has pleased God to work for my good. Oh! never put off forgiveness to a dying bed! When people come to die, we often see how the conscience is troubled with sins, of which before they hardly felt the existence. How ready are they to make restitution of ill-gotten gain; and this, perhaps, for two reasons; from a feeling conviction that it can be of no use to them where they are going, as well as from a near view of their own responsibility! We also hear from the most hardened, of death-bed forgiveness of enemies. Even malefactors at Tyburn forgive. But, why must we wait for a dying bed, to do what ought to be done now? Believe me, that scene will be so full of terror and amazement to the soul, that we had not need load it with unnecessary business."

Just as Mrs. Simpson was saying these words, a letter was brought her from the minister of the parish where the farmer lived, by whom Mr. Simpson had been turned out of his cottage. The letter was as follows

"Madam, I write to tell you that your old oppressor, Mr. Thomas, is dead. I attended him in his last moments. O, may my latter end never be like his! I shall not soon forget his despair at the approach of death. His riches, which had been his sole joy, now doubled his sorrows; for he was going where they could be of no use to him; and he found, too late, that he had laid up no treasure in heaven. He felt great concern at his past life, but for nothing more than his unkindness to Mr. Simpson. He charged me to find you out, and let you know, that by his will he bequeathed you five hundred pounds, as some compensation. He died in great agonies; declaring with his last breath, that if he could live his life over again, he would serve God, and strictly observe the Sabbath. "Yours, &c.

"J. JOHNSON."

Mrs. Betty, who had listened attentively to the letter, jumped up, clapped her hands, and cried out, "Now all is for the best, and I shall see you a lady once more." "I am, indeed, thankful for this mercy," said Mrs. Simpson, "and am glad that riches were not sent me till I had learned, as I humbly hope, to make a right use of them. But, come, let us go in, for I am very cold, and find I have sat too long in the night air." Betty was now ready enough to acknowledge the hand of Providence in this prosperous event, though she was blind to it when the dispensation was more dark. Next morning she went early to visit Mrs. Simpson, but not seeing her below, she went up stairs, where, to her great sorrow, she found her confined to her bed by a fever, caught the night before by sitting so late on the bench, reading the letter, and talking it over. Betty was now more ready to cry out against Providence than ever. "What! to catch a fever while you were reading that very letter which told you about your good fortune; which would have enabled you to live like a lady, as you are. I never will believe this is for the best-to be deprived of life, just as you were beginning to enjoy it!"

"Betty," said Mrs. Simpson, we must learn not to rate health nor life itself too highly. There is little in life, for its own sake, to be so fond of. As a good archbishop used to say, 'tis but the same thing over again, or probably worse: so many more nights and days, summers and winters; a repetition of the same pleasures, but with less relish for them;

a return of the same or greater pains, but with less strength, and perhaps less patience, to bear them."-" Well," replied Betty, "I did think that Providence was at last giving you your reward."—" Reward!" cried Mrs. Simpson. "O, no, my merciful Father will not put me off with so poor a portion as wealth; I feel I shall die."-"It is very hard, indeed," said Betty, "so good as you are, to be taken off just as your prosperity was beginning."" You think I am good just now," said Mrs. Simpson, "because I am prosperous. Success is no sure mark of God's favour; at this rate, you, who judge by outward things, would have thought Herod a better man than John the Baptist; and if I may be allowed to say so, you, on your principles, that the sufferer is the sinner, would have believed Pontius Pilate higher in God's favour than the Saviour whom he condemned to die for your sins and mine."

In a few days Mrs. Betty found that her new friend was dying, and, though she was struck at her resignation, she could not forbear murmuring that so good a woman should be taken away at the very instant in which she came into possession of so much money. "Betty," said Mrs. Simpson in a feeble voice, "I believe you love me dearly, you would do anything to cure me; yet you do not love me so well as God loves me, though you would raise me up, and He is putting a period to my life. He has never sent me a single stroke which was not absolutely necessary for me. You, if you could restore me, might be laying me open to some temptation from which God, by removing, will deliver me. Your kindness in making this world so smooth for me, I might for ever have deplored in a world of misery. God's grace in afflicting me, will hereafter be the subject of my praises in a world of blessedness. Betty," added the dying woman, 66 do you really think that I am going to a place of rest and joy eternal ?" "To be sure I do," said Betty. "Do you firmly believe that I am going to the assembly of the first-born; to the spirits of just men made perfect; to God the Judge of all; and to Jesus the Mediator of the new covenant?" "I am sure you are," said Betty. "And yet," resumed she, "you would detain me from all this happiness; and you think my merciful Father is using me unkindly by removing me from a world of sin, and sorrow, and temptation, to such joys as have not entered into the heart of man to conceive; while it would have better suited your notions of reward to defer my entrance into the blessedness of heaven, that I might have enjoyed a legacy of a few hundred pounds! Believe my dying words, ALL IS FOR THE BEST."

