HEROES OF ALL AGES AND NATIONS.
(xamtpl far tf Emulation of 'f~nt.
WITH NUMEROUS ILLUSTRATIONS,
WILLIS P. HAZARD, 178 CHESTNUT STREET.
Entered, according to the Act of Congress, in the year 1851, by
WILLIS P. HAZARD,
in the Office of the Clerk of the District Court in and for the Eastern
District of Pennsylvania.
KITE & WALTON. PRINTERS.
THE importance of moral instruction as a principal
element of popular education is becoming every day
more and more apparent. The present state of society
furnishes evidence that public prosperity and private
happiness, the value of liberty, and the security of life
and property in a free country like ours, must depend,
in a great measure, upon the sound moral condition of
the people. When noble examples of generosity,
humanity and self-denial, shall no longer be honoured
or deemed worthy of imitation by the people, the de-
cline of the republic will have commenced; and when
fraud and violence shall cease to be regarded with
horror, its utter ruin will not be far distant. Hence,
it becomes the duty of those who undertake the office
of public instructors, by the tongue or the pen, to
present examples of the opposite effects of virtue and
vice continually in their discourses and writings.
"Line upon line, and precept upon precept,"-the
doctrines of virtue enforced by the examples of history,
should be constantly presented to the popular mind.
Facts, connected with principles, cause the principles
themselves to be understood and remembered. An
anecdote or story which illustrates the beauty of any
particular virtue, imparts new meaning and force to the
definition which explains, or the precept which com-
mands that virtue, and serves to fix them both indelibly
in the memory, and to aid their application in the con-
duct of life. The young are particularly apt in recog-
nizing analogies between their own situation and that
of others of whom they have read, and to draw instruc-
tion as to the course which they should adopt in any
case where a question of duty arises, from the practice
of persons distinguished in history. It is thus, that
many a youth has been led to high and noble aims in life;
it is thus, that many an obscure student, in his hum-
ble apartment, poring over the records of departed
greatness, has imbibed that spirit of virtuous resolution
which has conducted him to well-earned celebrity, and
to that prize of a higher calling which is better than
the greatest celebrity.
There is at this time pounng in upon our country a
torrent of abominations from abroad, in the shape of
immoral and debasing fiction, which really and se-
riously threatens the utter demoralization of our young
people. It is vain for the friends of sound morality
to expect that the young will refrain from reading this
trash, unless something which is equally entertaining
and of an opposite tendency shall be supplied in. its
stead. Some of the best writers in America are doing
what they can to stem the torrent of foreign vice by
supplying incentives to good conduct,in the shape of
well written fiction. They are doubtless accomplish-
ing much in their own way. Nationality is all on
their side. Home stories will be preferred to foreign
ones, if they are as well written. But it appears to
the author of this volume, that history, as well as
fiction, should lend a hand in the good cause; and as
an humble labourer in this part of the vineyard, he has
so far acted upon this conviction as to furnish his
contingent. By supplying for the youthful reader such
books, the author hopes that the minds of our young
people may be diverted from the seductive and perni-
cious writings of those who have no fear of God before
their eyes; and who seek to subvert the foundations
of society by obliterating all moral distinctions. If
the author's humble contributions to the current
literature of the day should prove useful in preserving
something of the original purity of the American
mind; if they should save one youth from forming a
taste for bad novels, and inspire with the love of truth
and virtue, he will deem his exertions well rewarded.
It is only by preserving the virtue of our youth, that we
can be enabled, with a feeling of cheerful hope, to utter
the patriot's prayer
"LONG LIVE THE REPUBLIC!"
Christian Courage-St. Ambrose and Theodosius, 13
The Seven Bishops, 16
Early Christian Instruction, 18
The Lodge in the Wilderness, 19
King Alfred, -
How to do Good, 24
Louis the Twelfth, 28
Francis the First, s 80
Martin Luther, 8
Edward the Sixth, 35
Alibey or Fidelity, 3
Sir Robert Walpole, 43
The Courage of Friendship, 44
The Indian Prayer-book, 80
Charles the Fifth, 53
Magnanimity, a 57
Sully, O 58
Tribute te Washington, -
Queen Elizabeth, 63
Abbe Rucellai, 64
Mary de Medicis, 66
Peter Guillot, 69
A Criminal Reclaimed, 72
Montesquieu and the Boatman, 74
Filial Love among the Japanese, 82
Bishop Burnet, W W 84
The French Lady Bountiful, 87
Count Olivarez, 92
Filial Piety of Henrietta Garden, 93
Sir Nicholas Throckmorton, 96
The Adopted Child, 7
Joseph the Second, 99
Louis the Eleventh, a 181
Adjutant Martinel, 1
Filial Piety, 109
Due de la Rochefoucault, Il
The Humane Pilot, 112
Sir Matthew Hale, 114
Heroic Action of Kerserho, 11
John Heywood, 119
Perseverance Rewarded, If
Mr. Catlin, 128
The Two Brothers, *
ThelGood Son, 1
Captain Meriwether Lei
Count Ernest of Mansfe]
Napoleon in Moscow,
Admiral Keppel and the
Admiral Coligny, -
Death of Colonel Gardii
Peter the Great,
Frederic the Great,
Greenwich Hospital and
The Careless Father,
Charlemagne and a Youi
Death of Nelson,
A Duel Prevented,
The Benevolent Islandei
King Charles the First,
Chelsea College, 173
ng Clerk, '- T6
- -- 188
The Patriot Merchant,
Battle of Marengo,
SThe Empress Maria Theresa,
Last Hours of Louis the Thirte
The Puritans and the Quakers,
Louis the Fourteenth,
Henry the Fifth,
Cortez and Montezuma,
Henry the Fourth and the Duke
Mutiny in the British Navy,
The Cid, -
Death of Mary Queen of Scots,
a of Sully, 244
ST. AMBROSE AND THEODOSIUS.
A. C l OTES. -
A 1 .0
at:i a t: ws informed that
t Thesioniaans, being refteed
SYa'lery unrebsonabe request, had
i" sed'a tuult, in .which Buthe-
es r3aa, 6miander of the hore in
i actlt several others,
ereeal. He c. nnouemm dbe
16er tbe I Iet loo po n t&em
as. a'pinishment. Ashbrome who
S was theS bishop of Mditn, hea"i
this, went immediately to Theodosiusp and pleaded' iso ect
ually that he promised the affair should be entirely pa oed over.
After his departure,however, the officers of the court pe-maded
the emperor to put his former design into execution; and the
people being invited to the circus, on pretence of witnesimio
some public sports, the soldiers rushed in amongst their, and
destroyed near seven thousand, the innocent as well as the
Ambrose expostulated by letter with the emperor concerning
this base conduct; telling him that he must publicly repent be-
fore he could be admitted to partake of the Lord's Supper; and
on his return to Milan, when he came to the door of the church,
Ambrose forbade him to enter.
The emperor, confounded at the reproof which accompanied
the refusal of the bishop, mentioned, by way of extenuation,
the case of David in the matter of Uriah; to which Ambrose
replied, c Him whom you have followed in the sin, imitate also
in the repentance." Theodosius, convinced of the heinousness
of his crime, returned to is palace, aid passed eight months
in sorrow and lamentations, wearing a mourning dress. When
Christmas was at hand, he burst into tears before Ruffinus, the
comptroller of his palace, who inquiring the reason of this agony,
he replied, t Thou little knowest the trouble which I feel: ser-
vants and beggars may go freely to the house oFGod, and pour
out their prayers, while its doors, and consequently &e gates
of heaven, are shut against me." Ru~as answered, With
your leave, I will go to the bishop, opd plaf himA to sle the
sentence." No," said the empem ; t" know the justice of
it, and you will be unable to peruade Ambrose to disobey the
commands of God out of respect to the imperial d.Ig '.
Ruffinus went to Ambrose, and entreatd him, sayi the
emperor would shortly come himselff_ Abro i a.nred I
tel you plainly, that I shall forbid him ent e6 d it he thinks
proper to use force, I am ready to eet any death -i may allot
me.'" Ruffius sent a messenger to acquaint the emperor with
the bihop's resolution,, to prevent his .coming; but being on
the way before he received the information, he replied, I will
go, and undergo the shame which I have so justly deserved."
Being come near to the church, and addressing himself to Am-
brose, who sat in a room hard by, he requested absolution.
The bishop answered, Your coming hither is fighting against
God, and trampling his laws under foot." Theodosius replied,
, I do not wish to enter the holy doors contrary to law; I only
desire to be released from the excommunication; and that you
would consider and imitate the compassion of our Lord, and
not shut those gates which he has opened to all penitents."
The bishop then asked what signs of repentance he had shown ?
He answered, c It is your d4ty to prescribe, mine to submit."
Ambrose replied, ,. Si~.e y. avelet loose the reins to your
rage, let a law be eilf M .ecrees made in haste, and
under the influence, o' ~teaeld; that all warrants
where life or lOwR f 4 lipt thirty days
after signing, b the~i a for deli-
beration; and Aterthe tl.etqi c~-4lch warrant,
present it tojo.iu ~eesidered.
The emperor agree 4ali d entering
the church, fell opwrytp ot, "My soul
cleaveth to the. 0 U,1 d oing to thy
word." Teaing his hair a ad ^ hi -r ead, he then
begged pardon of God and all good mea dqaihis return to
Constaltinople, he told Nectarius the bishop, that it was
with much difficulty he had found a teacher of the truth; Am-
brose being the only person he ever saw who deserved the
name of a bishop."
