earned what I could by shoveling snow, and other work that I could find to do. But, night before last, she was taken very sick, and has since become so much worse that I fear she will die. I can not think of any way in the world to help her.

11. "I have had no work for several weeks. I have not had the courage to go to any of my mother's old acquaintances, and tell them that she has come to need charity. I thought you looked like a stranger, sir, and something in your face overcame my shame and gave me courage to speak to you. O, sir, do pity my poor mother!"

12. The tears, and the simple and moving language of the poor boy, touched a chord in the breast of the stranger that was accustomed to frequent vibrations.

13. "Where does your mother live, my boy?" said he in a husky voice; "is it far from here?"

14. "She lives in the last house on this street, sir," replied Henry. "You can see it from here, in the third block, and on the left-hand side."

15. "Have you sent for a physician?"

16. "No, sir," said the boy sorrowfully, shaking his head. “I had no money to pay either for a physician or for medicine."

17. "Here," said the stranger, drawing some pieces of silver from his pocket,-"here are three dollars; take them, and run immediately for a physician."

18. Henry's eyes flashed with delight. He received the money with a stammering and almost inaudible voice, but with a look of the warmest gratitude he vanished.

19. The benevolent stranger instantly sought the dwelling of the sick widow. He entered a little room, in which he could see nothing but a few implements of female labor, a miserable table, an old bureau, and a

little bed, which stood in one corner, on which the invalid lay. She appeared weak, and almost exhausted; and on the bed, at her feet, sat a little boy crying as if his heart would break.

20. Deeply moved at this sight, the stranger drew near the bedside of the invalid, and, feigning to be a physician, inquired into the nature of her disease. The symptoms were explained in a few words, when the widow, with a deep sigh, added, "O, my sickness has a deeper cause, and one which is beyond the art of the physician to cure.

21. "I am a mother a wretched mother. I see my children sinking daily deeper and deeper in want, which I have no means of relieving. My sickness is of the heart, and death alone can end my sorrows; but even death is dreadful to me, for it awakens the thought of the misery into which my children would be plunged, if"

22. Here emotion checked her utterance, and the tears flowed unrestrained down her cheeks. But the pretended physician spoke so consolingly to her, and manifested so warm a sympathy for her condition, that the heart of the poor woman throbbed with a pleasure that was unwonted.

23. "Do not despair," said the stranger; "think only of recovery, and of preserving a life that is so precious to your children. Can I write a prescription here?" The poor widow took a little prayer-book from the hands of a child who sat with her on the bed, and, tearing out a blank leaf, "I have no other," said she; "but perhaps this will do."

24. The stranger took a pencil from his pocket, and wrote a few lines upon the paper. "This prescription," said he, "you will find of great service to you. If it is necessary, I will write you a second. I have great hopes

of your recovery." He laid the paper on the table, and departed. Scarcely was he gone when the elder son returned.

25. "Cheer up, dear mother," said he, going to her bedside, and affectionately kissing her. "See what a kind, benevolent stranger has given us. It will make us rich for several days. It has enabled us to have a physician, and he will be here in a moment. Compose yourself, now, mother, and take courage."

26. "Come nearer, my son, come nearer, that I may bless you. God never forsakes the innocent and the good. O, may He watch over you in all your paths! A physician has just been here. When he went away he left that prescription on the table: see if you can read it."

of

27. Henry glanced at the paper and started back. He took it up, and, as he read it through again, a cry wonder and astonishment escaped him.

28. "What is it, my son?" exclaimed the poor widow, trembling with an apprehension of- she knew not what. 29. "Ah! read, dear mother! God has heard us."

30. The mother took the paper from the hands of her son; but no sooner had she fixed her eyes upon it than she exclaimed, "My God, it is Washington!" and fell back fainting on her pillow.

31. The writing was an obligation from Washington - for it was indeed he- by which the widow was to receive the sum of one hundred dollars, from his own private property, to be doubled in case of necessity.

32. Meanwhile, the expected physician made his appearance, and soon awoke the mother from her fainting fit. The joyful surprise, together with a good nurse, with which the physician provided her, and a plenty of wholesome food, soon restored her to perfect health.

33. The influence of Washington, who visited them

more than once, provided for the widow friends who furnished her with constant employment; and her sons, when they arrived at the proper age, were placed in respectable situations, where they were able to support themselves, and render the remainder of their mother's life comfortable and happy.

34. Let the children who read this story remember, when they think of the great and good Washington, that he was not above entering the dwelling of poverty, and carrying joy and gladness to the hearts of its inmates. This is no fictitious tale, but is only one of the thousand incidents which might be related of him, and which stamp him as one of the best of men.

CXII. A GOOD LIFE.

1. He liveth long who liveth well; All else is life but flung away: He liveth longest who can tell

Of true things truly done each day.

2. Then fill each hour with what will last;
Buy up the moments as they go:
The life above, when this is past,
Is the ripe fruit of life below.

3. Sow love, and taste its fruitage pure;

Sow peace, and reap its harvest bright;
Sow sunbeams on the rock and moor,
And find a harvest home of light.

Be good yourself, nor think another's shamie
Can raise your merit, or adorn your fame.

PART SECOND,

I. READING.

1. To read with propriety is a pleasing and important attainment, and is productive of improvement both to the understanding and the heart. It is essential to a correct reader that he minutely perceives the ideas, and that he enters into the feelings of the author whose sentiments he professes to repeat; for how is it possible to represent clearly to others what we have but faint or inaccurate conceptions of ourselves?

2. If there were no other benefits resulting from the art of reading well, than the necessity it lays us under of precisely ascertaining the meaning of what we read, and the habit thence acquired of doing this with facility (both when reading silently and aloud), they would constitute a sufficient compensation for all the labor we can bestow upon the subject.

3. But the pleasure derived to ourselves and others, from a clear communication of ideas and feelings, and the strong and durable impressions made thereby on the minds of the reader and the audience, are considerations which give additional importance to the study of this necessary and useful art.

4. The perfect attainment of it doubtless requires great attention and practice, joined to extraordinary natural powers; but as there are many degrees of excellence in the art, the student whose aims fall short of