paft. Her foretop and mane want combing and cutting very much. If any one fhould fee her in her prefent plight, it would ruin the fale of her.

Der. O a horfe is foon curried, and my fon Sam fhall dispatch her at once.

Scrape. Yes, very likely; but I this moment recollect the creature has no fhoes on.

Der. Well, is there not a blacksmith hard by?

Scrape. What, that tinker of a Dobson! I would not truft fuch a bungler to fhoe a goat. No, no; none but uncle Tom Thumper is capable of fhoeing my mare.

Der. As good luck will have it, then, I fhall país right by his door.

Scrape. [Calling to his fon.] Timothy, Timothy. Here's neighbor Derby, who wants the loan of the grey mare to ride to town to day. You know the fkin was rubbed off her back laft week a hand's breadth or more. [He gives Tim a wink.] However, I believe fhe's well enough by this time. You know, Tim, how ready I am to oblige my neighbors. And, indeed, we ought to do all the good we can in this world. We muft certainly let neighbor Derby have her, if fhe will poffibly anfwer his purpose. Yes, yes; I fee plainly by Tim's countenance, neighbor Derby, that he's difpofed to oblige you. I would not have refufed you the mare for the worth of her. If I had, I fhould have expected you would have refused me in your turq, None of my neighbors can accufe me of being backward in doing them a kindness. Come, Timothy, what do you fay?

Tim. What do I fay, father! Why, I fay, Sir, that I am no lefs ready than you are to do a neighborly kindness. But the mare is by no means capable of performing the journey. About a hand's breadth did you fay, Sir! Why the fkin is torn from the poor creature's back, of the bignefs of your great brimm'd hat. And, befides, I have promised her, as foon as the is able to travel, to Ned Saunders, to carry a load of apples to the market.

Scrape. Do you hear that, neighbor? I am very forry matters turn out thus. I would not have disobliged you for the price of two fuch mares. Believe me, neighbor Derby, I am really forry for your fake, that matters turn out thus.

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Der.

Der. And I as much for yours, neighbor Scrapewell; for to tell you the truth, I received a letter this morning from Mr. Griffin, who tells me if I will be in town this day, he will give me the refufal of all that lot of timber, which he is about cutting down upon the back of cobblehill; and I intended you should have fhared half of it, which would have been not less than fifty dollars in your pocket. But

Scrape. Fifty dollars, did you fay?

Der. Ay, truly did I; but as your mare is out of or der, I'll go and fee if I can get old Roan the blacksmith's horse.

Scrape. Old Roan! My mare is at your fervice, neighbor. Here, Tim, tell Ned Saunders he can't have the mare. Neighbor Derby wants her; and I won't refuse so good a friend any thing he afks for.

Der. But what are you to do for meal?

Scrape. My wife can do without it this fortnight, if you want the mare fo long.

Der. But then your faddle is all in pieces.

Scrape. I meant the old one. I have bought a new one fince, and you shall have the first use of it.

Der. And you would have me call at Thumper's and get her fhod?

Scrape. No, no; I had forgotten to tell you, that I let neighbor Dobfon fhoe her last week by way of trial; and to do him justice, I muft own he fhoes extremely well.

Der. But if the poor creature has loft fo much skin from off her back

Scrape. Poh, poh! That is just one of our Tim's large ftories. I do affure you, it was not at firft bigger than my thumb nail; and I am certain it has not grown any fince. Der. At leaft, however, let her have fomething the will eat, fince she refufes hay.

Scrape. She did, indeed, refufe hay this morning; but the only reason was that fhe was cramm'd full of oats. You have nothing to fear, neighbor; the mare is in perfect trim; and she will skim you over the ground like a bird. you a good journey and a profitable job.

I wish

ON

ON PROFANE SWEARING.

FEW evil habits are of more pernicious con

fequence, or overcome with more difficulty, than that very odious one of profane curfing and fwearing. It cannot be expected that the force of moral principles fhould be very ftrong upon any one who is accustomed, upon every trivial occafion, and frequently without any occafion at all, to flight the precepts and the character of the Supreme Being.

2. When we have loft any degree of refpect for the Author of our exiftence, and the concerns of futurity, and can bring the most awful appellations into our flightest converfation, merely by way of embellishing our foolish and perhaps fallacious narratives, or to give a greater force to our little refentments, confcience will foon lofe its influence upon our minds.