SADMuAL RicHE-Lu, After having givn
"law to all Europe for many years, con
fessed to P. dtt Moulin, that being forced t
i pon many irregularities in hisllifetime, by
that which they called c Reasons of State,"
he could not fell how to satisfy his conscience
upon several accounts: and being asked one day by a friend
why he was so sad, he answered, The soul is a serious thing;
it must be either sad here for a moment, or be sad for ever."
THE SEVEN BISHOPS.
AMES8 Hi. was bent upon re-establishing the BRo
) mn Catholic religion in England, the public
exercise of which was not even allowed at that
time by the laws of the realm; nor was there
the remotest chance of parliament sanctioning
any relaxation in such laws. What he despaired of
effecting in a constitutional manner, he now resolved
to attempt by virtue, of a general dispensing power
which he claimed to be inherent in the crown. In
pursuance of this plan, he publikhe.d n indulgence,
which he" required the clergy to read in their several churches
after divine service. Seven of tde bishop who wre then in
London, having presented a respectful remonstrane- against
being made parties to so illegal an act, were cohnmitted to the
Tower. What followed is thus related by Hume: "The people
were already aware of the danger to which the prelates were
exposed, and were raised to the highest pitch of anxiety and
attention with regard to the issue of this extraordinary affair:
but when they beheld the fathers of the Church brought from
court under the custody of a guard, when they saw them em-
THE SEVEN BISHOPS.
bark in vessels on the river and conveyed towards the Tower
all their affection for liberty) all their zeal for religion blazed
up at once, and, they flew to behold this affeetidg spectacle.
The whole shore was c rv'red i crowds of prostate
tors, who at once implored the blsing of thO r,~t pitos,
and add essed their petitid toward is ivs e p% l Ie
during this extreme danger to wfiic t iroi .
religion stood exposed. J.Zer o sIdiprs 6
contagion ofthe same pirit, #Bung theOWlves thir1
before the di'tressed plates, ad Troed t behedictgr
those prisoners they were Opprtedi toAu Soe perin m
ran into the water, that they might p atipte more jaearlIn
those blessings w*ich the prelates ere distributing all around
them. The bishops themselves, during tiis trtumphanta psfr-
ing, a-mpetedthe general favour by the most holy submpisive
deportment and they still exorted the people to fear. GC ,
honour thelking, and maintain their loyalty. And, n eopr
ad they entered the precincts of the Tower than.ley rim4
to chapel, to return thanks for those afflictions wlch Zeave,
in defence of its holy cause, had thought them wrt~y to
The Christian had ned to look very narrowly jpto own
heart, when he finds hinmsetresisting i" the powers that beY It
is not enough that the law is cruel and arbitrary in order to Us.
tify resistance: so longas it is not inconsistent with divine or
higher human obligation, he is bound in conscience to subWit.
The case of the seven bishops was clear. .Had they complied
with the ordinance of the king, they would have trisLgtesed
the law of. the land. But if proof were wanting of their true
Christian temper, it is to be found ip the singular coinci4ejoe,
thatwhen James was expelled from the throne, they, of all
others, considered themselves precluded, 'by the oath of alle-
giance they bad taken to him, from" owning the authority of the
new monarch-- course -of conduct.which entailed upon them
the relinquishment of their bishoprics.
EARLY CHRISTIAN INSTRUCTION.
in day," says Mr. Robert takes, of Gloucester,
the institutor of Sunday-schools, "I overtook
a soldier just entering the church do0r. This
Sras on a week.-da. AS passe d hitm, I said
Itga~ei le re~t pleu.ee t see that he was
S' placeof divine oaship. "' Ah, ir," said
S, y I tay thank ytft r that.". Me? sacAd I;
i wh I do ihot rnw A~itat e~er saw yo& before."
i" trk Said he, ; wheh I was a little boy I was indebt-
ed to you for my first instruction in my duty. I
used to meet you at the morning service in this cathedril,
and was one of your Sunday scholars. Myfather, whenli left
this city took me into Berkshire, and put me'apprentieo to a
shOemaker, I used often to think of'yon. At length I ~nt to
Londob, and was there drawn to serve as a militiaian in the
Westminster militia. I came to Gloucester' last night ith a
desert; and I took the opportunity of coming this mornld g to
visit the old spot, and in the hope of once more seeing you."
He then told me his name, and brought himself to my recollec-
tion by a curious circumstance which happened whilst he was
at schooL His father was a journeyman carrier, a most vile
profigate man. After the boy bad been some timeiat school,
he came one day and told me that his father was wondiifudy
changed ; thite had left offgoing t tthe'alehbuoonSi iday.
It happened soon after that I met the man in the street, ad
said to him, ic My friend, it gives me great pleasure that'-yui
have left off goitg to the alehouse on Sunday: your Iboy tells
me that you now stay at home, and never get tipsy." Sir,"
said he, I may thank you for it." Naj," said i, "that is
impossible: I do not recollect that I ever spoke to you before.'"
", No, sir," said he; but the good instruction you give my
boy he brings home to me; and it is that, sir, which has in-
duced me to reform my life."
N w y. aro i Wh i w: s;te so
North Carolina,I 1aiatIed of a
isBolated seftleuet & a# sudrale
rdis taince f~e l May ii-
a d rt Its original eletnfd. :e idbgait
from Ntw Enghada fattr ItA iAi it s,
s s'o; w ith th Adr.-i. s el d fttr dh tid
about i tye a before bf, b become ojite- s id tt-i e he tt of
one of tia deejiest Caroitian- solhtudue. :tef nchsed a
tract ef wld, srampenceirckd hld their *eyAlt tipt ed to
cltivation; and b3 tiiemitting indurtty reiditBd ade-
quatel to their subsistence and comfit. rg laad ons
sons had i t i, Tbni, beem o f1i0' hee &t kfiJ4 ; so
that thAe p ld'tin o this singularh ittle 1a f Z S
four gnerati~nsh They were described as ttttinog'r bea
ful and virtuous coimnmrity, wil a governihm t ane the-
selves prirly `tritichal. Secluded fir6i :ie liiad
privileges bf public *roBfiiip, itfwas said that a dee senusof
religion influencing tae heart and conduct, ad been preserted
by stately assembling on the Sabbath,, andreadinr Ateacrip
tures, with the Liturgy of the-church of England. 'tepTous
ancestry bf the colony, whose years now exeeWed larsbre, btd,
THE LODGE IN THE WILDERNESS.
at their removal to this hermitage, established his eldest son as
lay leader. This simple ministration, aided by holy example,
had so shard. the blessing of Heaven, that all the members of
this miniature ommonwealth held fast the hope and faith of
the gospel. -.
I was dmeitouisofvisiting this peculi people, and of ascer-
taining whciter5.asuc glorious snd t en ous fruit' could derive
nourishmentfrdi so simple root II th an opportunity
offered, and e*6 td so to oontri b e:i jo as be wit-
ness to ~theirdib ay devotion a:i: m0t pase arable wood-
land now became visible,: and wreathsf ~ t ame lightly
curling through the trees, offering, as it were, a welcome to the
weary stranger. A cluster of cottages tbenhcbe~rd the eye, so
contiguously situated, that the blast of a horn, or even the call
of a shrill voice, might easily convene all the inhabitants. To
the central and largest building I at oncq.diretedd y steps.
Approaching, I found the window was open, and heard dis-
tiot manly voice pronouncing the solemn "invocitipe By
thine agony and bloody sweat, by thy cross and p '&.
-the response riing fully and devoutlyin accents dfA
and in the softer tones of mothers and their dhild %S
motionless, that I might not disturb the devotion ofth~wor'ip,
pers, I had a full view of the lay leader. He was a man f. ix
feet in height, muscular and well-proportioned, with a head
beautifully formed, from whose crown time had begun to bred
the luxriance of its raven locks. Unconscious of the presence
of a. stager, he supposed that no eye regarded him save that
of Him ,who sitteth upon the circle of the heavens." KnC l
ing around him were his brethren according to the lesh"-.
a numerous and attentive congregation; at his right lhad was
the pariarch--tall, somewhat emaciated, yet not bowed down
with year; his white hair combed smoothly over his temples,
and sightly curling on his neck; gathered near him were.his
children and his children's children; his blood was in the veins
of abast- every worshipper. Mingled with the forms thia
evinced the ravages of time and toil, were the bright shining
THE LODGE IN THE WILDERNESS.
locks of youth, atd the rosy brow f ebildhood, bowedlow mi
supplication; even the infant with bushedh ips seemed to regard
a seete where there was no wandering glance IaoUlumsarily
I said to myself, as my heart swelled withemotion,:rShall not
this be a family in heaven?" Inthe Glosing aspiration m
Lamb of God, that takest away the sins of the w6ildy4hure er-
ey upon us," the solemn voice of the patriarch amm directly
heard with strong anddecisive emphasis. After a passee
silent adoration, all rose from their knDes; andqcIntered the
pious and happy bircilecs am a minister of the el ofJesus
Christ," I aid, s I entered i and I come taegreetamd bless
you in the name of te Lord,."
The aged patriarch, grasping my hand, gased on me for a few
moments with intense earnestnes- a welcome aun a -words
could never utter was written pmupn his btow.
