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HANNAH MORE.

BORN, 1745; DIED, 1833. Principal Works.--Sacred Dramas, Hints towards forming the

Character of a Princess, Cælebs in Search of a Wise, Siriciullüs
on Female Education, Practical Piety, Moral Sketches.

THE TWO WEAVERS.
As at their work two weavers sat,
Beguiling time with friendly chat,
They touch'd upon the price of meat,
So high, a weaver scarce could eat!
“What with my babes and sickly wife,"
Quoth Dick, “ I'm almost tir'd of life;
So hard we work, so poor we fare,
'Tis more than mortal man can bear.

How glorious is the rich man's state!
His house so fine, his wealth so great!
Heaven is unjust, you must agree:
Why all to him, and none to me?

In spite of what the Scripture teaches,
In spite of all the pulpit preaches,
This world,-indeed, I've thought so long
Is rul'd, methinks, extremely wrong.
“ Where'er I look, howe'er I range,
'Tis all confus'd, and hard, and strange ;
The good are troubled and opprest,
And all the wicked are the blest."
Quoth John, “Our ignorance is the causo
Why thus we blame our Maker's laws.
Parts of his ways alone we know,
'Tis all that man can see below.
“See'st thou that carpet, not half done,
Which thou, dear Dick, hast well begun ?
Bcbold the wild confusion there!
So rude the mass, it makes one stare !

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"A stranger, ignorant of the trade,
Would say, no meaning's there convey'd ;
For where's the middle, where's the border ?
Thy carpet now is all disorder.”
Quoth Dick, “My work is yet in bits :
But still in every part it fits :
Besides, you reason like a lout ;
Why, man,

that

carpet's inside out."
Says John, “ Thou say'st the thing I mean,
And now I hope to cure thy spleen :
This world, which clouds thy soul with doubts
Is but a carpet inside out.
“ As when we view these shreds and ends,
We know not what the whole intends ;
So, when on earth things look but odd,
They're working still some scheme of God.
“No plan, no pattern, can we trace ;
All wants proportion, truth, and grace;
The motley mixture we deride,
Nor see the beauteous upper side.
“But when we reach the world of light,
And view these works of God aright;
Then shall we see the whole design,
And own, the Workman is Divine.
“What now seem random strokes, will there
All order and design appear ;
Then shall we praise what once we spurn'd,
For then the carpet will be turn'd.”
“Thou’rt right,” quoth Dick: “no more I'll grot!
That this world is so strange a jumble ;
My impious doubts are put to flight,
For my own carpet sets me right."

G

HOSPITALITY:-MUNGO PARK.

The enterprising traveller, Mungo Park, gives the following lively and interesting account of the hospitable treatment he received from a poor negro woman.

“Being arrived at Sego, on the banks of the Niger, I found,” he says, "to my great mortification, that no person would admit me into his house. I was regarded with astonishment and fear; and was obliged to sit the whole day without vietuals, in the shade of a tree.

“The night threatened to be very uncomfortable, for the wind rose, and there was great appearance of a heavy rain : the wild beasts, too, were so numerous in the neighbourhood, that I should have been under the necessity of climbing up the tree, and resting among the branches.

“About sunset, however, as I was preparing to pass the night in this manner, and had turned my horse loose, that he might graze at liberty, a negro woman, returning from the labours of the field, stopped to observe me; and perceiving that I was weary and dejected, inquired into my situation. I briefly explained it to her, after which, with looks of great compassion, she took up my saddle and bridle, and told me to follow her. Having conducted me into her hut, she lighted a lamp, spread a mat on the floor, and told me I might remain there for the night. Finding that I was very hungry, she went out to pro

HOSPITALITY:-MUNGO PARK.

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cure me something to eat; and returned in a short time with a very fine fish, which, having caused it to be half broiled upon some embers, she gave me for supper.

“The rites of hospitality being thus performed towards a stranger in distress, my worthy benefactress (pointing to the mat, and telling me I might sleep there without apprehension) called to the female part of her family, who had stood gazing on me all the while in fixed astonishment, to resume their task of spinning cotton; in which they continued to employ themselves great part of the night.

They lightened their labour by songs, one of which was composed extempore; for I was myself the subject of it. It was sung by one of the young women, the rest joining in a sort of chorus. The air was sweet and plaintive, and the words, literally translated, were these : The winds roared, and the rains fell. The

poor white man, faint and sat under our tree. He has no mother to bring him milk; no wife to grind his corn. Chorus: Let us pity the white man: no mother has he to bring him milk; no wife to grind his corn.'

* Trifling as these events may appear to the reader, they were to me affecting in the highest degree. I was oppressed by such unexpected kindness; and sleep fled from my eyes. In the morning I presented to my compassionate landlady two of the four brass buttons which remained on my waistcoat; the only recompense it was in my power to make her.”—Park's Travels.

weary, came and PEACE ANI) WAR.

PEACE. LOVELY art thou, O Peace! and lovely are thy children, and lovely are the prints of thy footsteps in the green valleys.

Blue wreaths of smoke ascend through the trees, and betray the half hidden cottage: the eye contemplates well-thatched ricks, and barns bursting with plenty: the peasant laughs at the approach of winter.

White houses peep through the trees; cattle stand cooling in the pool; the casement of the farm-house is covered with jessamine and honey suckle; the stately green-house exhales the perfumes of summer climates.

Children climb the green mound of the rampart, and ivy holds together the half-demolished buttress.

The old men sit at their doors; the gossip leans over her counter; the children shout and frolic in the streets.

The housewife's stores of bleached linen, whiter than snow, are laid up with fragrant herbs; they are the pride of the matron, the toil of many a winter's night.

The wares of the merchant are spread abroad in the shops, or stored in the high-piled warehouses; the labour of cach profits all; the inhabitant of the north

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