vessel to the waves, when he was pursued, arrested, and loaded with chains.

Everybody in the army was anxious to see the boat, and Napoleon having at length heard of the affair, sent for the sailor and interrogated him. "You must," said Napoleon, "have had a great desire to see your country again, since you could resolve to trust yourself on the open sea in so frail a bark. I suppose you have left a sweetheart there?" "No," said the sailor; "but a poor infirm mother, whom I was anxious to see.' "And you shall see her," said Napoleon, giving at the same time orders to set him at liberty, and to bestow upon him a considerable sum of money for his mother, observing that "she must be a good mother who had so good a son."

83.

Avarice Punished.

An avaricious merchant in Turkey, having lost a purse containing two hundred pieces-of-gold, had1 it cried by the public crier, offering half its contents to whoever had found and would restore it. A sailor, who had picked it up, went to the crier and told him it was3 in his possession, and that he was ready to restore it on the proposed conditions. The owner, having thus learned where his purse was, thought he would endeavor to recover it without osing anything.

He therefore told the sailor that if he desired to receive the reward, he must restore also a valuable emerald which was in the purse. The sailor declared that he had found nothing in the purse except the money, and refused to give it up without the recompense. The merchant went and complained to the cadi, who summoned the sailor to appear, and asked him why he detained the purse he had found. Because," replied he, "the merchant has promised a reward of a hundred pieces, which he now refuses

to give, under pretense that there was a valuable emerald in it, and I swear by Mahomet that in the purse which I found, there was nothing but gold."

The merchant was then desired1o to describe the emerald and to explain how it camell into his possession; he did so (es), but in (auf) a manner that convinced the cadi of12 his dishonesty, and he immediately gave the following judgment: "You have lost a purse containing two hundred pieces of gold, and a valuable emerald; the sailor has found one containing13 only 200 pieces; therefore it cannot be yours; you must then have yours cried again, with a description of the precious stone. You," said the cadi to the sailor, "will keep the purse during forty days without touching its contents, and if, at the expiration" of that time, no person shall have justified a claim to15 it, you may justly consider it yours."

84.

Pœtus and Arria.

In the reign of Claudius, the Roman emperor, Arria, the wife of Cecinna Pœtus, was an illustrious pattern of magnanimity and conjugal affection.

It happened that her husband and her son were both, at the same time, attacked with (von) a dangerous illness. The son died. He was a youth endowed with every quality of mind and person2 which could endear him to his parents. His mother's heart was torn with3 grief; yet she resolved to conceal the distressing event from her husband. She prepared and conducted his funeral so privately, that Pœtus did not know of his death. Whenever she came into her husband's bed-chamber she pretended her son was better, and as often as he inquired after his health, would answer that he had rested well, or had eaten with appetite. When she found that she could not longer retain her grief, and that her tears were gushing out," she would leave the

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room, and after having given3 vent to her passion, return again with dry eyes and a serene countenance, as if she had left her sorrow behind her at the door of the chamber. Camillus Scribonianus, the governor of Dalmatia, having taken up arms against Claudius, Pœtus joined himself to his party, and was soon after taken1o prisoner, and brought to Rome. When the guards were going to put him on11 board" the ship, Arria besought them that she might be permitted to go with him. "Certainly," said she, "you cannot refuse a man of consular dignity, as he is, a few attendants to wait upon him; but, if you will take me, I alone will perform their office." This favor, however, was refused: upon which she hired a small fishing vessel, and boldly ventured to follow the ship.

85.

The Same Subject Continued.

Returning to Rome, Arria met the wife of Scribonianus in the emperor's palace, who pressed her to discover all that she knew of the insurrection. "What!" said she "shall I regard thy advice, who2 saw thy husband murdered in thy [very] arms, and yet survivest him?".

Pætus being condemned to die, Arria formed3 a deliberate resolution to share his fate, and made no secret of her in tention. Thrasea, who married her daughter, attempting to dissuade her from her purpose, among other arguments which he used, said to her: "Would you then, if my life were to be taken from me, advise your daughter to die with me?" "Most certainly I would," she replied, "if she had lived as long, and in as much harmony with you, as I [have lived] with Pœtus."

Persisting in her determination, she found means to provide herself with a dagger: and one day, when she observed a more than usual gloom on the countenance of Pœtus, and perceived that death by the hand of the executioner ap

peared to him more terrible than in the field of glory; perhaps, too, sensible that it was chiefly for her sake that he wished to live, she drew the dagger from her side, and stabbed herself before his eyes. Then instantly plucking the weapon from her breast, she presented it to her hus band, saying: "My Pœtus, it is not painful."

86.

PLINY.

Origin of the Chimney-Sweepers' Holiday in
London.

There was formerly at London, on the first of May of every year, a superb feast given to the chimney-sweepers of the metropolis, at Montagu-House, Cavendish-Square, the town' residence1 of the 2Montagu family. The custom is said to have taken3 its origin3 from the following cir

cumstances:

Lady Montagu, being at her country-seat as usual in the sum.ner, used to send1 her little boy Edward to walk every day with the footman, who had strict orders never to lose sigh of him. One day, however, the servant, meeting an old acquaintance, went into an ale-house to drink, and left the little boy running about by himself. After staying some time drinking, the footman came out to look for the child to take him home to dinner, but he could not find him. He wandered about till night, inquiring at every cottage and at every house, but in vain; no Edward could be found. The poor mother, as may well be imagined, was in the greatest anxiety about the absence of her dear boy; but it would be impossible to describe her grief and despair when the footman returned and told her he did not know what had become1o of him. People were sent to seek him in all directions; advertisements were put in all the newspapers; bills were stuck up in London, and in most of the great towns of England, offering a considerable reward to any12 person who would bring him, or give any

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news of him. All endeavors were, however, unsuccessful, and it was concluded that the poor child had fallen into some pond, or that he had been stolen by gypsies, who would not bring him back for13 fear of being punished.

87.

The Same Subject Continued.

Lady Montagu passed three long years in this miserable uncertainty she did not return to London as usual in the winter, but passed her time in grief and solitude in the country. At length one of her sisters married; and after many refusals, Lady Montagu consented to give a ball and supper on the1 occasion at her town-house. She arrived in London to superintend the preparations, and while the supper was cooking, the whole house was alarmed by the cry of fire!

It appears that one of the cooks had overturned a saucepan, and set fire to the chimney. The chimney-sweepers were3 sent for, and a little boy was sent up; but the smoke nearly suffocated him, and he fell into the fire-place. Lady Montagu came herself with some vinegar and a smellingbottle; she began to bathe his temples and his neck, when suddenly she screamed out, "Oh! Edward!" and fell senseless on the floor. She soon recovered, and taking the little sweep in her arms, pressed him to her bosom, crying, "It is my dear Edward! It is my lost boy!"

It appears she had recognized him by a mark on his neck. The master-chimney-sweeper, on5 being asked where le obtained the child, said he had bought him about a year before of a gypsy woman, who said he was her son. All that the boy could remember was, that some people had given him fruit, and told him they would take him home to his mamma; but that they took him a long way upon a donkey, and after keeping him a long while, they told him he must go and live with the chimney-sweeper, whe