ing her with a disturbed mind, he opened an artery, instead of a vein-a circumstance which always endangers life. The lady continued tranquil. In three days it was found necessary to cut off her arm, when, so far from treating her surgeon with any degree of asperity, she requested that he would be present to give his aid and advice, if necessary. Soon after, symptoms appeared, which convinced Festeau that Madame Villacerfe could not live above twenty-four hours. His looks informed her of her fate; but while his mind was wrung by the most torturing feelings, she remained calm and collected, and immediately proceeded to make her will. Then calling Festeau into her presence, and dismissing the rest of her attendants, she said to him, "Being about to leave the world, it becomes me to feel like one who has put off its ordinary feelings. I bear not the least resentment against you for your error: I rather feel happy that it has occurred, as it the sooner introduces me to a better world. But others may not think of you as I do. Your mistake may be the cause of your professional prospects being blighted. I have therefore provided in my will against every thing you may have to dread from this cause. Farewell."

It was found that this excellent being had actually left a large portion of her fortune to the unfortunate man, who had innocently been the cause of her death.

THE THREE YOUNG PAINTERS.

At one of the celebrated schools of painting in Italy, a young man named Guidotto produced a piece so well painted, that it was the admiration of the masters in the art, who all declared it to be their opinion that he could not fail of rising to the summit of his profession, should he proceed as he had begun.

This performance was looked upon with very different eyes by two of his fellow-scholars. Brunello, the elder of them, who had himself acquired some reputation in his studies, was mortified in the highest degree at this superiority of Guidotto; and regarding all the honour his rival had acquired as so much taken from himself, he conceived the most rancorous dislike of him, and longed for nothing

THE THREE YOUNG PAINTERS.

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so much as to see him lose the credit he had gained. Afraid openly to decry the merit of a work which had obtained the approbation of the best judges, he threw out secret insinuations that Guidotto had been assisted in it by one or other of his masters; and he affected to represent it as a sort of lucky hit, which the reputed author would probably never equal.

Not so Lorenzo. Though a very young student in the art, he comprehended in its full extent the excellence of Guidotto's performance, and became one of the sincerest of his admirers. Fired with the praises he heard him receive on all sides, he ardently longed one day to deserve the like. He placed him before his eyes as a fair model which it was his highest ambition to arrive at equalling-for as to excelling him, he could not as yet conceive the possibility of it. He never spoke of him but with rapture, and could not bear to hear the detractions of Brunello.

But Lorenzo did not content himself with words. He entered with his whole soul into the career of improvement -was first and last of all the scholars in the designing room-and devoted to practice at home those hours which the other youths passed in amusement. It was long before he could please himself with any of his attempts, and he was continually repeating over them, "Alas! how far inferior is this to Guidotto's!" At length, however, he had the satisfaction of becoming sensible of progress; and having received considerable applause on account of one of his performances, he ventured to say to himself, " And why may not I too become a Guidotto?"

Meanwhile, Guidotto continued to bear away the palm from all competitors. Brunello struggled a while to contest with him, but at length gave up the point, and consoled himself under his inferiority by ill-natured sarcasm and petulant criticism. Lorenzo worked away in silence, and it was long before his modesty would suffer him to place any piece of his in view at the same time with one of Guidotto's.

There was a certain day in the year on which it was customary for all the scholars to exhibit their best performance in a public hall, where their merit was solemnly judged by a number of select examiners, and a prize of

value was awarded to the most excellent. Guidotto had prepared for this anniversary a piece which was to surpass all he had before executed. He had just finished it on the evening before the exhibition, and nothing remained but to heighten the colouring by means of a transparent varnish. This Guidotto did, and then with much satisfaction hung up his picture in the public room for exhibition on the morrow. After he had retired, however, the malignant Brunello entered the room, and spread over the picture a caustic preparation, which had the effect of greatly destroying the appearance of the piece.

Lorenzo, in the meanwhile, had also prepared himself for the day. With vast application he had finished a piece which he humbly hoped might appear not greatly inferior to some of Guidotto's earlier performances.

