cherished every circumstance connected with her memory; he loved to recall her kindness, and to dwell upon objects, however trifling, which reminded him of her. Among other things, he delighted in being surrounded by the flower she had preferred, and whoever placed a bouquet of red stocks in his study or his room, was sure to be rewarded by his most affectionate thanks for bringing him what he called "the favorite flower." But this well judging parent did not confine her cares to his health alone; she devoted herself equally to the formation of his mind, and was another proof of the influence that a mother's early attentions frequently shed over the future career of her son. She guided him in his religious duties, taught him to read fluently at the age of four years, took him every morning to an elementary school, and althongh herself ignorant of Latin, so scrupulously made him repeat his lessons to her, that he was always better prepared with his tasks than any other boy at the school. She made him draw under her own inspection; and by constantly furnishing him with the best works on history and general literature, nurtured that passion for reading, that ardent desire for knowledge, which became the principal spring of his intellectual existence.

The Complaint of the Dying Year.
An Allegory-by Jane Taylor.

RECLINING on a couch of fallen trees, wrapped in a fleecy mantle, with withered limbs, hoarse voice, and snowy beard, appears a venerable old man. His pulse beats feebly, his breath becomes shorter; he exhibits every mark of approaching dissolution. This is old Eighteen hundred and thirty-three, and as every class of readers must remember him as a young man, rosy and blithsome as themselves, they will perhaps feel interested in hearing some of his dying expressions, with a few particulars of his past life. His existence is still likely to be prolonged a few days by the presence of his daughter December, the last and sole survivor of his twelve fair children. But it is thought the father and daughter will expire together.

The following are some of the expressions which have been taken down as they fell from his dying lips:

"I am," said he, "the son of old father time, and the last of a numerous progeny; for he has had no less than five thousand eight hundred and thirty-three of us; but it has ever been his fate to see one child expire before another was born. It is the opinion of some, that his own constitution is beginning to break up, and that when he has produced a hundred or two more of us, his family will be complete, and then he himself will be no more."

Here the old year called for his account book, and turned over the pages with a sorrowful eye. He has kept, it appears, an accurate account of the moments, minutes, hours and seconds, which he has issued; and subjoined, in some places, memoranda of the uses to which they have been applied, and of the losses he has sustained. These particulars it would be tedious to detail, and perhaps the recollection of the reader may furnish them as well or better. But we must notice one circumstance. Upon turning to a certain page in his accounts, the old man was much affected, and the tears streamed down his furrowed cheek as he examined it. This was the account of the fifty Sundays which he had issued: and which, of all the wealth he had to dispose of, has been, it appears, the most scandalously wasted. "These," said he, "were my most precious gifts. I had but fifty-two of them to bestow. Alas! how lightly have they been esteemed !"

pon referring to some old memoranda, he found a list of vows and resolutions, which had a particular reference to these fifty-two Sundays. This, with a mingled emotion of grief and anger, he tore into a hundred pieces, and threw them on the embers, by which he was endeavoring to warm his shivering limbs.

"I feel, however," said he, "more pity than indignation towards these offenders, since they were far greater enemies to themselves than to me. But there are a few outrageous ones by whom I have been defrauded of so much of my substance, that it is difficult to think of them with patience; particularly that notorious thief, Procrastination, of whom every person has heard, and who is well known to have wronged my venerable father of much of my property. There are also three noted ruffians, Sleep,

Sloth, and Pleasure, from whom I have suffered much: besides a certain busy body called Dress, who, under pretence of making the most of me, and taking great care of me, steals away more of my gifts than any two of them. "As for me, all must acknowledge that I have performed my part towards my friends and foes. I have fulfilled my utmost promises, and been more bountiful than many of my predecessors. My twelve fair children have, each in their turn aided my exertions: and their various tastes and dispositions have all conduced to the general good. Mild February, who sprinkled the naked boughs with delicate buds, and brought her wonted offering of early flowers, was not of more essential use than that rude blustering brag, March, who, though violent in his temper, was well intentioned and useful. April, a gentle, tender hearted girl, wept for her loss, yet cheered me with many a smile.