3. Nothing but the fear of disgrace, or a dread of human laws, will reftrain any perfon, addicted to common fwearing, from the most deteftable perjury.

4. For if a man can be brought to trifle with the most facred things in his common discourse, he cannot furely confider them of more confequence when his interest leads him to fwear falfely for his own defence or emolument.

5. It is really aftonishing how imperceptibly this vice creeps upon a perfon, and how rootedly he afterwards adheres to it. People generally begin with ufing only flight exclamations, and which feem hardly to carry the appearance of any thing criminal; and fo proceed on to others, till the most shocking oaths become familiar.

6. And when once the habit is confirmed, it is rarely -ever eradicated. The fwearer lofes the ideas which are attached to the words he makes ufe of, and therefore exe crates his friend when he means to blefs him; and calls God to witness his intention of doing things, which he knows he has no thoughts of performing in reality.

7. A young gentleman with whom I am intimately acquainted, and who poffeffes many excellent qualifications, but unhappily in a declining state of health, and evidently tending rapidly to the chambers of death, has been from his

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childhood

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childhood fo addicted to the practice of fwearing in his common converfation, that even now I am frequently fhocked by his profaning the name of that facred Being, before whom he, molt probably, will foon be obliged to appear.

8. It muft furely be exceedingly painful to a fenfible heart, feeling for the best interests of a valuable friend, and otherwise excellent acquaintance, to obferve the person he fo highly regards confirmed in fuch a fhocking habit, even while ftanding in the moft awful fituation in which it is poffible for a human creature to be placed.

9. Almost every other vice affords its votaries fome pretences of excufe, from its being productive of present pleasure, or affording a prospect of future advantage; but the profane fwearer cannot even say that he feels any fatisfaction, or that he hopes to meet with any benefit, from this foolish habit.

10. Let thofe, then, who are addicted to this vice, ferioufly confider how aggravated a guilt it is to offend the Deity continually, without having the least shadow of an excuse for fo doing, and determine at once to regulate their converfation and conduct in fuch a manner, as to affure to themfelves the permanent fatisfaction which will refult, at the clofe of life, from the reflection that they have erred no farther from the rules of eternal juftice, than the common condition of humanity in its present state renders unavoidable; and that they have endeavoured, to the utmost of their power, to correct every error in their conduct, when they have felt it condemned by the dictates of conscience.

THE TRIUMPH OF VIRTUE.

A MERCHANT of Provence, in France,

of a most amiable character, but of narrow circumstances, met with fome confiderable loffes in trade, and became a bankrupt. Being reduced to penury and want, he went to Paris to feek fome affiftance.

2. He waited on all his old customers in trade, reprefented to them his misfortunes, which he had taken every

method

method to avoid, and begged them to enable him to pursue his business, affuring thofe to whom he was indebted, that his only with was to be in a condition to pay them, and that he fhould die contentedly, could he but accomplish that wish.

3. Every one he had applied to felt for his misfortunes, and promised to affist him, excepting one, to whom he ow ed a thousand crowns, and who, instead of pitying his mif fortunes, threw him into prifon.

4. The unfortunate merchant's fon, who was about twenty-two years of age, being informed of the forrowful fituation of his father, haftened to Paris, threw himself at the feet of the unrelenting creditor, and, drowned in tears, befought him, in the moft affecting expreffions, to condefcend to restore him his father, protefting to him, that if he would not throw obstacles in the way to his father's re- establish ing his affairs, of the poffibility of which they had great reafon to hope, he should be the first man paid.

5. He implored him to have pity on his youth, and to have fome feelings for the misfortunes of an aged mother, encumbered with eight children, reduced to want, and nearly on the point of perifhing. Laftly, that if these confiderations were not capable of moving him to pity, he entreated him, at least, to permit him to be confined in prifon instead of his father, in order that he might be restored to his family.

6. The youth uttered thefe expreffions in fo affecting a manner, that the creditor, fruck with fo much virtue and generofity, at once foftened into tears, and raising the youth from his humble posture, Ah! my fon, said he, your father fhall be released. So much love and refpect which you have shown for him, makes me ashamed of myself. I have carried this matter too far; but I will endeavour forever to efface the remembrance of it from your mind.

Ac

7. I have an only daughter, who is worthy of you; fhe would do as much for me, as you have done for your father. I will give her to you, and with her, all my fortune. cept the offer I make you, and let us haften to your father, to release him, and ask his confent.

FEMALE