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Side in the whirlwind, and direct its course,
Sight onward where yon shining portals rise
Id fair proportion, o'er the Tyber"s banks,
And the broad city, turret crown'd, up heave*
lis huge dimensions from the subject plain;
In gloomy grandeur veil'd, propping the sky
With bristling spires, thick rear'd, and gilded fanes.
Glittering reflective to the morning ray.
And now arriv'd, with sullen scorn erect,
And port indignant, strides the ruthless son
Of untam'd nature, nurs'd in forests wild;
Not heeds the flood of glories beaming round
From matchless art, and polish'd taste combin'd.
The trophy'd front, the lengthen'd colonade;
The arch light springing, as the azure vault;
The solemn alcove's high embowering shade;
And all the splendid monuments of fame,
By genius rear'd, to worth and valour due,
To bis untutor'd sense mean trifles seem.

[To be continued.]

THE HERMIT AND HIS DOG.

IN life's fair morn, I knew an aged sire,
Who sad and lonely pass'd his joyless years;
Betray'd, heart-broken, from the world he ran,
And tnunn'd (O dire extreme!) the face of man;
Humbly he rear'd his hut within the wood,
Hermit's his rest, a hermit's was his food.
Nitch'd in some corner of the gelid cave,
Where chilling drops the rugged rockstone lave,
Hour after hour, the melancholy sage,
Drop after drop, to reckon would engage
The liag'ring day; and, trickling as they fell,
A tear went with them to the narrow well;
Then thus he moraliz'd as slow it past;
"This brings me nearer Lucia than the last;
*' And thus, now streaming from the eye," said he,
•' Oh ! my lov'd child, will bring me nearer thee."
When first heroam'd, his dog with anxious care
His wand'rings watch'd, as emulous to share;
In vain the faithful brute was bid to go,
In vain the sorrower sought a lonely woe.
The Hermit paus'd, th' attendant dog was near,
Slept at his feet, and caught the falling tear;
Up ros* the Hermit, up the dog would rise,
And ev'ry way to win a master tries.
'* Then be it so. Come, faithful fool," he said;
One pat encourag'd, and they sought the shade.
An unfrequented thicket soon they found,
And both repos'd upon the leafy ground;
Mellifluous murm'rings told the fountains nigh.
Fountains, which well a Pilgrim's drink supply..
And thence, by many a labyrinth it led,
Where ev'ry tree bestow'd an ev'ning bed;
Skill'd in the chase, the faithful creature brought
Wbatc'w at mora or moon-ligbt course he caught;

But the Sage lent his sympathy to all, • ' «•

Nor saw unwept his dumb associate Call;

He was, indeed the gentlest of his kind,

And though a Hermit, had asocial mind:

"And why" said he, "must man subsist by prev.

Why stop yon melting music on the spray?

Why, when assail'd by hounds and hunter's cry,

Must half the harmless race in terrors die?

Why must we work of innocence the woe?

Still shall this bosom throb, these eyes o'erflow;

A heart too tender here from man retires,

A heart that aches, if but a wren expires."

Thus liv'd the master good, the servant true,
Till to its God the master s spirit flew;
Beside a fount which daily water gave,
Stooping to drink, the Hermit found a grave;
All in the running stream his garments spread,
And dark, damp verdure ill conceal'd his head;
The faithful servant from that fatal day
Watch'd the lov'd corpse, and hourly pin'd away;
His head upon his master's cheek was lound.
While the obstructed waters murmur'd round.

SYMPATHY.

* MARRIAGES.

At Philadelphia, on Tuesday evening 13th inst. by the Rev. Dr. Abercrombie, Richard Dennis, Esq. to Miss Susan S. Smith, daughter of John Smith, Esq. all of that city.—On the 23d inst. Mr. Anthony W. Haymon, to Miss Anne Maria Hickmon, all of that city.

MOJVTHLY OBITUARY.