Thirty andt two years has-my dwelling beei n t his forett;
hitherto no maon ofGod has visited our lonely dwelling; :praid
be His holy name who has put it in your heart to seek out these
few sheep in the wilderness. Secluded as we are from the pri-
vilege of worshipping God in his temple, we thus- assemble
every Sabbath-day to read His blessed book, and topray uato
Him in the words of the Liturgy of our fathers. Thu: hy.Mi
grace, we have been preserved from forgetting the Lord who
bought us, and lightly esteeming the Rock of our salvation.' "
At the request of the. patriarch, I administered theJew eat
of baptism; it was received with the most acting dp ra
tions of solemnity and gratitude. The sacred services the
day were continued till the setting of the sun; yet allwere alike
unwilling to depart-it was to them a high, alas! a rare festi-
val. When about to separate, the venerable patriarch introduced
me to all his children. Each seemed anxious to press my hand;
and even the children-epressed, b heiraffectionate glances,
their love and-reverene ir one wb Uinistered at the altar of
c The Almighty," said the VeneirAe man, *c hath smiled on
these babes born in the desert. I came hither with my sons,
22 THE LODGE IN THE WILDERNESS.
and their companions, and their blessed Vother, who is gone
to rest. God hath given us families as a flock. We earn our
bread with toil and patience. For.the short intervals of labour
we .have a school, where our little ones leara the rudiments of
knowledge. Our only books of instruction arethe Bible and
At a given signal, they rose and sang, when about departing
to their separate abodes, t Glory be to God in the highest, and
on earth peace, goodwill towards men." Never was my spirit
so stirred within me, as when that rustic yet tuneful choir, sir-
rounding the white-haired father, breathed out in the forest-
sanctuary, Thou that takest away the sins of the world, have
mercy upon us." The following morning I called on every
family, and was much delighted with the domestic order, eco-
nomy, and concord that prevailed. Careful improvement of
time, and moderate desires, seemed uniformly to produce, in
them the fruits of a blameless life and conversation. They con-
ducted me to their school; its teacher was a granddaughter of
the lay-leader. Most of her pupils read intelligently, and re-
plied with readiness to questions from Scripture history, &c.
They had learned, moreover, what books of-science can never
U Enough for man to know,
--- That virtue alone gives happiness belor."
And ddnsequently there was visible among them, what does not
always distinguish our better endowed and more highly in-
structed iseminaries,docility, subordination, and attention.
.- ..' *-
KRD Was wholly Ipiorant of letters until he
was twelve yearsof age. He wasgr~tly loved
by his parent, who, fondled the biy for his
beauty; 'but that instruction which the poor-
est c anild can now a*ci.t l with the greatest
ease,' wiwhheld from -te ao of ho An go-Saxon
king. p was taught '-wind the hoam6 ad to bend
thEcbbb to. bit and to ~ irk a;d' he.a cited great
skill i-r~be c:noble ait o-f Ae chasee" considered
thgbi Alst Ibe eille aes the -most necessary ac-
complish l~bability,i lea.ni was thought
of little u k ,ta -. A.lfred.fi i% vtevr, did not
remainunpy'&. oied;igI.i i d euld attend;
and he listeeiid eart he ver ire Woch *e~` ited in his
father's hall byi mainstrels and the glee-men, the masters of
Anglo-Saxon aong. Day and night would he employ in heark-
ening to these poems; he treasured them up in his memory,
and during the whole of his life poetry continued to be his
solace and amusement in trouble and care.
-It-chancd one day that Alfred's mother, Osbuga, hp ed
to him and his brothers a volume of Anglo-Saon poetry, whh
she possessed. He who first can read the book shall h eit,"
said sle. Alfreds attention was attracted by the bright ling
and colouring-of one of the illuminated capital letters.. Ie was
delighted with its gay appearance, and inquired of hi' mother
would she really keep her word ? She confirmed the promise,
and put the book into his hands; and he applied-so steadily to
the task that the book became his own. In spite- however, of
lAs great diligence and perseverance he was never able wholly
t6 recover this lossoftime; and he was accustomed to say, that
of all the hardships, privations, and misfortunes, that had be-
fallen him, there was-none which he felt so grievous as this, the
enforced idleness of his youth, when his intellect would have
been fitted to receive the lesson, and his time unoccupied.
HOW TO DO GOOD.
W Y grievous it is to think bow much good
energy iawasted fo, want of dye discretion
to manage it; haw much, seal thee is which
is not according to knowledge Nay fur-
ther, it- cannot be doubted that many
Swll-meaning persons are betrayed, from
ignorance, into courses of conduct which are offensive to God.
The person ofw whom we are about to speak is a rare instance
of what can be. done by the energies of a single individual in
humble life; and is a still rarer example of one confining lhi
energies to that spher, which the providence of God marked
out for hip.
James Davies was born in 1765. At the age of thirteen he
was left, by the death of his father, who was a respectable far-
mer in Monmouthshire, with no worldly means, and with but
HOW, TO DO GOQ. 1
a delicate coWstitutios. The occupation which he choea was
that of a pedler; other thouhts, however, were in his mind,
The season of his co 0rmation, by the bishop of LlandafM had
been to him, as to so many other young persons, the fi~t dawr
of serious thoughts, when the mind castsqff ehi4lish things, and
with the sense of newly augmented powers, step forth nto the
consciousness of its responibilities as a member of hrtt and
a child of God." .The 4crge which the bishop ,dresed to
those on whom he had just laid his hauds paok dee intothe.
mind of James Davies; a, he, was. eQpecialy struck with a
passage in which the bishop spoke of .: e atfukiess of the r
fession of a scoolsaaer-not,indeed, s if it were one pro.
ductive of great and iumaediate visible results; btut. er
praising them that, th seed must be sown in faith, te iumuq
whereof would only appear at the last day.,It was not or many
years, however, that there appeared ay prospetof accopli bl
ing the desire of his heart. The energies of thepe"pl .of
England, wbich weae new devoted to the amelioration of the.
own domestic condition, were then wholly absorbed by a defeat.
sive war against the invaders of their peace, their liberty, and
their religion. The firt sympton of the nati, being abl to
direct its attention to internal improvement, was the -stahli'-
meot of the c Natipnal Society for theEduoation of the. Poo
in the Principles of the Church," under the presidency of the.
archbishop of Canterbury, in the year 1811 The following
year a school was built, under the bishop of the diocese, ia the
town of Abergavenny. Davies at once saw the object of his
desires to be within his reach. He obtained permisaio to sa
tend for awhile at the school; and, having qualified himself as
well as he was able, proceeded to establish a school himself in
the neighboring town of Usk. Here, however, he did not stay
]ng, judging that the people of Usk were able to support a
school of themselves without hisassistance. Hismind had long
been directed to a wild and hilly district, in the parish of New-
church, called Devanden. Here a considerablepopulation had
lately grown up, and was rapidly increasing, at a great distance
HOW TO DO G-000.
from the parish church, and exempt even frwm the restraintsof
order or civilization. The chief employment of the people was in
preparing charcoal for the use of soer neighboring tronwbils
The houses in which they lived had leen raised by ati act of
trespass upon the lord of the manor,-a lawless habit which
too truly bespoke the character of the inhabitants. A new
incumbent had lately been appointed to this parish, who was glad
to avail himself of Davies' known energy and reputation. A
rade building was soon erected, and Davies bade adieu to Usk
amid thetears and regrets, not only ofhis scholars, but of many
of the people, who accompanied him some distance on lis ra'd.
Nor must we suppose that this was a mere change of residence.
Behind him he left a comfortable house and sufficient emelu-
meent; here he had no fixed salary, nor een the prospect f
any.' The clergy were able to do but little; the living of t.
Atran's being worth but 541. per annum, and that ofNewichioeh
about 150., without any house of-residence at that time etist.
ing. The emolument which he received from the school, con-
sequently for the first few years, was very small; latterly it has
been fixed at 201. per year, one half of which at least he tense'
crates to charitable purposes. But to proceed: scarcely had he or-
ganized this school, and found eighty or-a hundred children under
his- instruction, than his heart yearned for their parents, who
habitually profhaed the Lord's day in a manner -most painful to
his feelings. In 1828, the incumbency of Newchurch again
changed hands, atd the new vicar having volunteered an even-
iing letrtue in the- s~baoo-room, Davies undertook, and at a
personal cost of 45T. effected, the necessary preparation of the
room, and in the following year it was licensed by the bishop
for public worship.
The exertions of James Davies did not stop here. He could
not endure that the' Lord of hosts should be worshipped in a
building that was used for secular purposes. He resolved on
giving up his school-room to the public service of Almighty
God; and relying on the aid of Christian liberality, whichhe
did not refuse to stimulate by laborious personal solicitation, he
HOW TO DO GOOD. -- 1
commenced the erection of a new school-house. This dbee, he
applied himself to raising funds for the endowment of the church,
which might secure its permanut appropiation to the service
of God. By aid of friends this also was accomplished; and in
the year 1838 it was coasested by tep s ei e
dipcess, amid the C Qgratulations of ny who hakimritfthe
iteps of the old pedler with feelings of the dle st nd
aspect. The sums which James Davies has betoo*- bled,
by prudence asd selfdenial, to devote to haite a objects
exceed belief The church of Iilgwrwg, the nIares"to his
resideace first engaged his attention. At his instiaio% td naot
without his contributioe, it was~reroofed, mand fitted p with
a desk and seats. A new altar-cloth cost hiim lve gained,
and a gallery he erected at the expense of 30L The prepa-
ration of-the- school-rooa for public worTsip ww .tfted.l.ta
"est of 46S. to him, and l10. he contributed to the eadd*omet.
