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Der. 'I
can save

you this journey. I have plenty of meal at home, and will lend your wife as much as the wants,

Scrape. Ah! neighbor Derby, I am sure your meal will never fuit


wife. You can't conceive how whimsical she is.

Der. If she were ten times more whimsical than she is, I am certain she would like it for you sold it to me yourfelf, and

you assured me it was the best you ever had. Scrape. Yes, yes, that's true, indeed; I always have the best of every thing. You know, neighbor Derby, that no one is more ready to oblige than I am; but I must tell you the mare this morning refused to eat hay ; and truly I am afraid she will not carry you.

Der. Oh, never fear! I will feed her well with oatson the road.

Scrape. Oats! neighbor ; oats are very dear.

Der. They are so indeed; but no matter for that. When I have a good job in view, I never stand for trifles.

Scrape. It is very slippery; and I am really afraid she will fall and break your neck.

Der. Give yourfelf no uneafinefs about that. The mare is certainly sure-footed ; and, besides, you were just now talking yourself of galloping her to town.

Scrape. Well then, to tell you the plain truth, though I wish to oblige you with all my heart, my faddle is torn quite in pieces, and I have juft

fent my bridle to be mended. Dir. Luckily, I have both a bridle and a faddle hanging up at home.

Scrape, Ah! that may be ; but I am sure your saddle will never fit my mare.

Der. Why then I'll borrow neighbor Clodpole's.

Scrape. Clodpole's ! his will no more fit than yours does..

Der. At the worst, then, I'll go to my good friend Squire Jones. He has half a score of them; and I am fure he will lend me one that will fit her.

Scrape. You know, friend Derby, that no one is more willing to oblige his neighbors than I am. I do assure you the beast should be at your service with all my licart ; hut the has not been curried, I believe, for three weeks


very much.

paft. Her foretop and mane want combing and cutting

If any one should see her in her present plight, it would ruin the sale of her.

Der. O! a horse is foon curried, and my fon Sam shall dispzich her at once.

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

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

Scrape. What, that tinker of a Dobson! I would not trust such a bungler to fhve a goat. No, no ; none but uncle Tom Thumper is capable of shoeing my mare,

Der. As good luck will have it then, I shall pass riglit by his door.

Scrape. [Calling to bis fon.] Timothy, Timothy. Here's neighbor Derby, who wants the loan of the grey mare to tide to town to day. You know the skin was rubbed off her back last week a hand's breadth or more. [He gives Tim a wink.] However, 'I believe she is well enough by this time. Y now, Tim, how ready I am to oblige my neighbors. And, indeed, we ought to do all the good we can in this world. We must certainly let neighbor Derby have her, if she will poslibly answer his purpose. Yes, yes; I see plainly by Tim's countenance, neighbor Derby, that he's disposed to oblige you. I would not have refused you the mare for the worth of her. JH I had, I should have expected you would have refused me in your turn. -None of my neighbors can accuse me of being back. ward in doing them a kindness. Come, Timothy, what do

Tim. What do I say, father! Why, I say, Sir, that I am no less ready than you are to do a neighborlý kindness. But the mare is by nɔ means capable of performing the journey. About a hand's breadth did you say, Sir! Why the skin is torn from the poor creature's back, of the big. ness of your great brimm'd hat. And, besides, I have promised her, as soon as she 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 such mares. Believe me, neighbor Derby, I am really sorry for your fake, that matters turn out thus.


; you fay?

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 refusal of all that lot of timber which he is about cutting down upon the back of cobblea hill ; and I intended you should have shared 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 0.* der, I'll go and see if I can get old Roan the blacksmith’s horse.

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

Der. But what are you to do for meal?

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

Der. But then your faddle is all in pieces.

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

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

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

Der. But if the poor creature has lost so much fkia from off her back

Scrape. Poh, poh! That is just one of our Tim's large hories. I do affure you, it was not at first bigger than my thumb riail; and I ani certain it has not grown any since.

Der. at least, however, let her have fomething she will eat, since she refuses hay.

Sorape. She did, indeed, refuse hay this morning; but the only reason was that she was cramm'd full of oats.

Yon have nothing to fear, neighbor ; the ware is in perfect trim

; and she will skim you over the ground like a bird, I wish you a good journey and a profitable job.

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FEW evil habits are of more pernicious consequence, or overcome with more difficulty, than that very odious one of profane cursing and swearing. It cannot be expected that the force of moral principles thould be very strong upon any one who is accustomed, upon every trivial occasion, and frequently without any occasion at all

, to flight the precepts and the character of the Supreme Being.

When we have loft any degree of respect for the Au. thor of our existence, and the concerns of futurity, and can bring the most awful appellations into our flighteit conversation, merely by way of embellishing our foolish and per. haps fallacious narratives, or to give a greater force to our little resentments, conscience will soon lose its influence up. on our minds.

3. Nothing but the fear of disgrace, or a dread of hu. man laws, will restrain any person, addicted to common fwearing, from the most detestable perjury.

4. For if a man can be brought to trifle with the most facred things in his common discourse, he cannot furely consider them of more consequence when his interest leads - him to swear falsely for his own defence or envolument.

5. It is really astonishing how imperceptibly this vice creeps upon a person, and how rootedly he afterwards adheres to it. People generally begin with using only flight exclamations, and which seem hardly to carry the

appearance of any thing criminal ; -and so 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 swearer loses the ideas which are attached to the words he makes use of, and therefore exe. crates his friend when he means to bless him, and calls

God to witness bis intention of doing things, whicly be. knows he has no thoughts of performing in reality.

7. A young gentleman with whom I am intimately &c. quainted, and who possesses many excellent quali&cations, but unhappily in a declining state of health, and evidently tending rapidly to the chambers of death, has been from his


I 2

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

8. It must furely be exceedingly painful to a sensibile heart, feeling for the best interests of a valuable friend, and otherwise excellent acquaintance, to observe the perfon he so highly regards confirmed in such a shocking habit, even while standing in the most awful situation in which it is pollible 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 swearer cannot even say that he feels any

fatisfa&ion, or that he hopes to meet with any benefit, from this foolish habit.

Let those then, who are addicted to this vice, feriously consider how aggravated a guilt it is to offend the Deity continually, without having the least shadow of an excuse for so doing; and determine at once to regulate their conversation and conduct in such a manner as to assure to themselves the permanent satisfaction which will result, at the close of life, from the reflection that they have erred no farther from the rules of eternal justice, than the common condition of humanity in its present state renders unavoid. able ; and that they have endeavored, to the utmost of their power, to correct every error in their conduct, when they have felt it condemned by the dictates of conscience.



A MERCHANT of Provence, in France, of a most amiable character, but of narrow circumstances, met with some confiderable lofses in trade, and became a bankrupt. Being reduced to penury and want, he went to Paris to feek fome affistance,

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



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