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may be called, becomes more and more hazardous. He labours not to curb the fiery steeds, whose speed increases every moment. Instead of restraining them, he cracks his whip, and loosely gives the rein. He appears to be wholly unconfcious of his imminent peril. Abrupt cliffs hang over his head, and deep, awful ravines open on each fide of his path. His situation becomes still more dangerous; right a-head a frightful gulf presents itself to his eyes, now beginning to open. With the rapidity of lightning he approaches the dreadful brink; on the coursers fly. Now he sees his danger, and strives to check them. It is in vain; they have had the rein too long; their blood is up. With a fearful bound, over the precipice they go; horses and driver are dashed to atoms against the rocks, and are seen no more.

Ancient philosophers used to compare human paffions to wild horfes, and the reason of man to the driver, or coachman, whose business it was to control and guide them at his pleasure. But many men have more command over their horfes than they have over themselves. This is a melancholy truth. Their proud chargers are taught to stand still, to gallop, to trot, and to perform, in short, all kinds of evolutions with perfect ease; while the passions run away with their rightful owners; they will not fubmit to be guided by reason. It is of far more importance that a man should learn to govern his passions than his horses. Our passions, like fire and water, are excellent servants, but bad masters.

Horses, to be useful, must be governable; but to be governable, they must be broke in betimes, and thoroughly. So with the paffions, otherwise their power will increase over that of reason, and in the end lead to ruin.

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Philofophy may do much in enabling us to govern the paffions; religion, however, can do more. It is faid of Socrates, who had a wretched fcold for a wife, that one day, when she was scolding him at a great rate, he bore it very patiently, controlling himself by reason. unruffled composure enraged her still more, and she threw a bowl of dirty water in his face. Then he spoke. "It is quite natural," said he smiling, "when the thunder has spent its fury, and the lightning its fires, that the teeming shower should descend."

But religion is more eafily obtained than philosophy, and it is far more powerful. It imparts a gracious, influential principle that enables whosoever submits to it to govern his paffions, and even to love his enemies, and thus to conquer them.

Many have conquered kingdoms, who could not conquer themselves. Thus Alexander, who, being a flave to his passions, flew Clytus, his most intimate friend. And, notwithstanding the laurels that have been woven for the conquerors of ancient and modern times, the Almighty himself has prepared a diadem of glory for the selfconquered, bearing in letters of heavenly light

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this infcription: “ He that ruleth his own fpirit is better than he that taketh a city."

Madness by nature reigns within,
The paffions burn and rage;

Till God's own Son, with skill divine,
The inward fire affuage.

We give our fouls the wounds they feel,

We drink the poifonous gall,
And rush with fury down to hell,

But heaven prevents the fall.

DR. WATTS.

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"Wherefore do ye spend money for that which is not bread? and your labour for that which satisfieth not?"-Isa. lv. 2.

VAIN PURSUITS.

The truant urchin has forsook the school,
To learn betimes how best to play the fool;
O'er hedge and brake, beneath a burning fun,
With breathless haste, he perseveres to run;
His folly's caufse is pictured to the eye :
The object what? - A painted butterfly.
At length outípent, he grafps the trembling thing,
And with the grasp, destroys the painted wing;
Chagrined he views, for that once beauteous form,
Nothing remains, except a homely worm.

So larger children leave important deeds,
And after trifles oft the truant speeds;
And if by toil he gains the gaudy prize,
Alas! 'tis changed-it fades away, and dies.

THE foolish boy, leaving the useful and delightful pleasures of study, runs after a pretty butterfly that has attracted his attention. On he runs, through brake and brier, over hedges and ditches, up hill and down dale; the fun, at the fame time, pours down its burning rays upon his uncovered head. See how he sweats, and puffs, and toils! 'Tis all in vain-just as he comes up with the prize, away it flies far above his reach. Still he follows on; now it has fettled upon a favourite flower. He is sure of it now; he puts forth his hand. Lo! it is gone. Still he purfues-on and on he runs after the glittering insect. Presently it alights, and hides itself within the leaves of the lily of the valley. For awhile he loses fight of it; again he discovers it on the wing, and again he renews the chase. Nor is it until the fun descends the western sky, that he comes up with the object of his laborious race. Weary of the wing, the butterfly seeks shelter for the night within the cup of the mountain blue-bell. The boy, marking its hiding-place, makes a desperate spring, and seizes the trembling beauty. In his eagerness to possess it, he has crushed its tender wings, and marred entirely those golden colours. With deep mortification, and bitter regret at his folly, he beholds nothing left but a mere grub, an almost lifeless worm, without form and without loveliness.

This emblem aptly shows the folly of those who, whether young or old, leaving the folid paths of knowledge, of industry, and of lawful pleasure, follow the vanities of this life. Corrupt and unbridled passions and vitiated tastes lead, in the end, to ruin.

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