Thus from en anoome of 20W. per annu- be lbs been enable% d
by God's blessing, seconded by.his own industry, (for liehas
worked with his hands as wells with his mwid,) to eetribte
upwardsofa0. for ehurehbuilding, besides what he has habit-
ually subscribed (mae yearn 101. ome .)- t to ch inbti-Rita e
a. shawf been .seommeded to' him by.i is detrgynmefer te
propagation of spirit blessinguto lis benlghted fellow-ert-
tures, in distant lands.
It only remains to add, that the old men still enjoys good
health, and still maintains a foarishing school (1840.) His
praise is in all the neighbourhood; and the children who have
come from his school are always to be recognized by their re-
speetful manners. The writer of this account had lately he
pleasure of attending in Devanden church; and the delight
with which he witnessed the crowded congregation (there not
being a vacant seat throughout the building) will never fade
from his recollection.
Ir -. ;.
LOUIS THE TWELFTH.
*r this excellent Prince ascended the
throne of France, many of the great men
of the Court, who, when he was merely
duke of Orleans, had behaved to him
with neglect, were afraid to present them-
selves before him. Louis obly said,
s The king of France disdains to revenge the injuries commit-
ted against the duke of Orleans." He was so extremely car-
ful of the property of his subjects, that he used to say, cc the
justice of the prince should rather oblige him to owe nothing,
than his generosity should induce him to give much away. I
lad rather," added he, that my courtiers should laugh at my
iparirmey, than that my subjects should weep at my predi-
gality. He was once pressed by some of his ministers to seile
upon the territory of a prince who had offended him. c I had
rather," replied he, c lose a kingdom which might perhaps after-
wards be restored to me, than lose my honour, which can never
receive ayy reparation. The advantages that my enemies gain
over me, can atonish no one. They make ise of means that
I have ever disdained to employ: these are treachery, and the
violation of the laws of the gospel. If honour be banished from
the breasts of all other men, it should keep its seat in the breast
of a .sovereign." Louis may well be styled the father of let-
ters in France; he encouraged learning in that kingdom, and
prepared the age of Francis the First. He collected a great many
manuscripts of the ancient authors. Cicero was his favourite
writer; he was particularly fond of that writer's treatise upon
the Duties of Life, and upon Friendship. He sent for some of
the learned Italians to his court, and employed them in public
business.-Louis' direction to his judges was, that they should
ever decide according to justice, in spite of any orders to the
contrary which importunity might extort from the monarch.
With principles like these, and with a conduct uniformlfguided
by them, it is not wonderful that his death should he anapunced
to the inhabitantiof PariP tbe t erib battle aiN uan of
that cityp lfreab kn, we a otmAee to ou thte t news
ye e ever hirdod i a. tihe o of his
peo6e dted the*dukedom of p lio hie.
wasOJn t reveray ofNp^ eaw
-ftesed himself a repu Yo lic d yet
accepted the dukedom of (atiglione.
On th reverse' of Naown;lp.e as,
S though it mightthave been amplypre-
S dicted, so hostile, tat be ttwe i6*w it-
ed-his master. Yot haioe ioduuted
yourself," said Napoleo, when he'saw him in the south, c
his way to Elba, -very badly towards me. "Of what have
you to complain answered Augereau, without even deignift
to take of his hat. ,"Has not your instiable ambition bmeeghit
us to the condition in which we are? Have you t not srifed
every thing to i--even the -welfare of France ? I care now more
for the Bourbons than for you. I regard my country alone."
On this Napoleon suddenly turned away, took of his hat to he
Marshda, and returned to his carriage.
The conduct of Augereau is an example to prove, that noble
truths may bespoken to unworthy ends. At the Tuileries none
t 3 .
* I Ji
FRANCIS THE FIRST.
-oath of this acoomplisbH ri ws
sFoi de Ge-tiomtedi |ij
the character of a #n*We'c d
in it every excellent qui4y 2v-
reign should possess. I5H rgtt
and learned men was sii
ever any person of lekni ~aws
was prqswted to him, he always advance three ket
himn. He had such ardour for the fine arts, tit:ip trittp d
Leonardo de Vipci to die in his arms; and when thatsinglar
character and great arist Benvenute Cellini tol hi o we day
how happy he iwas to have found so great a monarch Afr his
pto he replied, that be was no less happy in having augh
a great artist as Cellini to patronize."
S.Francis,'! says the learned Abbe de Languerue, aIknew a
great deal, though he had never studied very hard or very se-
riously;. but after the council was over, afterhe returnedfrom
hunting, at his levee, and at his couches, and whenever; the
weather prevented his going abroad, he used to converse with
men of learning and science, as Budee, De Chartel, Ac. In
his time," adds the Abbe, "that miserable resource of idle per-
sons, gambling, was not known."
FRANCIS THE FIRST. (1
When Francis, after btviygerformed prqdig es of valour
and of personal outrage, was taken prisoner at th bttlt. of
Payia, two Spanish ofcer, I1rlieta said Ziala$, were diputing
which of then rid had the honour to i ale himfaone1 Flan-
cis ~ied ipuiti, Utrieta dbbed rie and v4ia took tMe;" the
irst @arivg ta'kwMO bibh the collar of the O&ri of St Mi-
chaeii^;ish he wore; the other only havi asd bib for
his spr od. '
W d' ", h e Wpid "ot tion t to bbi ati bt the
dnet tbxrbo' bhis subject, who Qiii wa n idagain tli, but
inrstd upn -in carried t oLnoy, thea pti& ge .
Wheti hlieelifered his sword tb hdi, ih said? f;rt Idelter
to yQU the svord of a monarch, l46 titled t ote di
onea ied inesdatey, ai.&.d eli uposidnekn1 W 4tIT
prisnei oask wree thed eoabtde o hret heWas oely aon
he fttr strt EiJt tonkgf~vo^t S
ft sta tereted ith WreatW iiith c ra t o ti aie
perdu, hMadame, adhormis honneur." n Madam all is lost buFt ourth
Francis was conveyed to Madrid, where he was closely con-
given to Charles the Fifth by one of his counsellors, the bishop
of Orsina, who advised his sovereign to present Francis with
his liberty, and with no other condition annexed t it than that
of becoming his ally.
given to Charles the FifCh by oneof hiscounseo vrs, '.1so
find ad teatd wth rea idigity cotray t th adie
givn t Chrle te Ffthby neof is ounelors th biho
ofOrin, h aviedhs ovregnt pesnt raci wt
hislieryan wthnooter onitonanexd o t ha
of becoming his ally*D: liil
FRANCIS THE FIRST.
Francis suffered extremely om his imprisonment, and would
most probably have died unir it, had not his sister the queen
of Navarre visited him in hbi wretched and solitary state. This
behaviqur of heis endeared her so much to him. that he always
called her, son ase," < sa mignonne," and in spite of his
overstrict and bigoted attachment to the Rk of Rome, per-
mitted her to become aprotestant, without terferigwith her
Francis, liberated from hia imprisonment, having eed over
in a boat the small river Fontarabia, which divides Spain from
France, mounted a fleet Arabian courser that was brought him,
and drawing his sword, cried out in a tone of transport and
exultation, I am still a king."
Francis appears on his death-bed to have thought very high
ly of the loyalty of his subjects, for he the told is son Henry
the Secoand, The French are the best creatures in the world,
and you should always treat them with the greatest kindneo
because they never refuse their sovereigns any thing that they
Franis kept up his spirits extremely well the whole day after
he was. taken prisoner at Pavia, till he was going to bed, nd
folod no one attending to take off his armour, all his ofcers
being either taken prisoners or killed. A French gentleman
however, of the .name of Montpesat, of the province of Quercy,
an o$cer in the duke of Bo bon's anny, came forward, and
oftreS bis sovereign his assistance to undress him. Francis
on this burt into tear and embraced M. de Montpeat, and
was evpr afterwards much attached to him.
*n the face 0 Mai was, however
eoe datentdti cry out
Luthr, whose power all other things nfess
Sl.y sBemer 0 for once toprei 1
Whspeo Lother's (fri emede -wed dioade himn
S of L I. ne deord
from attending the diet at Worms, lest Charles the F'ifth f oukl
violate the safe conduct he had given hiu, later spiritedly
replied, Were every tile .upon every hsoae at WonM toie
come a devil, I w6uld go there." He made his -ntrmeiito
that city oh1rnsback, sing, a hyam, of whichbe had aiade
both t. words nd the ,music, which beginaU, God is wy
Luther w.. much oppeed wth uelamn I, i
of his ft of despair iuiagined that he khd a soafere 1h
the Devil respecting private masses. This i .old in ILthl's
c" Colloquiem Mtesale, or TableTialk;" a work'compiled o
the eonversaton .and pinions of thea extraordinary r ge
by Rebenstorf, one of his friends and followed s.
Luther appearsio have been no lei distinguished by the
modesty than by the energy of his mind. He was titous that
those who thought as himself 'id in rengioutInatters iould
not be called after his name Lutherans. The doctrine," said
he, is none of mine, neither have I died for any man. We
are all Christians and proselytes alike. Our doctrine is that of
Christ; and," added he, the Pope's disciples are called pa.
pists, an example which it does not become us to imitate."
