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THE CHILD SPARED BY A LION.

"A LION having escaped from the menagerie of the great Duke of Tuscany, entered Florence, every where spreading terror. Among the fugitives was a woman with a child in her arms, which she let fall. He seized, and seemed ready to devour it, when the mother transported by the tender affections of nature, ran back, threw herself before the Lion, and by her gestures demanded the child. The lion looked at her steadfastly, her cries and tears seemed to affect him, till at last, he laid the child down without doing it the least injury.

C.

A FATHER'S PRESENCE.

EDWIN had remained at home till he was twelve years old, and had scarcely received instruction from any lips but those of his beloved parents, or occasionally from his grandpapa who resided with them. The old gentleman had been long established in a very extensive commercial undertaking, into which, many years since, he had received his son as partner. Yet, though possessed of this younger assistant, habit had rendered the occupations of business so pleasant, that he still took a very active share in them; thus leaving Mr. Henry Wordsworth sufficient leisure, to superintend, during some part of the day, the education of his little boys.

But at the time to which I have alluded, this aged friend and relative, who ever since the death of his wife had made an honored member of their family, was also called to enter into rest. And not only did they miss his serene and gentle aspect; the smile of approbation, which seemed as it were to put the stamp of experience on all their little plans; and those cheerful profitable remarks, to which they were accustomed to listen with delight: but such an increase of thought and employment accumulated on his son, as at first he felt scarcely able to meet. Under these circumstances it became absolutely necessary that he should relinquish his office of tutor; and accordingly he resolved to place Edwin at a highly respectable academy, in a town about twenty miles distant, intending, should the trial answer his expectation, that his brothers should follow him shortly. A friend who resided in the same place, VOL. II. 3d SERIES.

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Mr. Abel, kindly promised to notice the little boy, and watch over his mind and body with a parental eye.

Mr. Wordsworth had already received more than once, satisfactory accounts from this friend, when the following passage, contained in a letter, occasioned him no small uneasiness,“Dear Edwin dined with us last week, and was very good and pleasant. There is one thing, however, which grieves me, and I-think I should fail in duty if I did not mention it. I am not satisfied with his conduct in the house of God. I observed that in two or three Sundays, he had lost that sweet and serious expression of countenance, which I have remarked in your little ones; and his eyes were wandering to all parts of the church. I spoke to him seriously and tenderly on the subject; he wept, and promised amendment, and for some weeks he kept his word; but lately he has again been sadly inattentive, indeed, last Sunday, I was pained by seeing an occasional interchange of smiles and whispers, between him and his next companion. Do not, however, write to him about it; for his affection for you is so strong, and his little heart so tender, that a written reproof would almost break it. The idea that he had displeased you, and could not immediately seek forgiveness, would be most distressing to him. Why is the complaint made then,' I think I hear you say, 'if I am to adopt no means to remedy it?' But wait with patience, and I am going to give you an opportunity. I shall pass your house in a few days, on my way to Arden, and I will leave Edwin for four or five hours, and call for him as I return. You can then give him a word of advice, which will have more weight than counsel, reproof, or punishment, from all the world besides."

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Mr. Wordsworth felt truly thankful that he possessed a friend, so watchful, and at the same time so kindly considerate of Edwin's feelings: yet he could not help regarding it as a kindness which Edwin little deserved. For he had been so carefully taught to keep holy the Sabbath-day, and so powerfully reminded, that God is greatly to be feared in the assembly of his saints, and to be had in reverence of all that are about him, that his fault was wilful and inexcuseable. Nevertheless his papa willingly complied with the request of not writing,

especially as he hoped, by adopting another plan, to make his advice more impressive.

The day soon arrived on which Mr. Abel fulfilled his kind promise, and Edwin's heart leaped for joy as he drew near his beloved home. The servant was just coming out at the gate.

"Are papa and mamma at home, John?" exclaimed Edwin, almost springing from the chaise.

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My mistress and the young gentlemen," replied the man, (smiling at the sight of his young master) ride, but they will be home to dinner.

in a few minutes ago."

are gone for a Your papa, sir, came

“Well, I must not stay now, my love," said Mr. Abel, “or L shall be too late. I will call for you in the evening: you may tell papa I will take tea with him."

"Thank you, sir: good bye," said Edwin. "Is papa in the dining-room, John? Find him, find him, and tell him I am here."

