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to see more original matter in the work. Pray, is this the only reason you have for not sending any thing to the Editor?

Dorothy.-O! no, indeed; I have a much more important reason for it than that. I think the Editor had better continue to furnish his readers with borrowed light, than with original darkness; and as such my contributions may be justly considered.

Caroline.-Well; but you know, sister, that we were all very much delighted with the account you wrote of the oak in the cherry-tree, while I was engaged in making a sketch of it in pencil. Will you be so kind as to read it to us again? If it amused us, why should it not amuse others?

Dorothy, accordingly, took her Sketch Book, and read from it as follows:

The county of Kent is unquestionably one of the finest districts of Great Britain. From east to west its breadth is about seventy miles; and the distance of its northern from its southern extremity is nearly half as much; so that it includes rather more than two thousand three hundred square miles within its boundaries.

The surface of the country is irregular, and richly wooded. The hills, though they never approach to the character of mountains, are sufficiently high to command extensive and varied prospects in all directions. From the summit of Blue-Bell Hill, you have, on one side, a magnificent view of the Isle of Sheppy, the town of Sheerness, and the river Medway, from the Nore to Rochester bridge,studded with ships in ordinary, and hulks for the imprisonment of convicts: and, from the other, you may overlook the winding valley of this beautiful river, from Burham and Green-Hythe, as far as Maidstone. The prospects from Wrotham-Hill, River-Hill, and Cox-Heath, are not less worthy of admiration. Indeed, it is difficult to say at which season of the year this county is most delightful; whether in autumn, when the hops are beginning to exhibit that rich golden tinge which shows they will soon be fit for "picking;" or in spring, when the numerous plantations

blossoms. In this county it is no uncommon thing to see a vast number of cherry-trees, intermixed with apple and pear trees, regularly planted, and extending over ten, fifteen, or even twenty acres of ground. When these gardens (as they are called) are in full bloom, they present one of the most beautiful spectacles which the vegetable kingdom, in this country, can afford. In the course of the last spring, we made several excursions to different parts of our own delightful neighbourhood, not without experiencing much of that enthusiastic pleasure which the scenery is so well adapted to inspire.

In one of our rambles, we had the good fortune to discover the very singular phenomenon, of which I am about to give some account; a phenomenon which we could not help contemplating with astonishment and delight, and which we should have thought that nature, in her wildest freaks, could hardly have produced. About a mile northeast of Sittingbourne is a very large and finely-planted cherry orchard, commonly called East-Hall cherry-garden, and now in the occupation of Mr. White, the proprietor; in the midst of which, an oak-tree, of considerable size and great beauty, is literally growing in and supported by the trunk of an old cherry-tree. The following history of this great curiosity is, I believe, authentic.

About the year 1789, Mr. William Seath, who then owned and occupied the premises, was walking with his wife in the orchard: as they passed a large cherry-tree, a rook flew out of a hollow place at the top of the trunk, where the branches begin to spread, about seven feet from the ground. On putting his hand into the place he felt something which he supposed to be an egg, but which proved to be an acorn, in the first stage of vegetation. "Don't destroy it," said Mrs. Seath: "it is unlucky to destroy an oak." In compliance with his wife's request, Mr. Seath replaced it in the same situation. There it speedily took root, and grew up; and has continued to flourish for forty-four years.

The lower part of the oak, where it first struck its roots into the top of the cherry-tree, is now about three feet in

circumference. The trunk of the oak is straight, and well proportioned, and the branches form a head as finely shaped as any I remember to have seen. The branches of the cherry-tree have long since perished, but the bole retains nearly its original shape, and is much more perfect than could have been expected, after the lapse of so many years. It appears, however, to be somewhat rent at the top, and the fibrous roots of the oak have burst through the bark, in several places, as if in search of the soil to nourish them. If I am rightly informed, the oak is furnished with what is called a sap, or leading root, which strikes directly downward, to a considerable depth, and thus increases the stability of the tree, by riveting it fast in the soil. If this be the case, the sap-root has, in all probability, made its way through the centre of the cherry stalk, and found its natural aliment in the earth.

(To be concluded in our next.)

LETTERS TO A YOUNG CHRISTIAN.

