"Great pity he had not left us twenty years ago," replied the other; "he was a bad man."

Presently another of the townsmen met them with the same question, " And what poor soul have you got there, doctor?"

"Poor Mr. B- answered the doctor again," is dead." "Ah! indeed," said the other; "and so he is gone to meet his deserts at last."

"O villain !" exclaimed the man in the coffin.

Soon after this, while the pall-bearers were resting themselves near the church-yard, another stepped up with the old question again, "What poor soul have you got there, doctor?"

"Poor Mr. B-," he replied, "is gone."

"Yes, and to the bottomless pit," said the other; "for if he is not gone there, I see not what use there is for such a place." Here the dead man, bursting off the lid of the coffin, which had been purposely left loose, leaped out, exclaiming, “O you villain! I am gone to the bottomless pit am I? Well, I have come back again, to pay such ungrateful rascals as you are." A chase was immediately commenced, by the dead man after the living, to the petrifying consternation of many of the spectators, at the sight of a corpse, in all the horrors of the winding sheet, running through the streets. After having exercised himself into a copious perspiration by the fantastic race, the hypochondriac was brought home by Dr. Stevenson, freed from all his complaints; and by strengthening food, generous wine, cheerful company, and moderate exercise, was soon restored to perfect health.

[For the Monitor.]

William Pitt Atwater, the subject of the following lines, was a member of the Junior Class in Middlebury College, and supported in part by the Education Society. He died at Castleton, Vermont, of the consumption on the 10th of August, 1823.

BY THE GRAVE OF MY FRIEND.

'Tis night, and the Zephyrs blow softly and mild;
The rudeness of nature is stamped on the ground;
Creation is lonely and silent and wild,

And darkness and gloom spread their mantles around,

In fancy I stand by the grave of a friend,
And sigh on reviewing the scenes that are past;
We fondly imagined our joys ne'er would end-
The pleasures we tasted forever would last.
Ah fleeting delusion! the years rolled along-
They scarcely began, ere in silence they fled;
They seemed like a story--a vapour-a song,
But bore my companion and friend to the dead.
Ah William! how short were the days of thy youth!
But happiness mark'd thy descent to the grave,
And the tear-drop of sorrow shall witness the truth,
Thy friend ever lov'd whom his love could not save.
Why, why did not death stay his arrows a while,
Till I could bend o'er thee, and close thy dim eyes?
Till thy friend could receive from thy visage a smile,
And see thee in raptures depart for the skies?
He's gone-and I trust to a haven of rest,
Where they who are righteous will ever repair,
'Midst thrones of Archangels and seats of the blest
He shouts loud his songs to Immanuel there.
Hail spirit, released from thy prison of clay!
Thou friend of my childhood and joy of my youth!
Though thy mansion be fixed in the regions of day,
And thy anthems arise to the fountain of truth,
Look down--and when darkness encircles me round,
And the gloom of uncertainty broods o'er my soul,
Let a view of thy splendor my scruples confound,
And the high swelling billows of passion control.
Peace, peace to thy soul! while memory remains,
I'll never forget how intense was thy zeal;
For Afric you wept when you saw her in chains,
For India the land of Idolatry-died.

GREEN MOUNTAIN BARD.

TO CORRESPONDENTS.

S :—L. L*** :—P. N :-L.-W :-M :-and T. P. J :are received. We have also received a communication, which with just severity exposes the guilt and the evils of plagiarism. We intend the writer shall be allowed, in our next number, to speak for himself. We likewise hope that in future our correspondents will either save us the trouble of striking out their Americanisms of lengthy and lengthily, or the mortification of having inadvertently inserted them.

VOL. II.

THE MONITOR.

MARCH, 1824.

NO. 3.

[For the Monitor.]

ADVICE TO YOUTH ON THE CHOICE OF COMPANY.

THE great multitude, in every age, have been regardless of the momentous consequences of life. Serious consideration has not marked their actions. Taking no prospective view of things in relation to eternity, they have consulted only present and personal gratification. And, ah, too late, have they awoke from these delusive dreams!-too late discovered their fatal mistake. There is an importance attached to the actions of men, during this short life, which is incalculable. We awake in the morning to behold the world, which the light of day has restored to our vision; we enter upon our accustomed employment, and amid the hurry of wordly avocations, or the whirl of vain amusements, scarcely pause to take one serious thought of an hereafter. The day is gone. Darkness again shrouds the world, and we retire to rest without either retrospection of the past, thanks for favours bestowed, or supplication for divine protection.