The important day was now arrived. The company assembled, and were introduced into the great room, where the light had just been fully admitted by drawing up a curtain. All went up with raised expectations to Guidotto's picture, when, behold! instead of the brilliant beauty they had conceived, there was nothing but a dead surface of confused and blotched colours. "Surely," they cried, "this cannot be Guidotto's!" The unfortunate youth himself came up, and on beholding the dismal change of his favourite piece, burst out into an agony of grief, and exclaimed that he was betrayed and undone. The vile Brunello in a corner was enjoying his distress. But Lorenzo was little less affected than Guidotto himself. "Trick! knavery!" he cried. "Indeed, gentlemen, this is not Guidotto's work. I saw it when only half finished, and it was a most charming performance. Look at the outline, and judge what it must have been before it was so basely injured."

The spectators were all struck with Lorenzo's generous warmth, and sympathised in the disgrace of Guidotto; but it was impossible to adjudge the prize to his picture in the state in which they beheld it. They examined all the others attentively, and that of Lorenzo, till then an unknown artist, gained a great majority of suffrages. The prize was therefore awarded to him; but Lorenzo, on receiving it, went up to Guidotto, and presenting it to him, said,

"Take what merit would undoubtedly have acquired for you, had not the basest malice and envy defrauded you of it. To me it is honour enough to be accounted your second. If hereafter I may aspire to equal you, it shall be by means of fair competition, not by the aid of treachery."

Lorenzo's nobleness of conduct excited the warmest encomiums among the judges, who at length determined that for this time there should be two equal prizes distributed; for that if Guidotto had deserved the prize of painting, Lorenzo was entitled to that of virtue.

THE BULLIES.

As young Francis was walking through a village with his tutor, they were annoyed by two or three cur dogs, that came running after them with looks of the utmost fury, snarling and barking, and seeming every moment ready to fly upon them. Francis every now and then stopped, and shook his stick at them, or stooped down to pick up a stone; upon which the curs retreated as fast as they came; but as soon as he turned about, they were after his heels again. This lasted till they came to a farm-yard, through which their road lay. A large mastiff was lying down in it at his ease in the sun. Francis was almost afraid to pass him, and kept as close to his tutor as possible. However, the dog took not the least notice of them.

Presently they came upon a common, where, going near a flock of geese, they were assailed with hissings, and pursued some way by these foolish birds, which, stretching out their long necks, made a very ridiculous figure. Francis only laughed at them, though he was tempted to give the foremost a switch across his neck. A little farther was a herd of cows with a bull among them, upon which Francis looked with some degree of apprehension; but they kept quietly grazing, and did not take their heads from the ground as he passed.

"that

"It is a lucky thing," said Francis to his tutor, mastiffs and bulls are not so quarrelsome as curs and geese. But what can be the reason of it?"

"The reason," replied his tutor, "is, that paltry and

contemptible animals, possessing no confidence in their own strength and courage, and knowing themselves liable to injury from most of those that come in their way, think it safest to act the part of bullies, and to make a show of attacking those of whom in reality they are afraid. Whereas animals which are conscious of force sufficient for their own protection, suspecting no evil designs from others, entertain none themselves, but maintain a dignified composure.

Thus you will find it among mankind. Weak, mean, petty characters are suspicious, snarling, and petulant. They raise an outcry against their superiors in talents and reputation, of whom they stand in awe, and put on airs of defiance and insolence through mere cowardice. But the truly great are calm and inoffensive. They fear no injury, and offer none. They even suffer slight attacks to go unnoticed, conscious of their power to right themselves whenever the occasion shall seem to require it."

THE GOVERNOR OF HAVANNAH.

When two nations are at war, each thinks itself entitled to do all possible harm to the other. They send armies into each other's territories to fight and plunder. They also fit out navies to go to sea, and destroy all the vessels belonging to the opposite party that can be found. While the wicked passions of the parties are thus excited, he is a magnanimous person indeed, who can think of acting either justly or kindly to an enemy.

In the year 1746, when Britain was at war with Spain, and each was destroying many vessels belonging to the other, the Elizabeth, a merchant ship belonging to London, laden with valuable merchandise, sprang a leak while on her voyage between Jamaica and Cuba. The men,

to save their lives, ran the vessel into the Havannah, a Spanish port, where they expected to be made prisoners of war, and to have the ship seized as a prize. The captain went ashore to deliver her up to the Spanish governor, and to entreat that he and his men might not be severely used as prisoners. To his great surprise, the governor refused to seize either the men or the vessel. "Had you come," said he, "with hostile intentions, you would have been a fair