LETTER X.

A CHRISTIAN who aims at an elevated standard of piety will not always be satisfied with the morning and evening sacrifice.

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The most eminent Christians have followed the example of David, who, in asserting his perseverance in prayer, exclaims, Morning and evening, and at noon, will I call upon thee." And is this too much? I am persuaded, my young friend, that, to a soul who pants after increasing conformity to God it is not too much. It may not always be convenient to pray three times a day; but where it is, I promise the individual, he will be no loser by the exercise. The aliment of the body may be taken too often, and in too great quantities, for the health of the constitution: but not so that of the soul. There is no danger of satiety or repletion here. You may drink, and drink again, at the water of life; you may banquet, and return again and banquet. The soul will thrive proportionably. The food, instead of

increasing nourishment, until you grow up to the stature of the perfect in Christ Jesus.

A Christian of exalted piety will carry a prayerful frame of spirit throughout the day. He will not make his stated devotions the beginning and the end of his religion. Such is the conduct of the hypocrite and the formalist. But the Christian imbibes a portion of heaven, which he continually carries in his countenance, and exhibits in his deportment. Though walking amid the avocations of secular life, he still walks with God. As a matter of duty, he descends from his elevation to perform his part in the concerns of this sublunary world; but his soul is not here. His higher affections are calmly ascending to God. The silent ejaculation supplies his necessary absence from the throne of grace; and is, if you will allow me the comparison, a sort of informal repast to the soul.

The most eminent saints have been noted for frequent ejaculatory petitions. A temptation suddenly shoots across the mind: send upward the silent prayer for deliverance. You are about entering into dangerous circumstances: look upward for protection. Your feet have just touched the threshold of God's temple: O, then breathe upward for his Spirit and his presence. If your soul be attuned to devotion, you will live and breathe as in the presence of God, and travel through this wilderness, leaning on the arm of your Beloved.

In addition to this, I would urge the duty of extraordinary and special seasons of prayer. I find such seasons warranted by the Scriptures, and their importance attested by the experience of the most eminent saints in all ages of the church. There are lapses of the soul which can only be counteracted by special and extraordinary prayer. There are temptations which at times so beset and harass the mind as to call for special means. There are afflictive dispensations which require them. There are perplexities, as to the path of duty, which they only can remove. Hence, if you will note the biography of the most eminently pious, you will find that special seasons of fasting, humiliation,

grace, a deeper acquaintance with the heart, a more spiritual intercourse with God, more glorious views of divine truth, and a surer hope of a blessed immortality.

I think I can say, without hesitation, that the most exalted attainments have been made by such means. Such extraordinary seasons of prayer are peculiarly acceptable to God. It was such, accompanied by a sanctifying influence, that formed the high character of Brainerd, and of Martyn. If you desire their piety, neglect not the means by which they attained to it. If you admire their character, then imitate their devotion and self-denial. There is no obstacle that may not be surmounted, to hinder you even from outstripping them. The prize is before you. The race is pointed out. See, at its termination, a crown of glory beaming in your Saviour's hands. Does it not fire your soul? Does it not fill your eye? Does it not brace anew your nerves? Fix your eye on the mark of the prize of your high calling. Consider all the ground you have passed, as nothing, so long as the goal is still at a distance; so long as you come short of perfection in Christ Jesus.

But I have one remark, before I dismiss this subject. It is this,-Let nothing, if possible, hinder you, in the performance of your regular devotions, from occupying your allotted seasons of prayer. When the love of God is on the wane, and that of the world is waxing stronger, a trifling excuse will satisfy the conscience for the neglect of this allimportant duty. May such never be your case. Such a state is replete with danger, and often a precursor to a melancholy and disgraceful fall. The soul that is bent on duty, and to whom prayer is a delightful privilege, will seldom be hindered from its performance. No trifling excuse will be heeded; and if necessity for a time bar up the sacred enclosure, the heart will sicken at the void which is created by a temporary absence from the hallowed spot. When that necessity can be removed, how will the soul leap forward to its dearest earthly home! It will seem doubly sweet, for the temporary hinderance. The soul will say, as it lays itself beneath the altar, "O blessed privilege, how

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