places, Washington regarded his revolutionary associate with an eye of evident partiality and kindness. He was a jovial, pleasant, and unobtrusive companion. In applying for the office, it was, accordingly, in the full confidence of success; and his friends already cheered him on the prospect of his arrival at competency and ease. The opponent of this gentleman was known to be decidedly hostile to the politics of Washington; he had even made himself conspicuous among the ranks of the opposition. He had, however, the temerity to stand as candidate for the office to which the friend and the favourite of Washington aspired. He had nothing to urge in favour of his pretensions, but strong integrity, promptitude and fidelity in business, and every quality which, if called into exercise, would render service to the state. Every one considered the application of this man hopeless; no glittering testimonial of merit had he to present to the eye of Washington; he was known to be his political enemy; he was opposed by a favourite of the general's; and yet, with such fearful odds, he dared to stand candidate. What was the result? The enemy of Washington was appointed to the office, and his table companion was left destitute and dejected! A mutual friend, who interested himself in the affair, ventured to remonstrate with the president on the injustice of his appointment. "My friend," said he, "I receive with cordial welcome; he is welcome to my house, and welcome to my heart; but, with all his good qualities, he is not a man of business. His opponent is, with all his political hostility to me, a man of business; my private feelings have nothing to do in this case. I'am not George Washington, but President of the United States; as George Washington, I would do this man any kindness in my power; but, as President of the United States, I can do nothing." LESSON ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTY-FIRST. THE FOUNTAIN OF SILOAM. By cool Siloam's shady fountain, How sweet the lily grows; How sweet the breath, on yonder mountain, Lo! such the child whose young devotion Whose secret soul's instinctive motion By cool Siloam's shady fountain, The rose that blooms on yonder mountain A little while, the bitter morrow Of man's maturer age Will shake the soul with cankering sorrow, Ó Thou! whose ev'ry year, untainted, In changeless virtue shone, Preserve the flowers thy grace has planted, LESSON ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTY- FILIAL PIETY REWARDED. A merchant of Bourdeaux, who had carried on trade, with equal honour and propriety, till he was upwards of fifty years of age, was, by a series of unexpected and unavoidable losses, at length unable to meet his engagements; and the thought of his wife and children, in whom he placed his principal happiness, being reduced to a state of destitution, doubled his distress. He comforted himself and them, however, with the reflection, that, upon the strictest review of his own conduct, no want either of integrity or prudence could be imputed to him. He thought it best, therefore, to repair to Paris, in order to lay a true state of his affairs before his creditors, that, being convinced of his honesty, they might be induced to pity his misfortunes, and allow him a reasonable space of time to settle his affairs. He was kindly received by some, and very civilly by all; and wrote immediately to his family, congratulating them on the prospect of a speedy and favourable adjustment of his difficulties. But all his hopes were destroyed by the cruelty of his principal creditor, who caused him to be seized and sent to a gaol. As soon as this melancholy event was known in the country, his eldest son, a youth about nineteen years of age, listening only to the dictates of filial piety, came post to Paris, and threw himself at the feet of his father's obdurate creditor; to whom he painted the distress of the family in most pathetic terms, but apparently without effect. At length, in the greatest agony of mind, he said, "Sir, since you think nothing can compensate for your loss but a victim, let your resentment fall upon me; let me suffer instead of my father, and the miseries of a prison will seem light in procuring the liberty of a parent, to console the sorrows of the distracted and dejected family that I have left behind me. Thus, sir, you will satisfy your vengeance, without sealing their irretrievable ruin." And here his tears and sighs stopped his utterance. The stern creditor beheld him upon his knees, in this condition, for a full quarter of an hour. He then desired him to rise and sit down; he obeyed. The gentleman then walked from one corner of the room to the other, in great agitation of mind, for about the same space of time. At length, throwing his arms about the young man's neck, "I find," said he, "there is something more valuable than money. I have an only daughter, for whose fate I have the utmost anxiety. I am resolved to fix it. In marrying you she must be happy. Go, carry your father's discharge, ask his consent, bring him instantly hither; let us bury in the joy of this alliance the remembrance of all that has passed." LESSON ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTY-THIRD. THE RISING SUN. Knowest thou not, That, when the searching eye of Heaven is hid He fires the proud tops of the eastern pines, The cloak of night being plucked from off their backs, Stand bare and naked, trembling at themselves. LESSON ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTY- GERMAN EXILES. Michael Roster was one of those unfortunate subjects of Hesse Cassel who were bought by the English Government to fight their battles in America. He was taken prisoner at Trenton; and, after various vicissitudes, took the first favourable opportunity that presented to make his escape into the interior, where he remained until the conclusion of the struggle which secured the independence of America. Like most of his countrymen, he was frugal and industrious. In the course of a few years, he took up a tract of land from the state, cleared a few acres, built a log hut, sowed his first crop, and began to think seriously of getting a wife. This last affair he found to be rather difficult, justly considering, with the immortal bard of Avon, that "Marriage is a matter of more worth "At length," said he, "I met with my Kate. We danced together, talked over farm affairs, and I accompanied her home. Everything looked neat and clean about her mother's dwelling; and, as she was a good-looking girl, I soon made up my mind. The next time we met, I took an opportunity to confess my attachment, found it was reciprocal, and we were finally married." Everything conspired to render him happy; his wife proved herself worthy of his attachment, managed his dairy, made his butter and cheese, and presented him with several sturdy little children, as pledges of their affection. His land repaid their industry, and his wealth increased in proportion. One circumstance alone clouded his felicity: it was the fate of his parents. Of their welfare he heard not a single word; of his fate they must of necessity be ignorant. The village in which they resided had been demolished by the French; and the idea of their destruction in some measure marred his felicity. The arrival of a vessel filled with German redemptioners opened to his mind an avenue of hope. He repaired to Philadelphia, and went on board the vessel, in hopes of obtaining some information on the subject of his errand. 66 His endeavours, however, were fruitless; one old man alone appeared to possess the requisite information, but he was distant and repulsive in his manner; every question seemed to open some galling wound, and awaken some unpleasant, sensation. Michael felt (to use his own words) sore upon his heart," and determined to buy the poor man's time. He did so; and they proceeded to have the indentures made out in form. A similarity of name caused an inquiry on the part of the magistrate; and the honest farmer, to his inexpressible delight, discovered his long-lost father! The old man lived to enjoy the happiness of ease and tranquillity but a few years; the recollection of a wife and children murdered before his eyes, could never be effaced; his joy at meeting with a son whom he had ceased to consider as living, combined with his own bodily sufferings, formed such an agitated complication of feelings, as eventually destroyed his health; it was one of his son's most pleasing reflections, that he had solaced his declining years, and smoothed his passage to the tomb. LESSON ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTY-FIFTH. THE COTTAGER AND HER INFANT. The days are cold, the nights are long, The kitten sleeps upon the hearth, |