"May came crowned with roses, and sparkling in sunbeams, and laid up a store of costly ornaments for her luxuriant successors; but I cannot stop to enumerate the good qualities and graces of all my children. You, my poor December, dark in your complexion, and cold in your temper, greatly resemble my first-born, January; with this difference, that he was most prone to anticipation, and you to reflection.

"If there should be any who upon hearing my dying lamentation, may feel regret that they have not treated me more kindly, I would beg leave to hint, that it is įeir power to make some compensation for their past c ruct by rendering me service during my few remaining days. Let them testify the sincerity of their sorrow by an immediate alteration in their behavior. It would give me particular pleasure to see my only surviving child treated with respect; let no one slight her offerings, she has a considerable part of my property still to dispose of, which, if well employed, will turn to good account. Not to mention the rest, there are two precious Sundays yet in her gift; it would cheer my last moments to know that these had been better prized than those which are gone. It is very likely that at least after my decease, many may reflect upon themselves for their misconduct towards me; to such I would leave it as my dying injunction, not to

waste time in unavailing regret; all their wishes and repentance will not recall me to life. I shall never, never return! I would rather earnestly recommend that they regard my youthful successor whose appearance is shortly expected. I cannot hope to survive long enough to introduce him: but I would fain hope that he will meet with a favorable reception, and that, in addition to the flattering honors which greeted my birth, and instead of the fair promises which deceived my hope, more diligent exertions and more persevering efforts may be expected. Let it be remembered that one honest endeavor is worth ten fair promises."

Having thus spoken, the Old Year fell back on his couch, nearly exhausted, trembling so violently, as o shake the last shower of yellow leaves from his canopy. Let us all haste to testify our gratitude for his services, and repentance for the abuse of them, by improving the remaining days of his existence, and by remembering the solemn promises we made him in his youth.

How swiftly pass our years!
How soon their night comes on;

A train of hopes and fears,
And human life is gone!

See, the fair summer now is past;

The foliage late that clad the trees

Stript by their equinoctial blast,

Falls, like the dew-drops on the breeze.

Cold winter hastens on,

Fair nature feels his grasp:

Weeps over all her beauties gone,
And sighs their glory past.

So life, thy summer soon will end,

Thine autumn too will quick decay,
And winter come, when thou shalt bend
Within the tomb to mould away.

But summer will return,

In all her beauties dressed!

Nature shall yet rejoice again,
And be by man caressed.

But, ah! life's summer passed away,

Can never, never hope return!

Cold winter comes; with cheerless ray
To beam upon its dreary urn!

Then may we daily seek

A mansion in the skies,
Where summers never cease,
And glory never dies!

There an eternal SPRING shall bloom,
With joys as vast as angel's powers!
And thrice ten thousand harps in tune
Shall praise the love that made it ours.

The poor Irish Girl.

A POOR Irish girl came to this country some time since for the purpose, as she said, of seeking a home for herself and parents in this happy land. Her parents were extremely poor in Ireland, and she was resolved, if possible, to obtain by her labor as a domestic, the means of bringing them here also. She resided in a town in New-Eng land, in a pious family, and became deeply interested in religion and a lover of her Bible. When Mr. Shepard came to that town on his agency, this poor girl went to him and placed in his hands fifty cents to be appropriated to the objects of the Bible Society. On hearing her simple story, he at first declined taking the sum-but she insisted upon it, saying that although she was laying by her earnings for her dear parents, yet she thought she must spare from them this small sum, that she might do something towards giving the Bible to the poor people of Ireland. A gentleman of benevolent feelings, hearing of this personal sacrifice, sent her fifty dollars, and she was enabled immediately to send for her parents; and they are now living with her at a happy and comfortable home in New-England, where she was residing.

Effect of a Mother's Prayer upon her Children.

Not long since, a pious mother of my acquaintance, who is in the habit of singing and praying with her children, called her three little sons around the domestic altar. After singing a hymn suited to the occasion, she bowed the knee before the Lord. She felt deeply impressed with a sense of the divine presence, and an unusual degree of solemnity filled her soul; while her fervent desires, mingled with grateful thanksgivings, ascended to a throne of grace.

While supplicating the blessing of God to rest