Edwin ran into the dining-room and drawing-room, but papa was not in either. The servant, however, quickly returned, saying, "My master is in his own room,-sir; but he wishes you not to go to him, for he will come down presently.

A shade of disappointment passed over the little boy's countenance; but he thought to himself, Papa will be here in a minute: so he began to look round, that he might see whether any alteration had been made during his absence, and then he took a book of prints, with which, for a while, he endeavoured to amuse himself. All his attempts, however, were in vain; every minute seemed an hour, and though minute after minute passed, no papa came. Twenty times had Edwin fancied that he heard his step, and as often had he run to the door to meet him. He met nothing, however, but the mortification of finding himself still alone: he felt half inclined to go up stairs notwithstanding the prohibition, but he had ever been accustomed to obedience, the order was plain, and he dared not break it. At length, when patience was quite worn out, he sat down and wept bitterly. While thus engaged, he really heard his papa; but now he felt quite unable to make any advances, and when Mr. Wordsworth entered, exclaiming,

“Edwin, my love, where are you?" the child could only fling his arms around his neck, and sob aloud.

Mr. Wordsworth's parental feelings were peculiarly tender, and he almost regretted the method he had adopted. A tear started in his own eye, as he raised Edwin's head, and enquired, "What is the matter, my boy?"

It was some time before his little son could speak: at length, interrupted by sobs, he replied, "O papa, I thought you would

never come

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"Do you think it is very long since you came in?"

"It is more than half an hour, papa, and I have only this one day; and I had so counted upon coming home."

"But you were at home, my love."

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Papa?

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"You were at home, and you knew I was in the house also, for John had seen me."

"Yes," replied Edwin, in an almost indignant tone, “but home without seeing you, or mamma, or brothers,—I would ten times rather have been at school. That is not the way you have taught me to feel, Papa."

"No indeed, my child, it is not; and I should have thought your affectionate heart sadly changed, could you have been so satisfied. Come near to me, my Edwin," he continued, putting his arm around him, and pressing him tenderly to his heart, "Be assured you have as large and warm a place as ever in my affections, and the time I suffered to pass before I saw you, appeared as long to me as to you, and has been equally painful." "But why did you not come then, dear papa?" asked Edwin, drying his eyes, and looking up to him.

"Because, my boy, I have a lesson to teach you, which I wish deeply to impress upon your mind. I fear that on some occasions, you do not feel as I have taught you; but that full heart is now so softened, that if God vouchsafe to bless what I am going to say, I trust the remembrance will be lasting. When you reached home, and heard I was within, what was your first desire, Edwin ?"

"To see you, Papa."

"Yes; and that is the desire I should wish and expect in my child. If you could have amused yourself with any thing that

came in your way, and not cared whether you saw me or not, and gone back to school contented with such a visit, should I have felt satisfied?"

"No, papa," said Edwin emphatically.

"No; I should have been greatly grieved and displeased. I should have said, my child has lost all his love for me. Have you any other father besides me?"

"No papa," replied the little boy, kissing him fervently. "No other father but me?"

"Not on earth, papa."

"Certainly not.

But what does the great and good God

condescend to call himself?"

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'My heavenly Father.”

"Do you ever go to his house, Edwin?"

"Yes," answered Edwin, blushing deeply.

"And how do you go, my child can you tell me that this is your first thought, - Is my heavenly Father in this place, and may I draw near to him ?'"

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No, papa," As Edwin faintly but distinctly made this answer, he dropped his head upon his father's shoulder; and the tears which had been so lately dried, flowed afresh.

"So I feared, from what I have heard of your conduct, during the precious hours of public worship. But do you think that God's children, who love him so fervently, can be content to go to his house, and never see him; to leave it without having enjoyed any intercourse with him, though they might have spoken to him in prayer and praise, and heard him speaking to them by his Word and Spirit? Will they think it sufficient to hear that he is there, and has been beheld by others? No, my Edward; without a Father's presence,' the house of God would be as dull to one of his true children, as your home was miserable to-day, because I did not come to you. Now, if we see any one able to amuse himself with whatever trifle comes in his way; careless about the presence and favor of the Lord, and satisfied with merely having been to his habitation; what must we conclude of such an one?

Edwin's attention was rivetted, but he made no reply. "Shall I answer for you?" said his father, "We must conclude that he is not one of God's dear, affectionate children; that

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