legs; yet all I have told you is true." "We may as well give up guessing." "Well, then, I will tell you, upon my honor as a gentleman, my bona fide profession. I get my bread by making faces."

He then screwed his countenance, and twisted the lineaments of his visage, in a manner such as Samuel Foot or Charles Mathews might have envied. His companions, after loud peals of laughter, each took credit to himself for having suspected that the gentleman belonged to the theatre, and they all knew he must be a comedian by profession. When, to their utter astonishment, he assured them that he was never on the stage, and very rarely saw the inside of a playhouse, or any similar place of amusement. They all now looked at each other in utter amazement. Before parting, Stuart said to his companions." Gentlemen, you will find that all I have said of my various employments is comprised in these few words: I am a portrait painter. If you will call at John Palmer's, York Buildings, London, I shall be ready and willing to brush you a coat or hat, dress your hair à la mode, supply you, if in need, with a wig of any fashion or dimensions, accommodate you with boots or shoes, give you ruffles or cravat, and make faces for you.

6. FOREIGN ENTANGLEMENTS, 1796.--George Washington.

Against the insidious wiles of foreign influence (I conjure you to believe me, fellow-citizens) the jealousy of a free people ought to be constantly awake; since history and experience prove that foreign influence is one of the most baneful foes of Republican government.

But that jealousy, to be useful, must be impartial; else it becomes the instrument of the very influence to be avoided, instead of a defence against it. Excessive partiality of one nation, and excessive dislike for another, cause those whom they actuate to see danger only on one side, and serve to veil, and even second the arts of influence on the other. Real patriots, who may resist the intrigues of the favorite, are liable to become suspected and odious; while its tools and dupes usurp the applause and confidence of the people, to surrender their interests. The great rule of conduct for us, in regard to foreign nations, is, in extending our commercial relations, to have with them as little political connection as possible. So far as we have already formed engagements, let them be fulfilled with perfect good faith. Here let us stop.

Europe has a set of primary interests, which to us have none, or a very remote relation. Hence, she must be engaged in frequent controversies, the cause of which are essentially foreign to our concerns. Hence, therefore, it must be unwise for us to implicate ourselves by artificial ties in the ordinary vicissitudes of her politics, or the ordinary combinations and collisions of her friendships or enmities. Our detached and distant situation invites and enables us to pursue a different course. If we remain one people, under an efficient government, the period is not for off when we may defy material injury from external annoyance ;"when we may take such an attitude as will cause the neutrality we may at any time resolve upon to be scrupulously respected; when belligerent nations, under the impossibility of making ac

quisitions upon us, will not lightly hazard the giving us provocation; when we may choose peace or war, as our interest, guided by justice, shall counsel. Why forego the advantages of so peculiar a situation? Why quit our own, to stand on foreign ground? Why, by interweaving our destiny with that of any part of Europe, entangle our peace and prosperity in the toils of European ambition, rivalship, interest, humor or caprice ?

7. THE LITTLE BOY THAT DIED.-Dr. Chalmers.

I am all alone in my chamber now,

And the midnight hour is near ;

And the fagot's crack, and the clock's dull click
Are the only sounds I hear.

And over my soul in its solitude,

Sweet feelings of sadness glide,

And my heart and my eyes are full, when I think

Of the little boy that died.

I went one night to my father's house—

Went home to the loved ones all;
And softly I opened the garden gate,
And softly the door of the hall.
My mother came out to meet her son;
She kissed me, and then she sighed ;
Her head fell on my neck, and she wept
For the little boy that died.

I shall miss him when the flowers come
In the garden where he played;
I shall miss him more by the fire-side,
When the flowers are all decayed.

I shall see his toys, and his empty chair,

And the horse he used to ride;

And they will speak with a silent speech
Of the little boy that died.

We shall all go home to our Father's house-
To our Father's house in the skies,

Where the hope of our souls shall have no blight,
Our love, no broken ties.

We shall roam on the banks of the river of peace,
And bathe in its blissful tide;

And one of the joys of our heaven will be
The little boy that died.

8. A SKETCH.-Washington Irving.

The depopulating pestilence that walketh at noonday, the carnage of cruel and devastating war, can scarcely exhibit their victims in a more terrible array, than exterminating drunkenness. I have seen a promising family spring from a parent trunk, and stretch abroad its populous limbs like a flowing tree covered with a green and healthy foliage.-I have seen the unnatural decay beginning upon the yet tender leaves, and gnawing like a worm in an unopened bud, while they dropped off, one by one, and the scathed and ruined shaft stood alone, until the winds and rains of many a sorrow laid that, too, in the dust.-On one of those holy days, when the patriarch, rich in virtue as in years, gathered about him the great and the little ones of the flock-his sons with their sons, and his daughters with their daughters -I, too, sat at the festive board. I, too, pledged them

in the social wine cup, and rejoiced with them around the hospitable hearth, and expatiated with delight upon the eventful future; while the good old man, warmed in the genial glow of youthful enthusiasm, wiped the tear of joy from his glistening eye. He was happy.I met with them again when the rolling year brought the festive season round. But they were not all there. The kind old man sighed when his suffused eye dwelt upon the then unoccupied seat. But joy yet came to his relief, and he was happy.-A parent's love knows no diminution-time, distance, poverty, shame, but give intensity and strength to that passion before which all others dissolve and melt away. Another elapsed.—The board was spread, but the guests came not. The old man cried, "where are my children ?" and echo answered-where? His heart broke-for they were not. Could not Heaven have spared his gray hairs this affliction ? Alas! the demon of drunkenness had been there. They had fallen victims of his spell. And one short month sufficed to cast the veil of oblivion over the old man's sorrow, and the young ones' shame.-They are all dead.

LESSON XXXVIII.

1. THE TRUE TO-DAY.-H. Withington. B. 1818; d. 1848.

All that there is in what we call to-day is in the life of thought thought is the spirit's breath. Το think is to live; for he who thinks not has no sense of life. Wouldst thou make the most of life,-wouldst