her political energies. At all times, and in all 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 favorite of Washington aspired. He had nothing to urge in favor 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 favorite 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,
Of Sharon's dewy rose.

Lo! such the child whose young devotion
The path of peace has trod;
Whose secret soul's instinctive motion
Tends upwards to his God.

By cool Siloam's shady fountain,
The lily must decay;

The rose that blooms on yonder mountain
Must shortly fade away.

A little while the bitter morrow

Of man's maturer age

Will shake the soul with cankering sorrow,
And passion's stormy rage.

O thou! whose every year, untainted,
In changeless virtue shone,

Preserve the flowers thy grace has planted,
And keep them still thy own.

LESSON ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTY-SECOND.

Bankrupt Family made Happy.

A merchant of Bourdeaux, who had carried on trade, with equal honor and propriety, till he was turned of fifty years of age, was, by a series of unexpected and unavoidable losses, at length unable to

comply with his engagements; and his wife and children, in whom he placed his principal happiness, were reduced to a state of destitution, which 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 favorable 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.

His father's creditor beheld him upon his knees, in this condition, for a full quarter of an hour. He then sternly desired him to rise and sit down; he obeyed. The gentleman then walked trom 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
Behind the globe, and lights the lower world,
Then thieves and robbers range abroad unseen,
In murders, and in outrage bloody, here-
But when, from under this terrestrial ball,
He fires the proud tops of the eastern pines,
And darts his light through every guilty hole,
Then murders, treasons, and detested sins,
The cloak of night being plucked from off their backs,
Stand bare and naked, trembling at themselves.

LESSON ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTY-FOURTH. 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 favorable 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 most difficult, justly considering, with the immortal bard of Avon, that

"Marriage is a matter of more worth
Than to be dealt in by attorneyship."

We

"At length," said he, "I met with my Kate. danced together, talked over farm affairs, and I accompanied her home. Every thing 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." Every thing conspired to render him happy; his wife proved herself worthy of his at tachment, 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.

His endeavors, however, were fruitless; one old