liberty; we have made a breach in the prison, through which you can escape."

4. To their astonishment, Stedman utterly refused tc leave his prison. In vain they expostulated with him; in vain they represented to him that life was at stake. His reply was, that he was a true man, and a servant of king George, and he would not creep out of a hole at night, and sneak away from the rebels, to save his neck from the gal lows. Finding it altogether fruitless to attempt to move him, his friends left him with some expressions of spleen.

5. The time at length arrived for the trial of the prisoner. The distance to the place where the court was sitting was about sixty miles. Stedman remarked to the sheriff, when he came to attend him, that it would save some expense and inconvenience, if he could be permitted to go alone, and on foot.

6. "And suppose," said the sheriff, "that you should prefer your safety to your honor, and leave me to seek you in the British camp ?"

I spoke

7. "I had thought," said the farmer, reddening with indignation, "that I was speaking to one who knew me." 8. "I do know you, indeed," said the sheriff; but in jest; you shall have your way. day I shall expect to see you at SThe farmer departed, and at the appointed time he placed himself in the hands of the sheriff.

Go, and on the third

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*

9. I was now engaged as his counsel. Stedman insisted, before the court, upon telling his whole story; and, when I would have taken advantage of some technical points, he sharply rebuked me, and told me that he had not employed me to prevaricate, but only to assist him in telling the truth. I had never seen such a display of simple integrity. It was affecting to witness his love of holy, unvarnished truth, ele ting him above every other consideration, and presiding ir breast, as a sentiment even superior to the love of life. 10. I saw the tears more than once springing to the eyes his judges; never before, or since, have I felt such an inerest in a client. I plead for him as I would have plead for my own life. I drew tears, but I could not sway the judg. ment of stern men, controlled rather by a sense of duty than the compassionate promptings of humanity. Stedman was condemned.

11. I told him there was a chance of pardon, if he would

ask for it. I drew up a petition, and requested him to sign it; but he refused. I have done," said he, "what I thought my duty. I can ask pardon of my God, and my king; but it would be hypocrisy to ask forgiveness of these men, for an action which I should repeat, were I placed again in similar circumstances. No! ask me not to sign that petition. If what you call the cause of American freedom, requires the blood of an honest man for a conscientious discharge of what he deemed his duty, let me be its victim. Go to my judges, and tell them that I place not my fears nor my hopes in them."

12. It was in vain that I pressed the subject; and I went away in despair. In returning to my house, I accidentally called on an acquaintance, a young man of brilliant genius, the subject of a passionate predilection for painting. This led him frequently to take excursions into the country, for the purpose of sketching such objects and scenes as were interesting to him. From one of these rambles he had just returned. I found him sitting at his easel, giving the last touches to a picture which attracted my attention. He asked my opinion of it.

13. "It is a fine picture," said I; "is it a fancy piece, or are they portraits?" "They are portraits," said he; 'and, save perhaps a little embellishment, they are, I think, striking portraits of the wife and children of your unfortunate client, Stedman. In the course of my rambles, I chanced to call at his house in H. I never saw a more beautiful group. The mother is one of a thousand, and the twins are a pair of cherubs."

14. "Tell me," said I, laying my hand on the picture, "tell me, are they true and faithful portraits of the wife and children of Stedman?" My earnestness made my friend stare. He assured me that, if he might be allowed to judge of his own productions, they were striking representations. I asked no further questions; I seized the picture, and hurried with it to the prison where my client was confined. I found him sitting, his face covered with his hands, and apparently wrung by keen emotion. I placed the picture in such a situation that he could not fail to see it. I laid the petition on the little table by his side, and left the room.

15. In half an hour I returned. The farmer grasped my hand, while tears stole down his cheeks; his eye glanced first upon the picture, and then to the petition. He said

nothing, but handed the latter to me. I took it, and left the apartment. He had put his name to it. The petition was granted, and Stedman was set at liberty.

LESSON XXXVIII.

The Real Value.

1. HAPPENING the other day to be in a mercer's shop, I observed some young ladies busily engaged in choosing some gay articles of dress, and the shopman as busy in handing them down a variety to look at, and placing them in the most tempting point of view.

2. A lace veil seemed very strongly to attract the desire of one of these young ladies, and, having for some moments silently admired it, she whispered to her companions, and then inquired the price; the shopman said it was only two guineas at this she appeared startled, but he continued his speech; "Yes, ma'am, uncommonly cheap; we are selling these things far below their real value."

