LESSON ONE HUNDRED AND THIRTY-FIFTH.

Boston Liberty Tree.

At this period, there arose a practice, which was occasionally repeated, of signifying public sentiment in a very effectual way, though without any responsible, or even ostensible agent, unless an inanimate one, the Liberty Tree, can be so considered. This tree was one of those majestic elms, of the American species, that form one of the greatest ornaments in the landscape of this country. It stood in front of a house, opposite the Boylston market, on the edge of the street, which its spreading branches overshadowed.

On the 14th of August, 1765, an effigy, representing Mr. Oliver, who had been appointed to distribute the stamps, and a boot, (the emblem of Lord Bute,) with the devil peeping out of it, having the stamp act in his hand, and various other satirical emblems, were suspended from its branches. Chief Justice Hutchinson directed the sheriff to remove this pageantry; but his deputies, from the indications of popular feeling, declined the task; and the council of the province thought, if they did not interfere, that the affair would subside without disturbance.

In the evening, the figures were taken down, carried in procession through the streets, and through the town house, to a small building in State street, which Mr. Oliver had erected for a stamp office; this was entirely demolished, and the procession then moved to Fort Hill, where his house was situated, to make a bonfire of this pageantry. His family were alarmed; but some of his friends, who were very obnoxious to popular ill will, remained, with a show of resistance. This provoked an attack, in which the windows were broken, and some injury done to the house and furniture.

The next day, Mr. Oliver announced, through his friends, on the exchange, that he had declined the office of stamp distributor; but, it being intiinated to him, that it would conduce to the quiet of the public, if he would come to this tree and resign it openly, he appeared there accordingly, and declared, in the presence of a large concourse of spectators, that he would not accept the place. It was thenceforth call ed Liberty Tree.

In February of the preceding year, the tree was carefully pruned, and the following inscription placed upon it: "This tree was planted in the year 1614, and pruned, by order of the sons of liberty, Feb. 14th 1766." On future occasions, there was seldom any excitement on political subjects, without some token of it appearing on this tree: all popular processions paid a salute to it.

Whenever any obnoxious offices were to be resigned, or agreements for patriotic purposes entered into, the parties received notice clandestinely, that they would be expected at the Liberty Tree, at a particular time; where they always found pens and paper, and a numerous crowd of witnesses, though the genius of the tree was invisible. When the British army took possession of the town in 1774, it fell a victim to their vengeance, or to that of the individuals to whom its shade had been disagreeable.

LESSON ONE HUNDRED AND THIRTY-SIXTH. A True Friend.

Is he my friend who tells me so,

Perhaps some private end to gain?
Whose heart, just like a gem of snow,
But sparkles in its frosty reign!

'Tis he who makes no loud pretence,
But like the silent dews of heaven,
Can blessings all unasked dispense,
In noiseless acts of kindness given.

ways,

'Tis he who, through life's checkered
When sun-bright scenes, or clouds appear,
With warm affection, still displays

A heart unchanged, a soul sincere.

LESSON ONE HUNDRED AND THIRTY-SEVENTH.

The Young Heroine.

During the invasion of Provost, while the British army kept possession of the seaboard, a Hessian battalion occupied the house and plantation of Mr. Robert Gibbes, on the banks of the Stono. To excite general alarm, and more particularly to annoy the post, two galleys from Charleston, ascending the river in the night time, unexpectedly opened a heavy fire of grape and round shot on the house and neighboring encampment.

The family, who had been allowed to remain in some of the upper apartments, were now ordered to quit the premises, and Mr. Gibbes, a martyr to infirmity, and his numerous family, set out, at midnight, for an adjoining plantation. When beyond the reach of the shot, which had incessantly passed over the heads of the party, an inquiry being made respecting the safety of the children, it was found, that, in the hurry and terror of the moment, a distant relation, a boy as yet in early infancy, had been left behind.

The servants were entreated to return for him, but refused; and he must have been left to his fate, had not the heroism and affection of Miss Mary Anna Gibbes, then but thirteen years old, inspired her with

courage to fly to his rescue. The darkness of the night was profound; yet she returned alone, the distance being fully a mile; and, after a long refusal, having, by tears and entreaties, obtained admission from the sentinel, ascended to the third story.

There she found the child, and carried him off in safety, though frequently covered with the dirt thrown up by the shot, and greatly terrified by their constant approach to her person. Public gratitude is due to this intrepid action, since the gallant Lieutenant Colonel Fenwick, so much distinguished by his services in the late war, was the person saved.

Address to Science.

Sun of the soul! thy beams unveil!
Let others spread the daring sail,
On fortune's faithless sea;
While, undeluded, happier, I
From the vain tumult timely fly,
And sit in peace with thee.

Hail, queen of manners! light of truth!
Hail! charm of age, and guide of youth;
Sweet refuge of distress:

In business thou, exact, polite,

Thou giv'st retirement its delight,
Prosperity its grace.

Of wealth, power, freedom, thou the cause!
Foundress of orders, cities, laws,

Of arts inventress thou!

Without thee, what were human kind!
How vast their wants, their thoughts how blind!
Their joys, how mean, how few!

LESSON ONE HUNDRED AND THIRTY-NINTH

Mrs. Thomas Heyward.

An order having been issued for a general illumi nation, to celebrate the supposed victory at Guilford, the front of the house occupied by Mrs. Heyward and her sister, Mrs. George Abbot Hall, remained in darkness. Indignant at so decided a mark of disrespect, an officer (I hope, for the sake of humanity, and the honor of the military character, unauthorized) forced his way into her presence, and sternly demanded of Mrs. Heyward, "How dare you disobey the order which has been issued? why, madam, is not your house illuminated?"

"Is it possible for me, sir,” replied the lady, with perfect calmness, "to feel a spark of joy? Can I celebrate the victory of your army, while my husband remains a prisoner at St. Augustine?" "That," rejoined the officer, "is a matter of little consequence; the last hopes of rebellion are crushed by the defeat of Greene: you shall illuminate." "Not a single light," replied the lady, "shall be placed with my consent, on such an occasion, in any window in the house."

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Then, madam, I will return with a party, and, before midnight, level it to the ground." "You have power to destroy, sir, and seem well disposed to use it; but over my opinions you possess no control. I disregard your menaces, and resolutely declare, I will not illuminate." Would to God that I could name the man capable of thus insulting a helpless female, that I might hold him up to the scorn of the world! Mrs. Heyward was graceful and majestic in person, beautiful in countenance, angelic in disposition: none but a ruffian could have treated her with indignity.

On the anniversary of the surrender of Charleston, May 12th, 1781, an illumination was again demanded,