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If your companions do not love you, it is your own fault. They cannot help loving you, if you will be kind and friendly. It is true that a sense of duty may at times render it necessary for you to do that which is displeasing to your companions. But if it be seen that you have a kind spirit, that you are above selfishness, that you are willing to make sacrifices of your own personal convenience to promote the happiness of your associates, you will never be in want of friends. You must not regard it as your misfortune, but your fault, when others do not love you. It is not beauty, it is not wealth, that will give you friends. Your heart must glow with kindness, if you would attract to yourself the esteem and affection of those by whom you are surrounded.-Every-Day Duty.

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MODERATION IN ANGER-FORBEARANCE
AND FORGIVENESS.

We have been so constituted by our Almighty Creator, that whatever offends any of our feelings, excites anger or resentment; and whatever pleases any of our feelings, excites benevolence and kindness. If, for instance, we witness a just or honest action, our sense of justice is pleased, and this raises a kind feeling; whereas, if we witness a very wickedly unjust action, our sense of justice is sure to be offended, and we then feel angry. Anger, it may thus be seen, is a feeling intended to have a use in our nature. It is a thing designed to counteract whatever is wrong or offensive. We should be very pitiful creatures if we did not feel indignant at any instance of cruelty or injury, or at any insult, that might be offered to the persons and things which we hold in respect.

Though it is allowable to be angry on proper occasions, we are strongly called upon to keep our anger within the bounds of reason, and to take care that it does not prompt us to rash and vindictive actions. St Paul says, angry, and sin not; let not the sun go down upon your

"Be

wrath;" that is to say, though you may feel anger on proper occasion, you must commit no wickedness under its influence, and you must quickly dismiss it from your mind after the occasion is past. To encourage or nurse angry feelings against any one, is generally condemned. The acts which anger prompts depend very much on the general character of individuals. The rude rustic expresses his rage in sharp and loud scoldings, or in blows. The polished gentleman avoids blows and scoldings, but uses smooth sarcasms, or calls the offender to a fight with deadly wea pons. Is either of these modes of expressing anger right? No. They are both alike wrong. Railing, satire, and fighting, can do no good, but will certainly make things worse than before. The true way to give vent to a just anger, is to state your feelings on the occasion in calm but firm terms, such as may produce correction without leading to further evil.

It is of importance to our comfort that we should encourage a mild and patient, rather than a fretful, irritable, and revengeful disposition. The world is so arranged, that many things offensive to us must occur every day of our lives; and if we were to fret and fume at every one of these, we should be truly miserable in ourselves, and a source of discomfort to all around us. Good temper, or the power of bearing gently and patiently, is one of the most valuable of all qualities.

To be able readily to overlook and forgive an injury, is a mark of an amiable disposition. That very liability to err which all of us are under, strongly calls on us to be easy with each other in pardoning mutual offences. While revenge doubles the original evil, forgiveness takes it entirely away. By such means we make our enemy our friend; others, affected by our example, are also merciful, and easily reconciled; and thus good-will and peace are spread over

the earth.

SOCRATES.

Socrates, the Greek philosopher, was remarkable for the power ho had acquired of controlling his disposition to anger, which was naturally great. He desired his friends

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to apprise him when they saw him ready to fall into a passion. At the first hint of the kind from them, he softened his tone, and was silent. Finding himself in great emotion against a slave, "I would beat you," says he, "if I were not angry. Having received a box on the car, he contented himself by only saying, with a smile, "It is a misfortune not to know when to put on a helmet." Socrates, meeting a gentleman of rank in the street, saluted him, but the gentleman took no notice of it. His friends in company observing what passed, told the philosopher "that they were so exasperated at the man's incivility, that they had a good mind to resent it." But he very calmly made answer, "If you meet any person on the road in a worse habit of body than yourself, would you think that you had reason to be enraged at him on that account; if not, pray, then, what greater reason can you have for being incensed at a man of worse habit of mind than any of yourselves?" But, without going out of his house, he found enough to exercise his patience in all its extent. Xantippé, his wife, put it to the severest proofs by her captious, passionate, violent disposition. Never was a woman of so furious and fantastical a spirit, and so bad a temper. There was no kind of abuse or injurious treatment which he had not to experience from her. She was once so transported with rage against him, that she tore off his cloak in the open street. Whereupon his friends told him that such treatment was insufferable, and that he ought to give her a severe drubbing for it. "Yes, a fine piece of sport indeed," says he; "while she and I were buffeting one another, you in your turns, I suppose, would animate us on to the combat: while one cried out, 'Well done, Socrates,' another would say, 'Well hit, Xantippé."" At another time, having vented all the reproaches her fury could suggest, he went out and sat before the door. His calm and unconcerned behaviour did but irritate her so much the more; and, in the excess of her rage, she ran up stairs and emptied a pail of foul water upon his head: at which he only laughed, and said, "That so much thunder must needs produce a shower."

SINGULAR INSTANCE OF GOOD TEMPER.

It was said of M Abauret, a philosopher of Geneva, that he had never been out of temper. His female servant had been in his house for thirty years, and during that time she had never seen him in a passion. Some persons, anxious to put him to the proof, promised this woman a sum of money if she would endeavour to make him angry: she consented and knowing that he was particularly fond of having his bed well made, she, on the day appointed, neglected to make it. M. Abauret observed it, and next morning spoke of the circumstance to her. She answered that she had forgotten it; she said nothing more; but on the same evening she again neglected to make the bed. The same observation was made on the morrow by the philosopher; and she again made some excuse in a cooler manner than before. On the third day he said to her, "You have not yet made my bed: you have apparently come to some resolution on the subject, as you probably found that it fatigued you. But, after all, it is of no consequence, as I begin to accustom myself to it as it is." She threw herself at his feet, and avowed all to him.

A FAMILY KEPT TOGETHER BY PATIENCE.

It is recorded that an emperor of China, once making a progress through his dominions, was accidentally entertained in a house in which the master, with his wives, children, daughters-in-law, grandchildren, and servants, all lived together in perfect peace and harmony. The emperor, struck with admiration at the spectacle, requested the head of the family to inform him what means he employed to preserve quiet among such a number and variety of persons. The old man, taking out a pencil, wrote these three words-patience, patience, patience.

LLEWELLYN AND HIS DOG.

[A true story, showing the lamentable effects of hasty wrath.]

The spearmen heard the bugle sound,
And cheer'ly smiled the morn;
And many a brach, and many a hound,
Attend Llewellyn's horn.

And still he blew a louder blast,

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And gave a louder cheer;

Come, Gelert! why art thou the last
Llewellyn's horn to hear?

Oh where does faithful Gelert roam,
The flower of all his race;
So true, so brave-a lamb at home,
A lion in the chase?"

That day Llewellyn little loved
The chase of hart or hare,

And scant and small the booty proved,
For Gelert was not there.

Unpleased Llewellyn homeward hied,
When, near the portal scat,
His truant Gelert he espied,
Bounding his lord to greet.

But when he gained the castle-door,
Aghast the chieftain stood;
The hound was smeared with gouts of gore;
His lips and fangs ran blood!

Llewellyn gazed with wild surprise;
Unused such looks to meet,

His favourite checked his joyful guisc,
And crouched, and licked his feet.

Onward in haste Llewellyn passed
(And on went Gelert too),

And still, where'er his eyes were cast,
Fresh blood-gouts shocked his view!

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