There's nothing stirring in the house, Nay! start not at that sparkling light; And wake when it is day. LESSON ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTY-SIXTH. LA FAYETTE AND THE QUEEN OF FRANCE. On the morning after one of the terrible days of the first revolution in France, between two and three o'clock, the queen and the royal family went to bed. La Fayette, too, had retired to rest. 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 intrusted 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 out to 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 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- THE GRUMBLING CLOWN. Beneath an oak, a rustic clown The works of Providence were wrong, He knew some things were wrong contrived, "For instance," cried the grumbling chur, Again, observe yon pumpkins grow, Now I, if I had power to do't, Would alter thus the case; That this large tree should pumpkins bear, He spoke, and, rising on his feet, And pitched upon his crown. "Now," says the traveller, who had heard Suppose this tree had pumpkins borne, What would have saved thy head?” LESSON ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTY- 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 of 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 the hour of one o'clock passed, and she came not. Brown was uneasy. Two, three, and four passed, and she did not appear. Brown was distracted. A messenger arrived: Mrs Brown was very dangerously ill, and supposed to be dying in a convulsive fit. As soon as Brown received this information, he darted to the door with the rapidity of lightning. The inner door was open; and the jailer, who had just let some one in, was closing it as Brown passed violently through it. The jailer knocked him down with a massy iron key which he held in his hand; and Brown was carried back, senseless and bleeding, to his cell: Mrs Brown died; and her husband was denied even the sad privilege of closing her eyes. He lingered for some time ill; till, at last, he called me one day, and gazing on me, while a faint smile played upon his lips, he said, "He believed death was more kind than his creditors." After a few convulsive struggles, he expired. Legislators and sages of America! permit me to ask you how much benefit has that creditor derived from the imprisonment and consequent death of an amiable man, in the bloom of youth, who, without this cruelty, might have flourished, even now, an ornament and glory to the nation. LESSON ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTY-NINTH. CELESTIAL WISDOM. How happy is the man who hears For she has treasures greater far In her right hand she holds to view She guides the young with innocence, According as her labours rise, So her rewards increase: Her ways are ways of pleasantness, LESSON ONE HUNDRED AND SIXTIETH. DEATH OF WASHINGTON. The equanimity which attended him through life did not forsake him on his deathbed. He submitted to the inevitable stroke with the becoming firmness of a man, the calmness of a philosopher, the resignation and confidence of a Christian. When convinced that his dissolution was fast approaching, he requested leave to die without further interruption: then, undressing himself, went tranquilly to bed, and, having placed himself in a suitable |