In the preface to one of hiiworks he thus addresses the rea-
der: Above all things I request the pious reader, and entreat
him to read my books with discretion iad with pity. Let him
remember that I was once a poor monk, and a mad papis nd
that when I first undertook this cause, n.er is and so
drowned in papal delusions, that I was haV.led-all
men, and to have assisted others in doing it, -ho dat~to with-
draw their obedience from the pope in the sallepo i t.i I
was then a fool like to many at this day.
Melanothon said of Luthe PoNmeranus is t imaarian,
and explains the force of words: I am a logician, stating the
connexion and arguments: Justus Jones is an orator, and speaks
copiously and eloquently; lut Luther is a miracle amongst men.
Whatever he says, whatever he writes, pierces into the very
soul, and leaves wonderful things behind it in the he rts of
Emsas said of Luther, that God had bestowed upon man
kind so violent a physician, in consequence of the magnitude
of their diseases
Luther's person was so imposing, that an assassin, who had
gained admittance into his chamber tool him, declced- at
he was so terrified at the dignity and sternness of -hs manner,
and at the vivacity and penetration which sparkled in his eyes,
that he was compelled to deist from his horrid purpose.
Luther has been accused by the Catholic writers as having
been fond of wine and of the amusements of the field. He, in6
deed, much shocked their prejudices by marrying ,a nun, by
name Catharine Bore. His followers, however, tell us that he
was a man of the strictest temperance, that he drak nothing
but water, that he would occasionally fast for two or three days
together, and then eat a herring and some bread.
IDWARD TffNR UXL .
_j\3a DADo the Sixth was really remarkable
on macount of his learning. In the Bri'
tish Museum? there -a large folio rt-
m iunmeiaMS of the etersie ofthis es-
.ellnoJ prince, iq Greek; J Latisi, sad
in Eglish, with tbhe ailgmta.te .fbhto
Search of them, is kinag f-Eaghamdi
the three different languages. Edward's abilities, acquirements,
and disposition were so transcendent, that they extorted from
the cynic Cardan himself the following eulogium upon them,
who in his once celebrated book "
scribes the young prince, with hbom he had several conver-
sations upon Ite sabjot 6ao 0 b01 paicularly on
that c De ReVtoait I
The child wasirr i is spect, t at the age of
fifteen he had lea *rrti te er di e Adet nguages.
In that of his own country, that of France, and the Latin lan-
guage, he was perfect. In the conversations that I had with
him (when he was only fifteen years of age) he spoke Latin
with as much readiness and elegance as myself. He was a
EDWARD THE SIXTH.
pretty good logician, he understood natural philosophy and mu-
sic, and played upon the late. The good and the learned had
formed the highest exp ataIons of him, fromvthe sweetness of
his disposition, and the e ene of this talts. He had be-
gun to favour learn !U a scholar himself,
and to be acquaintI ~b h ake use of it.
Alas the wretcl d-M7j0 s land, but the
whole world has h ISt us so prema-
turely. Weo~ hi w how much
more was tagrm dignity of
mankind. gAw prophet aediyd di o6cepeat to me,
Ufesl ase t etas &r Ara si setU5ta
SAlas! he could only exhibit a specimen, not a pattern, of
virtue. When there was occasion for this prince to assume the
king, he appeared as grave as an old man, though at other times
he bad he manners and behaviour of his own age. He attj-ad
ed.to the busipea of the state, and he was liberal like .is aidter,
who, whilst be affected that character, gave into the extreme
of it. The son, however, had never the shadow of a fault about
him; he had cultivated his mind by the precepts of phil~bspy."
SHoker says of this prince, "that though he died ycng, he
lived log, for life is in action "
ALIBEY SHOWING TIIR EULTAN IIS TREASURES.
AIABBY OR fFI-LITY,
KING of PeriahadtBe goodsense to doubt
that his flatterers pere iocapable of ly-
,ing. He resolved to go away for a tie
from his 4cort, pad be detomiwd to g
through the cosp try and the .prviace
in disguims, in order to-obmerve bi, peo-
pie in their natural sloplipymp and mae
them act speak in entire liberty. Ia prder to axeute thi,
design, he only took with him suwh of hi oourtiers a he kew
to be the most sincere. They travelled trougbokve.lt yiaEs.
The pine saw the simple inhabitants dpacig ar dflidiqg,
and giving themselves up with holy joy to a thousand innocent
amusements. He was charmed to isd,.sa far, fir his ourt
such easy and tranquil pleasures. .
Whenever a long walk had given him a good appetite be
entered iatp one of those humble cottages to refreh himself;
and he found that the coarse food they. ave him suited bit.st,
more agreeably thapn all the delicate aaeak wit which his able
had been loaded. -.
One day, crossing a .meadow enamelled with flowers and
watered by a little brook, he perceived, under.an elm, a young
shepherd who was playing on his pipe near. his flock which.
was grazing. He asked him his name, and foupd that it was
Alibey, and that his parents dwelt in a neighboring cottage.
This young man had a handsome face, without its being-effemi-
nate; he was full of vivacity, without petulence or heedlessness;
he did not think himself superior in beauty or wit to the other
shepherds of the district. Without education, bisideas were
extended and cultivated by. themselves.. The king entered
into conversation with him, and was charmed by his colloquial
powers. He learned by his frankness many things which
interested him with respect to the state of is people-things
ALIBEY; OR, FIDELITY.
which his courtiers had never mentioned to him. He could
not help smiling, at times, at the ingenious simplicity of this
young man, who openly spoke his thoughts, without caring to
t I see plainly," said the monarch,, tun toward his confi
dant, that nature is not less beautiful, does not please
less in the lowest conditions of life than in highest. Neet
did a prince appear to me more amiable than this yodg shep-
herd, who lives here with hi flock. What father weold not
be happy to poses a son, with so beautiful a facie and 6o4en'
sible a mind ? I am sure that a learned education will per-
feet his mind, and develop a thousand talents which will be
useful to me." Consequently the monarch took Alibey away
with him, having resolved to have him instructed in all the
sciences, ad in all the agreeable arts that can embellih the
At his first entrance into the court, Alibey was dazzled by
its splendour, and by all its brilliant objects so new to him.
This change of fortune, so sudden and unforeseen, had, some
effect on his mind and character. In place of his crook, his
flute and shepherd's clothes, he was clothed in a robe of purple,
embroidered with gold, and he wore a turban enriched with
diamonds. Soon his ideas were extended, his mind filled with
mkowledge, and he became, in a little while, capable of execut-
ing the most important business. He deserved all tis master's
confidence, whoseaffection for him, as a pupil, was great; and
who, ending that his taste was exquisite in all that was curious
and magnificent, gave him one of the most important offices in
Persia, that of the treasurer of the jewels, and al the precious
goods in his palace.
As long as this prince lived, Alibey enjoyed a degree of con-
fidence which increased day after day; however, as he ad-
vanced in age, the idea of his retreat, and of the tranquillity of
his first condition began to return to him oftener, and he some-
times regretted it. it Oh happy, innocent days!" he would ex-
claim, < days on which I tasted a pure joy, without any mixture
ALIBEY; OR, FIDELITY. W
of troubles or alarm-; the happiest ays of ay life. He V.
has deprived me of you, to give me all the riches that I poe.eS
has taken my all from me, many sources 9(enjoytaat Nwhie I
do not find in my palace. Happy, a thousand time happy swe
those who have.F known the misries of a coentierst life.
Here, all my v y. an.re forest and Btiadl4,r- hare
not time to dsia All my emsere are- eably atted, san
my self4ve ea*joys the respect of an etie peo p m d the
guard of a great kig. All thee moaltiplied e*joyiant, bhow-
ever, have not-the seetness of those eot~on whiedl Ieperi-
enced, when on the morning of a fine day, *t early dawai
entered the meadow, followed b y amy fit4 d dpgd by oy
lock. What would41 mycondition then,if I we eone tof tse
courtier, whok I see pale, and harassed b an aiti ahb
nothing a satisfy P" A.ibeyw, ..so -....II I p e.
of the courts of kings, was not long' n 'expeaiewing it.dII
graces. The old monarch who had.love jim,a loeodl tohe
grave, and gave place to his son. Imediately the jealeo
courtiers undertook to ruin him in the emtionat of .4t Sew
king. They insinuated to him that Alibey bad haus thed coo.
fidece which his father agrd rtSd, hit; and that l e had
amassed immense riches, and embeasled a qkpityg~ fr ies
goods, confided to his. a e. The king W*aeo yoang ngto
be credulous; he; lso bhad the vakmty to belevelhatt* e eld
reform many things which his fathbe had done,
In order to have a pretext for taking bis place *o1 himt,'by
the advice of the coutiers, the king orderedAlibey to bring big
the cimeter garnished withdiamonds, whichis father was acq
tomed to wear in battle. Alibey brought it, and presented it
to the king; but its jewels had been taken off. The monarch
immediately suspected him of this .eft;h but Alibey proved
that they had been taken off by his father's orde,.. before his
office had been given him. The courtier, ashamed ofthis bad
success, were only more ardent in persecuting the honest man
whom they wished to ruin. They advised the king to order
ALIBEY iOR, FIDELITY.
hiwt to bring in fifteen days a catalogue of all the goods which
hid been intrusted to him.