3. A drawer of ribbons stood by, from which the ladies had been choosing, and a young girl, while waiting for some things she had been sent for, took up a shining pink satin, and asked the price, at the same time slowly untwisting the corner of her pocket handkerchief, and bringing forth a hoarded shilling; the price was eight pence a yard.

4. "Eight pence!" said the girl with a sigh; "is that the lowest, sir?" "Yes," returned the shopman, "the very lowest; a shilling is the real value." "I suppose, sir, a yard and a half is not enough to put on a bonnet; I wanted to have had two yards."

5. The shopman unrolled it, and held it in the form of a bow." Yes," said he," you can't have less than two yards.” The poor girl looked at the ribbon, and looked at the shilling, and seemed to say, "I wish I could stretch you to sixteen pence." Well, shall I cut you off two yards?" asked the shopman. "No, sir, I believe not.' "Then will you take a yard and a half?"

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6. Seeing she hesitated, I contrived to draw her attention to some good strong worsted stockings, of which I had just been purchasing a pair for a girl about her own age; and which I could not help observing in my own mind she appeared to be very much in want of; for those she had on were com

pletely out at the heels, which I had been thinking would very ill assort with the fine pink ribbon.

7. She looked at a pair, which the man told her were a shilling, adding, "They are really worth a great deal more money." But now my change was brought, and I left the shop, without knowing whether the young ladies purchased the two-guinea veil,-or the little maid the pink ribbon, or the stout worsted stockings.

8. However, as I walked home, my mind ran upon the shopman's repeated expression, "the real value." Perhaps he meant, that at some shops more money would have been charged for these things; but this is rather the comparative value, than the real value.

9. The weaver might perhaps have gained more at another kind of work than at this; another shopkeeper might have asked a higher price than this one did;-but neither of these things makes any difference as to the real value to the purchaser.

10. "Two guineas for a lace veil," thought I; suppose that young lady should give it, it is all very well, if she can afford it, and it is becoming her station in life; but from what I saw, and what I know of her, I am very much of opinion that if two guineas go for that veil, they can be very ill spared, and I can easily fancy her placed in situations wherein she would feel that two guineas was far more than its real value.

11. Suppose she should be out in a heavy shower of rain, a mile or two from any shelter, what would her two-guinea veil do towards screening her person or her garments? or if some stranger should meet her, and offer an umbrella in exchange for her veil, how glad would she be to accept the bargain!—yet several very good umbrellas might have been bought for the same money.

12. That is of the greatest real value which is the most really useful.

LESSON XXXIX.

Dangers of Youth.

1. OUR life is beset with perils at every step; but no period of it is, perhaps, quite so perilous, as that in which the boy is stepping into manhood. Then it is, that his feeling is

fervid, his hope vivid, and his self-confidence at the highest. Then it is, that he listens with most rapture to the voice of the siren; that his heart is most susceptible to the allurements of pleasure; and it is then that he spurns alike the trammels of restraint, and the counsels of friendship.

2. Untaught by experience, he despises that of others; wise in his own conceit, he scorns the monitions of age and riper judgment; full of himself, he perceives no need of direction. or advice, and regards both as an insult to his understanding. He feels a sentiment of indignation and disdain towards those who presume to thwart his views, or to admonish or advise his consequential and all-sufficient self. His sense is deceived, "his soul is in a dream, he is fully confident that he sees things clearly, and yet he sees them in a false mirror, exactly such as they are not."

3. Nor is it always the youths of the least promise, that are in the most danger. Those of quick perception, of lively imaginations, and of strong passions, are in peculiar hazard during those green years, in which is the critical period of transition from the condition of boys to that of men. The very qualities, that distinguish them and set them above their fellows, diminish the probability of their establishing a sober steadiness of character, and often are the means of launching them into the whirlpool of dissipation, where all is lost; where reputation, morals, and whatever is estimable in human beings, are all engulphed together.

4. Far less is the danger, while the immature youth re mains under the parental roof, or in "the well-ordered home." There, he finds it not so easy to shake off salutary restraints; there he must feel some respect for the opinion of the society in whose bosom he was born and educated; -some reverence of parental authority, and some regard to the feelings of near kindred. But when he leaves the haven of home, and is pushed off upon the stream of life, it is more than an even chance, that he will founder in the stream, if he have not previously been under the governance of moral and religious principle.

5. In his new situation, it often happens, that he finds new enticements to lead him astray, and at the same time feels himself loosened from the authority and influence which had hitherto repressed his wayward propensities;and, if vicious and artful companions get the first hold on him, his ruin is, in all probability, sealed.