reasonable man; but with the ravings of a maniac. His brow was dark and lowering. He threw down the guantlet of defiance at his adversary and went away in a rage. His reason returned when it was too late to repent. Fluellan had received his acceptation of the challenge and it could not be recalled. What had he done? An act which he had determined never to perform. He had agreed to aim at the life of his friend and to put his own life at hazard in a dangerous encounter. God of mercy! cried Antonio, forgive my rashness and avert the consequences to which it may lead me. He threw himself upon the compassion of Fluellan, but he was inexorable. He begged him to look at the consequences; but he was giving his words to the winds. Antonio arose from the feet of his offended associate calm and determined. Here, then, cried he, here is my naked bosom. Strike in thine anger, but when I am gone, remember, Antonio loved you. Never, never, to save my own existence, will I raise my arm against my friend.

While he was addressing to him this last appeal, Fluellan, reckless of consequences, had lifted his sword to make the fatal plunge, when, at the name of friend, his arm fell nerveless to his side. The paleness of death settled on his features, and he cried out in agony, where art thou, Fluellan ?-Who pronounced the name of friend? Long has been my sleep, and must I wake only to find my sword aimed at the bosom of my companion? Antonio, how came I thus? Alas! that passion which I have so long cherished has prompted me to such a deed. Heaven be thanked for his inter

ference! Forgive me, Antonio! Pardon me, my friend! Unexpected as was this address, Antonio profited by it. He ever afterwards kept the resolution which he then made, that his passions never again should prevail over his better judgment. Fluellan too, whose resentment had been raised to so high a pitch, learned a lesson which he has never forgotten, and which has, probably, saved himself or others from a premature grave. Antonio, long since, expired amidst the blessings of thousands, surrounded by affluence and honour, and full of the hope of a glorious immortality beyond the tomb. Fluellan still lives to adore the hand which restrained him from the performance of an action that would have ended his own happiness forever and cast a deep gloom over the neighbourhood in which he lived.

With such an example before us, we should desist from cherishing those feelings which, in their operation, are productive of so much misery. If they once obtain the sway, we cannot foresee the evils which they will produce. Our first duty is to acquaint ourselves with that vital religion which it was one object of the Redeemer to inculcate. We shall then possess a powerful check to our passions, which we cannot otherwise possess. DIE EITELKEIT.

SIR,

[For the Monitor.]

Should you think the following worthy a place in your useful publication, you are at liberty to insert it.

THE DEATH-BED.

'Twas autumn, and summer's flowers had faded,
And the forest leaves fast falling, imaged
The close of life. 'Twas then another flower,
And lovelier, was destined to decay. For she,
Who was erst the hamlet's pride, was lingering
In disease, consumption's prey. Fell tyrant!
Not one year was gone since from all that's dear
In life, he'd snatch'd away her only brother,

And save herself, her parents' only hope!
She was following fast! Her countenance,
Deathlike and pale, all but the tint of red,
Which fluttered on her cheek as if to take
Its flight, foretold her stay on earth was short.'
He who gave her life, had given her hand
To one of his own name, who should possess
His wealth, and bear his name up, when he had borne
Awhile the weight of years and sunk in death.
As I entered the room, she knew me well,
The partner of many a childish sport ;-
And would have spoke, but could only try
To nod me welcome to the death-bed scene.
Fly, ye profane, if not, draw nigh with awe!'
She was pillowed up in the bed, panting-
For breath, and over her leaned one
Who felt a mother's yearnings; who gently
Raised her head, fanned fresh air upon her face,
And seemed to say to the struggling, weary,
Spirit; Stay a little longer.'

By the bed side sat her father, downcast,
And hardly reconciled to heaven's decree,
That called for her so soon, whom he had hoped
Would sooth his latest hour, then close his eyes,
And with pious grief follow him to the grave.
One side, as if retired to weep alone,

Nor daring yet to leave the room, where breathed
The soul he loved, was one, whose visage
Showed a deeper sorrow!

Pale and motionless he sat.

His heart was sick!

His long

Dark eyes, half hidden by the drooping membranes
That o'erhung them, turned not but looked on space.

In all the sulliness of half-subdued

Yet unsubmissive pride, his heart, perchance,

Was saying, 'all is wrong. For no such joy

As now and then lit up the daughter's eye

With heavenly smiles, and op'd through death's dark vale,
Away to light and life; nor hope like that

Which dried, soon as they rose the parents' tears,
Could heal his grief, who idolized the gift,

Thy will,'

But e er it was bestowed forgot the giver.
She died! And is she gone! he said.
O Heaven, 'be done.' The mother; and, thine,
The father sighed; and all was silent!

23*

A. B. C. D.