Mrs. Simpson expired soon after, in a frame of mind which convinced her new friend that "God's ways are not as our ways."

A CURE FOR MELANCHOLY;*

SHOWING THE WAY TO DO MUCH GOOD WITH LITTLE MONEY.

MRS. JONES was the widow of a great merchant. She was liberal to the poor, as far as giving them money went; but as she was too much taken up with the world, she did not spare so much of her time and thoughts about doing good as she ought; so that her money was often ill-bestowed. In the late troubles, Mr. Jones, who had lived in an expensive manner, failed; and he took his misfortunes so much to heart, that he fell sick and died. Mrs. Jones retired, on a very narrow income, to the small village of Weston, where she seldom went out except to church. Though a pious woman, she was too apt to indulge her sorrow; and though she did not neglect to read and pray, yet she gave up a great part of her time to melancholy thoughts, and grew quite inactive. She well knew how sinful it would be for her to seek a remedy for her grief in worldly pleasures, which is a way many people take to cure afflictions; but she was not aware how wrong it was to weep away that time which might have been better spent in drying the tears of others.

keenly for the "Indeed, sir," fortune as this "You do not,"

It was happy for her, that Mr. Simpson, the vicar of Weston, was a pious man. One Sunday he happened to preach on the good Samaritan. It was a charity sermon, and there was a collection at the door. He called on Mrs. Jones after church, and found her in tears. She told him she had been much moved by his discourse, and she wept because she had so little to give to the plate; for though she felt very poor in these dear times, yet she could not assist them. added she, "I never so much regretted the loss of my afternoon, when you bade us 'go and do likewise."" replied Mr. Simpson, "enter into the spirit of our Saviour's parable, if you think you cannot go and do likewise without being rich. In the case of the Samaritan, you may observe, that charity was bestowed more by kindness, and care, and medicine, than by money. You, madam, were as much concerned in the duties inculcated in my sermon, as Sir John with his great estate; and, to speak plainly, I have been sometimes surprised that you should not put yourself in the way of being more useful.” "Sir," said Mrs. Jones, "I am grown shy of the poor since I have nothing to give them." 'Nothing! madam?" replied the clergyman; "Do you call your time, your talents, your kind offices, nothing? Doing good does not so much depend on the riches, as on the heart and the will. The servant who improved his two talents was equally commended by his lord with him who had ten: and it was not poverty, but selfish indolence, which drew down so severe a condemnation on him who had only one. It is by our conformity to Christ, that we must prove ourselves Christians. You, madam, are not called upon to work miracles, nor to preach the gospel ; yet you may, in your measure and degree, resemble your Saviour by going about and doing good. A plain Christian, who has sense and leisure, by his pious exertions and prudent zeal, may, in a subordinate way, be helping on the cause of religion, as well as of charity; and greatly promote, by his exertions and example, the labours of the parish minister. The gene

This was first printed under the title of THE COTTAGE COOK.

rality, it is true, have but an under-part to act; but to all, God assigns some part, and he will require of all whose lot is not very laborious, that they not only work out their own salvation, but that they promote the cause of religion, and the comfort and salvation of others.

"To those who would undervalue works of mercy as evidences of piety, I would suggest a serious attention to the solemn appeal which the Saviour of the world makes, in that awful representation of the day of judgment contained in the twenty-fifth chapter of Matthew, both to those who have neglected, and to those who have performed such works; performed them, I mean, on right principles. With what a gracious condescension does he promise to accept the smallest kindness done to his suffering members for his sake! You, madam, I will venture to say, might do more good than the richest man in the parish could do by merely giving his money. Instead of sitting here, brooding over your misfortunes which are past remedy, bestir yourself to find out ways of doing much good with little money; or even without any money at all. You have lately studied economy for yourself: instruct your poor neighbours in that important art. They want it almost as much as they want money. You have influence with the few rich persons in the parish: exert that influence. Betty, my housekeeper, shall assist you in any thing in which she can be useful. Try this for one year, and if you then tell me that you should have better shown your love to God and man, and been a happier woman, had you continued gloomy and inactive, I shall be much surprised, and shall consent to your resuming your present way of life."