Departed this life at Huntington, on the 8th inst. after a fang illness, Mrs. Elizaheth Newton, relict of the Rev. Christopher Newton, in the 81th year of her age. Willi truth it may be said, that this aged mother in Israel was much respected in life, on account of the many Christian graces which in her shone with undissembled lustre. The word of God was the constant rule of her faith; and to bring her actions to square with the same was her constant care. She had a deep sense of human nature as fallen, and the necessity of an advocate with the Father. She was never ashamed of the cross of Christ; but was ever ready in union with her husband to lead those committed to his guidance to virtue and to God. In full faith of a glorious immortality through the merits of a Redeemer, like a shock of corn fully ripe, she willingly fell asleep, and was gathered to her Fathers.

On Sunday following, a sermon adapted to the occasion was delivered by the Rev. Mr. Todd, from 2 Timo. iv. b'. 7.—/ am now ready to be offered, and the lime qf my departure is at hand: I have Jbuglit a good fight: I have finished my course: I have kept the faith.

At West-Haven, Miss Patty Jones, ;Et. 33. Who for many years had been employed as a School-mistress in the parish ; she was indefatigable in her pains as an instructress, and gave perfect satisfaction to her employers. As a daughter and sister, she was the delight of her family; and as a friend and Christian, she will long be remembered with pleasure, by those who best knew her. She bore her last illness with Christian fortitude, and met death with hopes full of immortality.

THE

Churchman's Magazine.

[vol. III.] FEBRUARY, 1806. [No. 2.]

REFLECTIONS FOR FEBRUARY.

STILL the wintry blast roars in the leafless forest, and piles the driven snow along the mountain's brow. The vegetable world is dead; and crusted is the ground with chilling frost. No songsters now enliven the grove; but all is mute, save when the rising winds proclaim the power of all-subduing winter. The feathered tribes now droop beneath the shelving rock; or now and then attempt a feeble flight, to pick their scanty fare, where withered weeds scatter around their fallen branches, and sow their seeds for the coming year. But few, and those of hardy race, venture the inclement storm, and cut their way through falling sleet, and the chilled atmosphere. Now flocks and herds tamed and made social by the piercing cold, croud around the well stored barn, eye the lowering heavens, snuff the coming storm, and with eloquent low, ask their apportioned boon; while the generous steed, housed from the keener air, neighs at his master's well known step, and gratefully receives his bounty. No living creature now but shivers, droops, and dreads the long protracted night, which cuts short the day, and hides the tun's wanning beams.

Amid this scene, this dreary waste of winter, what, O man, should be thy contemplations? How should thy mind be occupied? He who commands the seasons to roll, is the author of thy life. He set this world in order for thy habitation; and none of its changes come round, but they come fraught with instruction for thee, if thou wilt make use of that wisdom which is thy portion. Open then the eyes of thy understanding, and behold in this season an emblem of man, when arrived to old age. The blood which danced with pleasure in the spring time of life, beat high and fervid in the summer of youth, and in the autumn of maturity moved strong, though temperate, urged on by great designs; now cold and sluggish, scarce crawls along the veins. The shivering and benumbed limbs but feebly perform their office. All the nobler affections of the heart are grown listless, languid. Society cannot charm, friendship cannot warm the decaying spirits; nor aught rouse up the once alert and active passions. Cold winter has come, and frozen almost to the bottom, the stream of life: slowly it trickles along, scarce perceiF

veJ,and soon shall cease. But the passing season invites the thoilgfitV ful to look further than this, and behold an emblem of death. However vigorous and active may now be the youthful frame, after a fewmore returning winters, it shaH be, as now are the frozen clods of" the valley, bereft of life and motion, nor feeling aught of any 'passion; there to sleep during the long winter of the grave; until spring return, re-open the bud of life, and expand its leaves anew; as shall be the case with the vegetable world, which now lies cold and dead, shrouded in a frosty grave. Art thou then, O man, whosoever thou art, prepared for this long and dismal winter, that is so soon coming? Hast thou laid in a store of such provisions as thou mayest need? Hast thou secured a right to draw upon that rich treasury, which God has laid up in his Son; and to be-dispensed in just proportion to all such as love and fear him, and have wrought faithfully in his vineyard, while the season of labour lasted? If thou hast had the wisdom to make this preparation in good time, it shall assuredly last until the spring of immortality returns; a spring that will be perpetual; ever smiling and delightful, in which the tempest of evil'shall be no more, the pinching frost of sorrow and mourning shall not appear; but there shall be one eternal sunshine, from the countenance of the Almighty.

