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man alone, appeared to possess the requisite information, but he was distant and repulsive in his manner; every question seemed to open some galling wound, and awaken some unpleasant sensation. Michael felt (to use his own words) sore upon his heart, and determined to buy the poor man's time. He did so; and they proceeded to have the indentures made out in form. A similarity of name caused an inquiry on the part of the magistrate; and the honest farmer, to his inexpressible delight, discovered his long-lost father!

The old man lived to enjoy the happiness of ease and tranquillity but a few years; the recollection of a wife and children murdered before his eyes, could never be effaced; his joy at meeting with a son whom he had ceased to consider as living, combined with his own bodily sufferings, formed such an agitated complication of feelings, as eventually destroyed his health; it was one of his son's most pleasing reflections, that he had solaced his declining years, and smoothed his passage to the tomb.

LESSON ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTY-FIFTH.

The Cottager and her Infant.

The days are cold, the nights are long,
The north wind sings a doleful song;
Then hush again upon my breast;
All merry things are now at rest,
Save thee, my pretty love!

The kitten sleeps upon the hearth,
The crickets long have ceased their mirth
There's nothing stirring in the house,
Save one wee, hungry, nibbling mouse,
Then why so busy thou?

Nay! start not at that sparkling light;
'Tis but the moon that shines so bright
On the window-pane bedropped with rain-
Then, little darling, sleep again,
And wake when it is day.

LESSON ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTY-SIXTH.

La Fayette and the Queen of France.

Between two and three o'clock, the queen and the royal family went to bed. La Fayette, too, slept after the fatigues of this fearful day. At half past four, a portion of the populace made their way into the palace, by an obscure, interior passage, which had been overlooked, and which was not in that part of the chateau entrusted to La Fayette. They were evidently led by persons who well knew the secret

avenues.

The infamous Duke of Orleans, was repeatedly recognised on the great staircase, pointing the assassins the way to the queen's chamber. They easily found it. Two of her guards were cut down in an instant; and she made her escape almost naked. La Fayette immediately rushed in with the national troops, protected the guards from the brutal populace, and saved the lives of the royal family, which had so nearly been sacrificed to the etiquette of the monarchy.

The day dawned, as this fearful scene of guilt and bloodshed was passing in the magnificent palace, whose construction had exhausted the revenues of Louis XIV, and which, for a century, had been the most splendid residence in Europe. As soon as it was light, the same furious multitude filled the vast space which, from the rich materials of which it is formed, passes under the name of the court of marble.

They called upon the king, in tones not to be mistaken, to go to Paris; and they called for the queen, who had but just escaped from their daggers, to come out upon the balcony.

The king, after a short consultation with his ministers, announced his intention to set out for the capital; but La Fayette was afraid to trust the queen in the midst of the bloodthirsty multitude. He went to her, therefore, with respectful hesitation, and asked her, if it were her purpose to accompany the king to Paris. "Yes," she replied, "although I am aware of the danger.""Are you positively determined?"’ “Yes, sir.” "Condescend, then, to go out upon the balcony, and suffer me to attend you. "Without the king?"-she replied, hesitating-" have you observed the threats?" "Yes, madam, I have; but dare to trust me.

He led her out upon the balcony. It was a moment of great responsibility, and great delicacy; but nothing, he felt assured, could be so dangerous as to permit her to set out for Paris, surrounded by that multitude, unless its feelings could be changed. The agitation, the tumult, the cries of the crowd, rendered it impossible that his voice should be heard. It was necessary therefore, to address himself to the eye; and, turning towards the queen, with that admirable presence of mind which never yet forsook him, and with that mingled grace and dignity, which were the peculiar inheritance of the ancient court of France, he simply kissed her hand, before the vast multitude.

An instant of silent astonishment followed; but the whole was immediately interpreted, and the air was rent with cries of "long live the queen!" "long live the general!" from the same fickle and cruel populace that, only two hours before, had imbrued their hands in the blood of the guards who defended the life of this same queen.

LESSON ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTY-SEVENTH.

The Grumbling Clown.

Beneath an oak, a rustic clown
Lay lounging in the shade;
Complaining loud of fortune's gifts;
And called her "partial jade."

The works of Providence were wrong,
And bad was all in sight;

He knew some things were wrong contrived,
And he could set them right.

"For instance," cried the grumbling churl,
"Observe this sturdy tree;
Remark the little things it bears,
And what disparity!

Again, observe yon pumpkins grow,

And yet their stalk so smail;

Unable to support their fruit,

So bulky are they all.

"Now I, if I had power to do't
Would alter thus the case;

That this large tree should pumpkins bear,
And acorns take their place.'

He spoke, and, rising on his feet,
Straight from the tree fell down
An acorn of the smallest size,

And pitched upon his crown.

Now," says the traveller, who had heard
The whole the clown had said,
'Suppose this tree had pumpkins borne
What would have saved thy head?"

LESSON ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTY-EIGHTH

The inexorable Creditor.

The following affecting narrative of the cruelty of a creditor towards an unfortunate debtor, is to be found among the notes to a volume of American poetry, lately published at Philadelphia, by Mr. Woodworth. "Some years since, a young man, by the name of Brown, was cast into the prison of this city for debt. His manners were very interesting. His fine dark eyes beamed so much intelligence, his lively countenance expressed so much ingenuousness, that I was induced, contrary to my usual rule, to seek his acquaintance. Companions in misery soon become attached to each other.

"Brown was informed that one of his creditors would not consent to his discharge; that he had abused him very much, (as is usual in such cases), and made a solemn oath to keep him in jail "till he rotted!" I watched Brown's countenance, when he received this information; and whether it was fancy or not, I cannot say, but I thought I saw the cheering spirit of hope in that moment desert him for ever.

Nothing gave Brown pleasure but the daily visit of his amiable wife. By the help of a kind relation, she was able to give him sometimes soup, wine, and fruit; and every day, clear or stormy, she visited the prison, to cheer the drooping spirits of her husband. She was uncommonly pretty. She seemed an angel, administering consolation to a man about to converse with angels.

"One day passed the hour of one o'clock, and she came not. Brown was uneasy. Two, three, and four passed, and she did not appear. Brown was dis

tracted. A messenger arrived: Mrs. Brown was very dangerously ill, and supposed to be dying in a con vulsive fit. As soon as Brown received this infor