The sermon, and this discourse together, made so deep an impression on Mrs. Jones, that she formed a new plan of life, and set about it at once, as everybody does who is in earnest. Her chief aim was, the happiness of her poor neighbours in the next world; but she was also very desirous to promote their present comfort: and indeed the kindness she showed to their bodily wants gave her such an access to their houses and hearts, as made them better disposed to receive religious counsel and instruction. Mrs. Jones was much respected by all the rich persons in Weston, who had known her in her prosperity. Sir John was thoughtless, lavish, and indolent. The Squire was over-frugal, but active, sober, and not illnatured. Sir John loved pleasure, the Squire loved money. Sir John was one of those popular sort of people who get much praise, and yet do little good; who subscribe with equal readiness to a cricket-match or a charity school; who take it for granted, that the poor are to be indulged with bell-ringing and bonfires, and to be made drunk at Christmas; this, Sir John called being kind to them; but he thought it was folly to teach them, and madness to think of reforming them. He was, however, always ready to give his guinea; but I question whether he would have given up his hunting and his gaming, to have cured every grievance in the land. He had that sort of constitutional good-nature which, if he had lived much within sight of misery, would have led him to be liberal: but he had that selfish love of ease, which prompted him to give to undeserving objects, rather than be at the pains to search out the deserving. He neither discriminated between the degrees of distress, nor the characters of the distressed. His idea of charity was, that a rich man should occasionally give a little of his superfluous wealth to the first object that occurred;

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but he had no conception that it was his duty so to husband his wealth, and limit his expenses, as to supply a regular fund for established charity. And this utmost stretch of his benevolence never led him to suspect that he was called upon to abridge himself in the most idle article of indulgence, for a purpose foreign to his own personal enjoyment. On the other hand, the Squire would assist Mrs. Jones in any of her plans, if it cost him nothing; so she showed her good sense by never asking Sir John for advice, or the Squire for subscriptions, and by this prudence gained the full support of both.

Mrs. Jones resolved to spend two or three days in a week in getting acquainted with the state of the parish, and she took care never to walk out without a few little good books in her pocket, to give away. This, though a cheap, is a most important act of charity; it has various uses : it furnishes the poor with religious knowledge, which they have so few ways of obtaining; it counteracts the wicked designs of those who have taught us at least one lesson, by their zeal in the dispersion of wicked books-I mean, the lesson of vigilance and activity; and it is the best introduction for any useful conversation which the giver of the book may wish to introduce.

She found that, among the numerous wants she met with, no small share was owing to bad management, or to imposition: she was struck with the small size of the loaves. Wheat was now not very dear, and she was sure a good deal of blame rested with the baker. She sent for a shilling loaf to the next great town, where the mayor often sent to the bakers' shops to see that the bread was proper weight. She weighed her town loaf against her country loaf, and found the latter two pounds lighter than it ought to be. This was not the sort of grievance to carry to Sir John; but luckily the Squire was also a magistrate, and it was quite in his way for though he could not give, yet he would counsel, calculate, contrive, reprimand, and punish. He told her he could remedy the evil, if some one would lodge an information against the baker; but that there was no act of justice which he found it so difficult to accomplish.

The Informer.

She dropped in on the blacksmith. He was at dinner. She inquired if his bread was good. "Ay, good enough, mistress; for you see it is as white as your cap, if we had but more of it. Here's a sixpenny loaf, you might take it for a penny roll!" He then heartily cursed Crib the baker, and said he ought to be hanged. Mrs. Jones now told him what she had done; how she had detected the fraud, and assured him the evil should be redressed on the morrow, provided he would appear and inform. “I inform!" said he, with a shocking oath, "hang an informer! I scorn the office." "You are nice in the wrong place," replied Mrs. Jones; “for you don't scorn to abuse the baker, nor to be in a passion, nor to swear, though you scorn to redress a public injury, and to increase your children's bread. Let me tell you, there is nothing in which you ignorant people mistake more than in your notions about informers. Informing is a lawful way of obtaining redress; and though it is a mischievous and a hateful thing to go to a justice about every trifling matter, yet laying an information on important occasions, without malice, or bitterness of any kind, is