When the labour and business of the short-lived day is over, seated by the cheerful fire-side, think of the comforts you enjoy from civilization and arts, and thank the Author of your being, that he has cast your lot amid sd many blessings. Housed within the wellceiled room, with a bed of down for your repose, encompassed with a manifold covering, shorn from the harmless flock, you hear the tempest roar; it beats in vain against your dwelling; you regard not its rage. The all-piercing frost cannot approach you. You sleep away the long and dreary night undisturbed. In the morning you renew the blazing hearth; around you throng your prattling offspring, and greet you with smiles. After adoring his goodness who hath preserved you during the midnight hour, a comfortable repast sends you again to your labour and your business. Ifaviewof these blessings is not sufficient to excite in you emotions of gratitude and praise, cast your contemplations into the wilderness, and contrast your situation with that of the savage: But half inclosed by his ill constructed hut: On the cold ground he lies; the pitiless storm beating upon his naked head; and his limbs but ill clad in the spoils of some recent slaughtered beast. Cold and comfortless his fare; uncheery and unsocial his hours. Few indeed his wants, but as few his pleasures. He drags on a life that is little more than one continued blank. For this wide difference, for those pre-eminent advantages which civilized man enjoys above the savage; advantages introduced by inventive genius, aided by inspiration, unbounded thanks are due: and how doubly due at this inclement season, when so many benefits are resulting from them; when every moment they are administering comfort, and swelling the pleasures of life. Not to be thankful, would indicate more insensibility than hardens the heart of a savage. Not to be sensible of the favours conferred thus on polished society, would argue more stupidity than one would ^rillingly own. And not to wish that the blessing might he extended wherever man is found, would argue a selfish ingratitude, too base to be found dwelling in the bosoms of those professing to be Christians.

Are you in affluent circumstances, enjoying all the comforts and conveniences of a well constructed dwelling, and a plentiful table? Are your granaries and cellars stored with all the necessaries of life? and your cup and your basket running over with elegancies from foreign climes, poured into them in exchange for your full coffers? Have you your warm apartments, and downy beds for repose, in which you are lulled to sleep by the roaring tempest, but feel none of its power? Then jecollect that even in civilized life, among your neighbours, there are those who are shivering before a small pittance of fire, while the cold blast pierces the humble cottage at numerous chinks, and their little ones hovering round in Uttered garments, scarce knowing what it is to have enjoyed a full meal. At the recollection of this, doth not charity glow in your bosom? Doth she not admonish you to put forth a helping hand? She bids you find employmentr for such as are able and willing to be employed; and to those who are unable, she bids you give a portion of such as you have: to comfort them with fuel from your forests, if you have them; or with food from your stores; and above all, with advice and direction, how in future they may ward off want and necessity- Thus will you draw down upon you the blessing of him who had no helper. They who meet you in the gate, will do you reverence; and you will treasure up a store against time of need, infinitely preferable to that which is dispensed.

There remains yet one duty more peculiar to the season, on which it is useful to descant. "The merciful man is merciful to his beast." Expose not then, the animals subject to your authority to needless inconveniences, but house and feed them to the utmost of your power. The docile horse, who carries you with so much speed from place to place; who with so much alacrity obeys your commands, deserves this care. The patient ox, who transports fuel to your door, for your present comfort. The cow, who affords you so much nourishment; and the tender flocks who lend you their coats to defend your limbs from the present cold, have a claim, in return, upon your tenderness. Mark how they shiver and tremble, when excluded from the warm shelter; how piteously they moan, and ask for their portion of meat in its season; and with how much gratitude they receive it at your hands. Exercise tenderness and humanity towards them, and it will habituate you to the duty towards men. It will invigorate the kindly emotions, which know not how to endure the sight of pain and misery, without endeavouring to afford relief; and which of course will not inflict them without manifest reason and necessity.

In the study and practice of these duties, spend thy nights and days. While the hoar frost is scattered abroad like ashes ; while the snow descends like wool, to cover the face of the earth; or the hail rattles against thy dwelling; with reverential awe remember whose hand rules the raging elements, whose Almighty Power re

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