The appointed time expires; the king wishes to be present
himself at the opening of the royal depository. Alibey opens
it before him, and presents him with all ttf wels confided to
him. Every thing was arranged in ordet preerved with
care. The king, surprised by so much exatie and fidelity,
already threw glances of indignation towards his seae ers, when
they showed him at the bottom of the gallery s iron door,
fastened by three large bolts, .It is withi this ipettment,"
sid they, that Alibey has shut up the tresmures which he
ha stolen fiom your father."
'The k again became furious, and rdeed that thedoor
skodud be i ediately opened. Alibey threw hiw elf at his
feet) tand oonjaed :im not to take away the only tresre that
he possei ed on the earth. .
S(It is not jt,' s id he, to strip me in a moment of a
that I pomes, after having so many year served your father
Mathfulay. Take all that he has given ime; bat heave me al
that I possess here." The courtiers triumphed in thir secret
sos, and this resisMtance only icreasd the king uspiiofs
and he angrily ordered him instantly to obey. Alibeyd4en took
the keys and opened this mysterious door.
What was the surprie of the king; and of hi, Alibeys, ene
mies, when they only perceived a crook, and a d- pherd's pipe
and dress! These were what Alibey had formerly worn, and
which he ,vited sometimes to keep up the memembrance and
love dfhis foRber situation. Great king," said he,. a behold
the remains of my former happiness! -this treasure will enrich
me, when you shall have stripped me of U1 you can-take from
me. Behold the solid richeswhich can never fail ne. They
will always suffice for the happiness of the man who knows how
to love inn6cenee, and content himself with the bare means of
support, without foolishly tormenting himself for the possession
of riches, which do not add a feeling more to real felicity.
--Dear and simple instruments of happy life. I only desire
SIR ROBERT WALPOLE.
once more in peace to possess you. It is with you that I am.
resolved to live and die. Great kingI return into your hands,
without regret, all your father ihas given me, and I only keep
that which belonged to me before ing to yofeourt." The
king could Mcover rom bia purpose. He was well
convinced of ofAe b and lls indigMaton fell
on thtwuitef de ved -:
of shepherds;'and he V ta e l happiest
and afest. ...-
ali. ... SIR OBsRT r WALPOLE.
a di e tyhas beeen ac use a -emn
*No1 Theg a VW
iple is the education t
that money ani ltatan l oal l
or an iy one duced to t inue trvellin; in a y dbt
too longibeen travelling. I respect Walpole forthi intell noe,
his prudete.his vigilamee, and, above .ll for his tirly ste
manlike regard for peace. His long continmuean is .ogie, and
mthe imm se services which e was enabled to reaer to iis
ounhetry, was the result of a ombiation of areqqalitiehich
ha never presented the ves in any other prime minister.
Ro il BtT WALPOLE.
I has been a M4.d0o havp
:ele ^p16 is the e;C ldv
that money a"d -tat*io*l 04
MaCy^.jpe *b eef of ambi tk^ ; pak
MlWy ..succeededwith th *wj o *p v a#r
or vanty. inidiced to) continue trvelling in -a road tey -d but
tc^long"bUee twraefing. I respect- Walpole for-o ielgec,
his pradrtw, -hvigilasy t, and, above dll, for bis truly statso
manlike regard fom peace. His long continwwace i*, oce,, and
the immense' services which be was enable to reader to his
country- was the result of a combination of rare.qicalit^ whicq
hav* never presented themselves in any other prime minister.
THE COURAGE OF FRIENDSHIP.
wo sailors, one a Spaniard, and
the other a Frenchman, were
slaves at Algiers. The first was
S. called Antonio, and Roger was
the name of his companion in
slavery. By chance ti were
employed at the pMOikr .
SFri#eiadhip e o"solation
of the unfortunate. Antonio and Roger ,prienced all its
sweets; they connimnicated to each other altheir troubles, and
their regrets; they spoke together of their families, of their
country, and of the joy they would feel at again beiag free.
They wept on each other's bosom, and this mitigated their suf
ferings,-and enabled them to bear their chains with more cou-
rage, and sustain the fatigues to which they were condemned.
They worked at the construction of a road which crosed a
mountain. The Spaniard stopping one day, let his arms fall
languishingly, and gazed a long while on the sea. My friend,"
THB COURAGE: OF PRIENDSBIP,
said he to Roger, with a profoiund igbh- iay iurtm w ;ly
extend to the end of this vast expanse of water. Oh that
might erom it with thee. I a Ll aoqa-It~ay f; that i see
my wife ead children stretching theiratemato me from the dshor
of Cadis, o'r shit tears for my death."
Antonio was 3e d in this melancholy dream weve time
that he retired t mountains. He cat., amiapcfhlydeak
on this broad sea which Mepmuatedkh& hm his m ar cob,-ad
again he entertained the same regrets. One day e e;mibusI
his comrade ith transport,- I perceive a vesel, my ffied.
Hold look! Do you not see it.? It will not ouclhhee~ibeeme
the Barbaryoaast is always avoided; but towbm~ owf pf.Y w
willing, Roger, our misfortunes will end, and we shall be.h .
Yes, to-morrow, friend, this vessel will pass within twola
of this coast, and then from the height of these oek* w.awill
precipitate ourselves into the sea, and we will reachthe vessel
or perish. Death is preferable to so cruel a servitude." -
SIf you can save yourself," answeird Roger, "i shall rsp-
port, with more resignation, my unhappy lot. You know, An-
tonio, how dear you are to me. The friendship th attaches
me to you will only terminate with my life One thingI ask
of you; go in search of my -father. If sorrow, for having lot.
me, andwlisold age have not caused his death t elR
II go and .nd your father my dear Roger ? what do yeo
mean -what are you going to do ? Do you think it is possible
for me to be-happy,--to live one single instant, if I leave you
in slavery ?'- -
ButAnttoio, I do not know how to swim, and you do."
c I know how to love you," answered the Spaniard, metipg
into tears, and warmly pressing'Roger to his. breast; my days
are yours; we will both save ourselves. Come, friendship will
lend me strength. I will hold you attached to this belt."
It is useless, Antonio, to think of it. I cannot risk being
the means of causing my friend-to perish. The bare idea fills
me with horror. I shall certainly lose hold the belt, or drag
you down with me, and be the cause of your death."
THE COURAGE OF FRIENDSHIP.
. Well, Roger, we-.--but why so fearful? Have I not
already told you that friendship will lend me streagth.--I love
you too well for her not to perform miracles. Try no longer-to
turn me from my intentions-I have resolved on it-I per-
ceive that the overseers who guard us are watching us at this
moment; and there are even some of onions who
would be cowardly enough to betray us dieu, I hear the
clock which calls us.-We must separate.-Adieu, my dear
Roger till to-morrow."
They are inclosed in the place where the galley.alaves are
kept-Antonio is always thinking of his project--be already
beholds himself having crossed the Mediterranean, free, and
among his fellow citizens-he is already in tlhe arms. of his
wife and children.
Roger painted to himself a very diferent picture. This friend,
a victim to his generosity, dragged with him to the bottom of
the sea, perishing ultimately, when perhaps, if he had only cared
for his own preservation, he might have been able to save him-
self, and to have returned to a family, which, according to ap-
pearances, was deeply suffering by his absence.
cc Now," said the unfortunate Frenchman to himself, "It will
not yield to Antonio's solicitation-I will not cause his death
as the price of so generous a friendship, as that he has vowed
tome. He shall be free. My unhappy father will at least learn
that I still live, and still love him. Alas! I ought to have been
the support of his old age--his consolation-he needs me.
Perhaps at this very moment, he is expiring in poverty, de-
siring to see, and embrace his son. Ah! may Antonio be
happy. I shall die with less pain."
They did not come the next day at the usual hour to take the
slaves from their prison.-The Spaniard was dying with impa-
tience, and Roger does not know whether to rejoice or be afflict-
ed at his disappointment-At last they are summoned to their
work.-They cannot speak to each other, for their master ac-
companies them. Antonio contented himself with looking at
Roger, and with sighing; sometimes he glanced from him to
THE COURAGE OF FRIBNINMIP.
the sea, and he could not,a-t this sightont in the. emotion
ready to escape from him. The evening comes,-they nad
themselves left alone.
SLet us seize the opportunity," cried the Spaniard, address-
ing his companW
No, no, my, I can never expose myself to periling
your life; adieu*.t Antonio, I emrbrae you for the last
time. Save yourself, I entreat you; do not lose any time.
Remember always our tender friendship. 1 only ask of you to
render me the service you have promised me with regard to
my father. He must be very old by this time, and very much
to be pitied-go, and console him. If be needs my help, my
At these words, Roger falls into Aatctio's arms, shedding
a torrent of tears; his soul is tonm with 0oicting emotions.
4 You weep, Roger; tears are not wanting bat courage.-
One minute more, and we are lost. Perhaps we shal never
again have the occasion. Choose now, either accompany me,
or I will dash out my brains against these rocks."-
The Frenchman fallsat the feet of the Spaniard, wishing yet
to represent to him the infallible risks be would run, if he per-
sisted in wishing to save him, Antonio looks tenderly at him,
embraces him,. reaches the summit of the rock, and plunges
with him into the sea. They sink at 'rt, and then rise above
the waves. Antonio arms himself with all his strength, swims,
holding Roger, who seems to oppose his friend's efforts, for
fear of dragging him to the bottom of the sea. The people who
are in the vessel are struck by a sight, the nature of which they
cannot clearly distinguish. They think that some searmoanter
is approaching the ship. A new object attracts their atten-
tion; they perceive a long boat, which leaves the shore hastily
in pursuit of what they had mistaken for some monstrous fish.