Thus passes precious time, till death is come;
But, for Eternity, all is left undone.

To those, who, for a long course of years, have lived in this careless and criminal neglect of God and duty, my present remarks are not addressed. Their habits of sin, by a continued course of indulgence, have acquired a strength, which none but an Almighty arm can resist, and nothing but Almighty grace subdue. Deplorable beyond description is the condition of the aged

sinner. To him, the evening of life, when support and consolation are most needed, is entirely destitute of either. All is unmingled regret in view of the past; perfect barrenness as to present comfort, while over his future prospects there is a cloud of impenetrable darkness, with which nothing but the moral darkness of his own mind can be compared. And all this is but the prelude of that misery, which is faintly shadowed forth in scripture, by the worm that never dies, and the fire that never shall be quenched.

I have presented this gloomy picture, of which so many furnish the sad reality, for the purpose, merely of furnishing a dissuasive to the young, from pursuing a course of conduct which is attended with such unhappy consequences, and which leads to such a dreadful end. The temptations which beset the paths of youth, are many and various. From these, they are peculiarly exposed to danger. Who that knows the power of temptation, and has felt its force, when in all the ardour of young affections, will doubt this truth? Untaught by experience, unsuspecting and incautious, the unwary youth rushes into the scenes of an ensnaring world. With such feelings, and entirely ignorant of human nature, he nither anticipates danger, nor is prepared to meet it. But as an imaginary security renders any situation more hazardous, so in this case the youth is doubly exposed. Alas! how many there are, who, commencing life with much promise of usefulness and respectability, soon contract habits of vice and dissipation, become objects of disgrace and misery, and then sink into an untimely grave, with unrepented sins, and aggravated guilt! And on how many of their tomb-stones might it be written-This youth destroyed himself by associating with the wicked! Or if life is protracted, it is only to draw out a miserable existence; poison society with corrupt principles; and at last perish with a still greater condemnation! Now all this may be accounted for on the common principle of cause and effect. At an age when the strongest desires are felt for social intercourse, the youth steps from the parental roof to

enjoy the pleasures of the world. Meeting with a solicitation to associate with those, from whose baneful company he has hitherto been restrained by parental authority, he replies at first, perhaps, in the negative. The solicitation is repeated, and urged with all the plausibility and pathos of which those are capable, who, in adapting the means to the end, "are wiser than the children of light." Still the half-suspecting, timid, trembling youth hesitates, while his conscience, understanding, and the recollection of pious parental instruction, all whisper-no! refuse-refrain-go not in the paths of wicked men; turn from them and pass away. But misery loves company, and company it will have. The solicitation is again repeated, with redoubled importunity; and at length the deluded youth yields up himself to the force of entreaty, and replies, I will comply for once; yes I will go.-Go where, mistaken youth? Ah, why will you go in that fatal path which has misguided thousands! O why will you thus sacrifice happiness, and heaven, and all? Why take the fatal step, which it will be so difficult to retrace? Why will you go in the way of the wicked, which leads down to the chambers of death, and whose steps take hold on hell? Is this "pondering the path of thy feet?" But he goes, even as "an ox to the slaughter," " or as a bird hasteth to the snare, and knoweth not that it is for his life." Yes, he joins himself to the company of the ungodly, notwithstanding the instructions of parents, the remonstrances of conscience, and the warnings of God. And in doing this, probably he is undone forever! O! if he had but resisted the temptation at the outset; if he had refused to yield to the first solicitation, it would have been comparatively easy; but it is a poor time to resist the assaults of a powerful enemy, when enclosed within his territory. The first step in sin necessarily leads to the second, and so on with an increasing ratio, till the last takes hold on death. It is easy to set in motion a huge rock from the summit of a lofty mountain, and it is also easy to stop its motion at first, but it would require immense strength to stop its midway course, and replace it on the summit. So it is with the youth who takes