Neither is it true that no labor is hard, except that of the hands. So far otherwise, many an excellent man, by intense labor of mind in his profession, has worn himself out much sooner than he would have done, had he employed an equal measure of industry in the labors of the field. NUMBER XXVIII. A SORROW-SOOTHING SCOTTISH LEGEND. OLD age is justly considered as situated on the confines of the grave; and, of course, the ravages that death makes in that uttermost province of human life, excite no surprise. It is an adage nearly as ancient, perhaps, as time, that the old must die. Indeed, the aged may be said to die while they live. By little and little, they are losing, almost every day, somewhat of the very stamina of life; and, even if no mortal disease supervenes, their earthly tabernacles must, ere long, be dissolved of mere decay. This natural process of dissolution is often so gradual as to be little perceived, and least of all by the subjects of it; but the process is constantly advancing, whether perceived or not. So far, therefore, from its being a marvel that the aged die at last, the marvel is that they live so long, considering the extreme brittleness of the thread of life, and the many hairbreadth escapes from death, which they must have had during such a great length of time. On the contrary, premature deaths occasion not merely the bitterness of transient sorrow, but that rooted anguish which rises from disappointed hopes. And it is particularly so with regard to children, cut off in the flower of youth, or in the bud of infancy. Parental affection "hopeth all things;" and when the object of its fond hope is snatched away, it faints under the stroke, and is ready to say repiningly," It were better not to have had the gift at all." But when this object is an only child, the cup of anguish is not merely full, but it overflows. Bereavement of this last description is frequently noticed, in the Holy Scriptures, as most deeply affecting; and, accordingly, pious writers, in all ages and countries, have been assiduously anxious to pour the balm of consolation into hearts, thus torn with anguish. With such benevolent views, no doubt, was fabricated the ancient legend, or fable, with which I shall conclude these reflections. It originated in the Scottish highlands, whose inhabitants have, in great part, borne a resemblance to the people of the patriarchal ages; having, from time immemorial, led a pastoral life, and been remarkable for frugal plainness of living, for sobriety, and for zealous attachment to the holy religion they profess. And a singular circumstance, which to them has given peculiar efficacy to the legend hereafter related, is, that they have been, and are, generally speaking, so tinctured with superstition, as firmly to believe in the frequency of supernatural visions and apparitions. I will only remark further, for explanation, that every highland householder, agreeably to an ancient custom, makes a festival for his friends and neighbors, on the death of any one of his family; which funeral is called, The late Wake. A married couple of the Scottish highlands, had lost thrice their only child, each dying at an early age. Upon the death of the last, the grief of the father became boisterous, and he uttered his plaints in the loudest terms. "The death of the child happened late in the spring, when, in the more inhabited straths, sheep were abroad; but, from the blasts in that high and stormy region, they were still confined in the cot. In a dismal, snowy evening, the man, unable to stifle his anguish, went out, lamenting aloud, for a lamb to treat his friends with, at the late wake. At the door of the cot, however, he found a stranger, standing before the entrance. He was astonished, in such a night, to meet a person so far from any frequented place. The stranger was plainly attired; but had a countenance expressive of singular mildness and benevolence, and addressing him in a sweet, impressive voice, asked him, what he did there, amidst the tempest. He was filled with awe, which he could not account for, and said, he came for a lamb.-'What kind of lamb do you mean to take?' said the stranger. The very best I can find,' he replied, as it is to entertain my friends; and I hope you will share of it.' 'Do your sheep make any resistance when you take away the lambs, or any disturbance afterwards ?' Never,' was the answer. 'How differently am I treated,' said the traveller. 'When I come to visit my sheepfold, I take, as I am well entitled to do, the best lamb to myself; and my ears are filled with the clamor of discontent by these ungrateful sheep, whom I have fed, watched, and protected.' He 6 looked up in amaze e; but the vision was fled." If it be proper to add any thing at all here, I can think of |