These were soldiers, who guarded the slaves, and who were
impatient to retake Antonio and Roger. Roger sees them
coming, and casts his eyes on his friend who is.beginning to
grow weak. He makes an effort, and detaches himself from
46 .THE COURAGE OF FRIENDSHIP.
Antonio, saying, We are pursued, save yourse fod leave
me to perish; I hinder your progress." He had harity said
these words, when he began to sink. A new transport of friend-
ship reanimates the Spaniard; be dashes towards the French-
man, seizes him as he is about to peris d both disappear.
The longboat, uncertain where to foll p while a bark
detached from the ship, goes to examine~at they have only
caught a glimpse of. The waves are again agitated. They
distinguish two men at last, one of whom holds the other, and
truggles to swim towards the bark. They ply their oar, and
fly to their rescue. Antonio is on the point of loosening his
bold on Roger; he hears them cry to him, Be coumgeous.'
He presses his friend, makes new efforts, and seizes, with a
languid hand, one of thb sides of the bark. He i near sinking
again, but at length they are both taken into the bark. Anto-
nio' strength is exhausted: he has only ti tie cry out, a Help
-my friend I -am dying;" and the shades of death pms over
Roger, who had fainted, opens his eyes, raises his head, and
sees Antonio stretched at his side, without giving the least sign
of life. He throws himself on his body, embraces him, bathes
him in his tears, and exclaims a thousand times, My friend,
my benefactor, is it I who am your murderer My dear An-
tonio, you no longer hear me. This is the reompease for
having saved my life. Ah! take it away,--this uafMunate
life; I cannot support it; I have lost my friend." Roger tries
to sta bihiself. They take away from him a sword which, having
seized, he attempts to use. He relates, between his sighs, his
adventures to the people in the bark. He falls again on
"Do nbt prevent me from dying. Yes, my friend, I must
follow you," added he, covering that pale body with his kisses
aind tears. In the name of God let me die."
Heaven, doubtless touched by the tears of men, when they
are sincere, seemed to give- a signal mark of its favour to a sen-
timent so rare. Antonio sighs-Roger utters a cry of joy.
THE COURAGE OF FRIENDSHIP. 49
The strangers unite with him in giving help to the unfortunate
Spaniard. At last he raises his dying eyes; his first looks are
fixed on the Frenhman, Scarcely had he sean him, when he
cries, cI have been able to save my dear Roger." The bark
at last ar ivqs at L The two men inspire a sort of
rerpec i their virte has many claim; the heart.
Thty W cia a p itest:- all dispute of
.obligi ..n .t.m .:
oger arrives a FIranc-f-iea to his f -ho is
ready te die fro;a xro w ze fjoy, JI wasM ari .inted
gendoliew atYforanples.; The Spaniard, to'h a've a-.?
tagesous post..for a n iahicodon, was ed, prWtegrd
to ret r to is wifeind children. But abse~a edid4 et imi
nis ;tbeir f4i44 ip, and i regular .cQrrespoed P as iw
tied .betwee~ tbe.k Tbhes. le tt s. e *, teplee of *
limae and simpuicity of sentiment. They may one day be prh
libedl for the honour of a sentiment, which was the asue fa
such heroic actions.
ACquyVLz, in his diseouses upo 4vy, has ay
chapter to prove, th*t toassail acitytoiP
by fations, is not the way to .oonuer it:
iand he. intaoces many examples, pr:T~t
larly that of Philip Visconti, duke 6of.iin,
who spent two millions of crowns, to no one
practical purpose in enjdeprorluig t avail himself of
the quarrels that so constantly divided and 4irpaced
Flopence. & When a city i thus situated," sys Bas
a the wieAstplan is tcr let them alene; they will dei
stroy themselves, but if you see one party in danger of being
totally destroyed by the other, assist the weak against te strong;
become an ,upire: between them; for the probability is, they
will at thOselveis .t ypur .. t
THE INDIAN PRAYER-BOOL
MOTr interesting ne took place in
my visitation g Oneida and Mo-
hawk Indians mne Sanduky river.
They are the remnant, or rather a
branch, of those once-fatihous tribes,
which, in moving back from their for-
Smer residence, accepted of an invita-
tion from the Senecas, to settle on the
lands reserved by Congress for the Senecas about the Sanduky
river in this diocess. I had heard of them as being attached
t the church of England, but never oould go and see them till
this summer. I found them in theirpeaceful retreat, engaged
in the duties of husbandry, raising corn and cultivating their
My friend and guide who conducted me through the devious
footpaths in the wilderness, in the rain, for nearly a whole day's
journey introduced me to this most interesting people. Decent
and dignified in their manners, they received me with great
respect; and when I told them that I came am g themnte do
them good and not harm, to pray with them, as oireac the
Gospel to them in the name of Jesus Christ oir eiat-ils viour,
they fully comprehended my meaning, and gave me a hearty
To show the medium of our mutual good understanding,
they produced their common Prayer Book, being that which
was translated into the Indian language (the Mohawk;) with
vely little alteration, from the English Liturgy,-together with
the Gospel of St. Mark, A. D. 1787, and printed in London (by
the Society for the Propagation of the Gospel.) What news
was this to me! And have you read this?" said I. < Con-
stautly, every Sunday, in morning and evening payer, with the
poor scattered members of ourtribe, providentially sojourning
THE I#fDIA. -PRkYSI4800K.
ea this river," aid they by their interpreter. I inquire~ then,
If they understood and felt the greattimportance of the trths
which they uttered with. their mouths. They replied that they
hoped they did; but that many of their people were inclined
to run stay into kednees of the tribes that surrounded
them, notwithat the old men could do. < Poor,
blessed people !" 1i t I, while suppressing my tears: God
give me grace to be found worthy of serving you !"
During the remainder of'the evening, intelligence was spread
throughout the woods, that on the morrow divine service would
be performed and a sermon preached at eight o'clock; while,
wearied with the ercise of the day, I reposedty.lfoM the
hard bed ofan Indian cabin, and dept. sweetly ill em~tl .
The appointed hour came; and; thoglb 4i|ip sWab-m-
dantly, a large number both of male and aer.4 ..
sembled. How interesting the sight of so man.yd .v4tM w
abippers; and how great the comfort of joining twi&Lm ia
those prayers and praises which had been the vedbi& of the
piety of all whom I held dear through thirty years of Chritian
ministration in holy things, I leave you to conceive.
By proceeding with all the prayers as the church has directed
the whole congregtion, through an aged leader, coadd-jop in
repeating and offering up the Same petitions and praise with
myself-they in the Indian language, and I in English, And
when we sang the metre psalms and hymns, their version beig
in the same with the English, I could join with thdm in this
also: with voices uncommonly sweet and full, they sang tunes
with which, most happily, I was well acquainted; and never
did I witness more order, yet plainer indications of true devo-
tion. Though many of them could speak a little English, yet
the sermon was interpreted to them in their own language. They
have used lay baptism, they say, out of necessity; yet would
be much rejoiced, if they could have an authorized ministry.
My mind was most favourably impressed toward these poor
people; and my attachment to our primitive Liturgy mightily
strengthened by this instance of its utility. Without such a
help, how much of the missionary labour is lost, like oilk ptt
upon the ground, without a vessel to contain ad perpetuate itt
Had it not been for this prayer-book, the worship of God' would,
to all butnan view, never'have been perpeetuted, to the sttr
tion of these now-interesting people.". J '
y w otvxses, Dionysius' broterwia-law,
who had married his sister Thesta, aMv-
ing joined in a conspiracy against bim,
fled from Sicily, to avoid falling int
the tyrant's hands. Dionysius sent for
his sister, and reproached her very mwuch
for not apprising him of her husband's
intended flight, as she ooul not be ignorant of it,. She replied
without expressing the least surprise or fear, Have I then ap-
peared so bad a wife to you, and of so mean a soul, as to have
abandoned my husband in his flight, and not to have desired
to share in his dangers and misfortunes ? No II kel w nothing
of it; or I should have been much happierin beiag called the
wie of Polyxenus the exie, in all places, than in Sjruase the
sister of the tyrnt.. .
Dioqysius could not but admire an answer so. full of spirit
and g nerosity; and the Syracusans, in general, were so
charmed with her magnanimity, that, after the tyrany, was
suppressed, the same honours, equipage, and train of a queen,
which she had before, were continued to her during her life;
and after her death, the whole people attended her body to the
tomb and honoured her funeral with extraordinary respect.
.o muc say, Bsing.me my lir'
he ha given to Luther, nobly repId, "I will not be likej
predecessor Sigis d who was ashamed to look any Aome
the face after he had broken his word with John Hm had
T oa to aed or SwieW4
Jerome of Prague." .
A Spanish o icer requesting permission to take up the bqty
of Luther .and burn, it as that of a h ree, Charles replied
54 CHARLES THE FIFTH.
"c Let it remain quiet till the last day, and the final judgment
of all things." He used to say, that if the clergy had been pru-
dent, Luther had never disturbed them.
Soon after his abdication, he desired father Johanne de
Regla to be his confe boa~ T i fethermnpe time refused :
Charles said to hiB.:Hoh Fither, do armed at hav-
ing the care of th : l c of a: which, for this
last year past, iia law d of divinity have
undertaken to -.-
In his .andT-iir caused them-
selves with 4 ioo~saad watches, and au-
tomaton im ,it ge different motions, and
used to obsee w i*t aiwill e hae d spent his time in
endeavouring~ e o. ~a tink alike in religious matters,
when be had never e to pake two watches go perfectly
His habit of teteiig m~kind still apple rd to have followed
himt' ito the convenLt 'i f riws once extriemy solicitous to
wakati yOtitag a toao instin A at a vt6y tyherio: the
nmionIk, s~trcely-roised by all iii efforts, saidto him with some
spleeri; ds it not etioutgh for your majes tohave disturbed
the peace of the universe, but must you also break in ponh the
repose f.za poor insignii~aint monk ?M One may apply to
Oharles what some person said to Catherine de Medicis, wihen
'CBRALES Tftt tPFTH.
s ae talked 6f retiring froi the noise ntd bisde of the world,
SThat, Madam, I think you will never o. Le rpos eit Ie
Sgrd et de tre die."
AaI fr St. Real, te a is aiedfo t by two
wone=nrf fi p B trelt toetteeointf dp dency
between them, te respecting which had'ee carried
fti4& uod # that the 6&Re le gie ote aer ty
iiald nt, iAd &eir eranti liad coek rtabow Weforhe
portic of the heth o't. .o.ill. id diH c Chat al.
albe t iiieari th ¬t iMitate itteotibis tt ob ati
badW tW i6 k- of her o6n deddeddtbrt the giet-M
satplto6 the, two should haeithe p in oiU;6eqneof
tins jutge wheuer the ladini met, they *Wat 'Iredi
gloedy*il to each other Ad rete aXt0 tb ie
A ap~ e r one 4udaytg to Tp
pedaleduitf his hands. Charl1i Veygtcic f it
ipo Cb, oe pencil of Ap eq do'ted 4 tri
RogAe i letter daid Aug O ar
1551, thus describes the emperor:_; ei
toW *r tie
a g oback taaffety, saIhdg o IiiaafATi
Dutch-like, having a seautm' thoer -& Ie a 1 44
werttd2 0 u tobd hDad by te ema rortk IM heda or
codest' fed od beef, roast itbtt, baled id. i
be to sre In England. The emtpeor a &Fd, a
constant i&*; he fed wel of cap6on. I I Ad -
ter fr In.ihie hostessterres inan7y tlieein'i yachaa~ir He
and Ntfdliaid* eat together very handsomely, catrvitbe
selves wheie they list, without anty curiosity. The eperor
drank thelbet that I ever saw. He had his hMid in the glass
five times as long as any of us, and never drank less than a goiod
King of the Romans, brother to Charles.
[66 ClHARSE8 THE FIFTH.
quat at one of Rhenish wine. His Chapel aung woqderfully
cunningly all the dinner-while.
PoNZ thus describes the Convent. into which Charles retired:
The Convent and Church pf Yuste are particularly magni-
ficieit, and rendered still more so by containing the remains of
Charles the Fifth.
The great altar consists of four colua tbAe Corinthian
order, in the middle of whihb is a picture, a copy of the cele-
brated picture known by the name of 1tian' lory, the orig-
nal of which m o be see at this day itnbe EcriaL..The
picture was painted by order of Charle, and placed over the
egy on his tomb. In the peristyle of the altar are to be seen
the Imperial arms, placed there, it is supposed, by order of
Philip the Third. The altar was made upder the direction of
Juan Gpmex e Mora. There are four statues placed aut it
eprerenting Prmdence, Justice, Fortitude, and Tempemnce.
SIn- cavity beneath th altar is placed a s qf wood, in
which was 4epited the coffl containing the bdyof 0the em-
peor before it was conveyed to the EscuriaL Thearchitecture
and decorations of the altar, with the relics placed about it, ars
in good style, but there are some defective appendages which
are of modern introduction.
The architecture ofhe Convent and of the principal cys
ten of Yete is of tolerable workmanship; the Gothi style,
however, is observed in one of the lesser oysters, whichows
the original sate of its architecture.
Ner this hoae are the five apartments which served for
the mandmsion of the# emperor. I believe there were butfive in
number, and puely five apartments could not excite the envy
of te most Stoical philosopher. What noble reflections, what
sblime harangues have been excited by the memory of this
.great Prince! who voluntarily relinquished and abdicated from
one of the greatest and most glorious Empires in the universe,
towards the end of his days, which happened on the 21st of
On the outside of the Convent his arms are seen, and be-
neath are these words:
c In this holy hou IStJerome the Just, re-
tired and finished his "' wromforts of our holy
religion, the E lt Defender of the
Faith and the E Christian and
Invincible Kin mber, 1558."
Charles, regal dignity,
thought so slight 1 I Ig through
a village in Spai td with a tin
crown upon his t1C a p for a truncheon,
as the Easter King (acon to of that great festi-
val in Spain,) who told twyO r htat he should take off his
hat to him: "( My good friend," replied the Prince, u I wish
you joy of your new office; ou Awii find it a very troublesome
one, I can assure you."
SG -MA NA. IMT
person whb. h i a
ffPltakh, instead A 1 laoir,
they bad conferred one." Whht1 nob61
cast. of sentiment' A ntigus does iot
alpesar 6t e, parta kn of it. I ptay the gods," exclaimed
he; oe 4ay, to. preserve me from my friends" Upon which
one o0 his ffirdts inquiredlhy he did not p'iy to be preserved
from his eneies ? "No !" returned Antigonus, h I can arway
defend myself from my enemies; but friends can-ruin us
whenever they will."
rrEn the wretched assassination of his
old master Henry the Fourth, Sully
withdrew himself from public affairs,
and lived in retirement thirty years
at his chateau of Villebon, seldom or
never coming to court. Louis the
Thirteenth, however, wishing to have
his opinion upon soe matters of
Consequence, seat for him to cone
to himatParis ad the pd old aa
obeyed his sn osr but not with the gretest alt. The
ay courtiems o sting a man dressed unlike to theselvre and
of grave ad serious manner totally different from their own,
and which appeared to be those of the last century,turned Sally
into ridicule, and took him off to his face Sully perceiving
this, said coolly to the King, Sir, when your father, of glorious
memory, did me the honour to consult me on any matter of im-
portance, he first sent away all the jesters and all the buffoons
of his court."
Sully kept up always at his table at Villebon, the frugality to
which he had been accustomed in early life in the army. His
table consisted of ten dishes, dressed in the plainest and most
simple manner. The courtiers reproached him often with the
simplicity of his table. ,He used to reply in the words of an
ancient, If th e s are men of sense, there is sufficient for
them; if-theyj t I can very well ditense with their
Sully dined atthe upper end of the ballthetpermson of
his own age, at a tble apart. The yo'ag l were served
at a table by themselves. Slly gave aes ar~W uem is ar-
rangement, that the. persons of dirmnt ages might ot obe mu-
tually tiresome to each other.
The Pope having once written a letter to M. de Sully upon
his becoming Minister, which ended with his Holines' wishes
that he might enter into the right way; Sully answered, that
on hi part he never ceased to pray for the converion of his
A contemporary writer thus describes this great Miter:
e He was," says he, a man of order, eact, frugal, a man
of his word, and had no foolish expenses either of play or of
any thing ele that was unsuitable to the dignity of his character.
He was vigilant, laborious, and expedited buaines. .He spent
his whole time in i employment, and gave toe of it to his
pleasure. With all these qualifications he had the talent of
diving to the bottom of every thing that wa submitted to him,
and of discovering every entanglement and diiculty with which
the financiers, when they are not honest men, endeavour to con-
ceal their tricks and rogueries."
The Abbe de Longuerue says, that the Duchess of Ne-
mours used to tell him, that she had seen that good old man
M. de S ., d that he was o tered by being dismised from
his ema that ,tere M el nothing t him of the
celeb 6j; ftt.i~: that he was employed
entirely f u obifmluy affairs.
His secret-a* ihiMemoinr with faults
which w ewi til* atte*t% oetA""
TRIBUTE TO WASHINGTON.
i the 19th of February, 1800, Napoleon,
as first consul of F took possession
of the palace of ~ ileries. News
of the death of George Washington had
just reached France, and Napoleon sig-
nified his intention of assisting at the
c ,leitation of hisobsq Washington
died on the 14t 'of Deeter, :1799, a private citisze of the
great republic, the liberties of which he had secured by his
abilities as a general, and hd assisted in mainting 'by his
talents as a legislator and a magistrate. Napoleon paid a public
homage to the virtue, Whidh neither his character, his wishes,
nor his'circumstances, enabled him to emulate. He celebrated
a grand funeral service to the memory of Washington, in the
council-hall of the invalids. The laststandardstaken in Egypt,
were presented on the same occasion Al the ministers, the
councillors of state, and generals, were present. Tli pillars
and roof were hung with the trophies of the campaign of Italy.
The bust of Washington was placed under the trophy composed
of the flags of Aboukir. A general order was sed that crape
should be suspended for ten days from allthe flags~andstandards
of the republic; and thus, in the imaginary fhiieral of a pure
patriot, did ambition bury its conscience, and the memory of
that higher glory which outlests the blaze of the diadem, and
the trophies of victorious fields.
r the extent of Queen Elizabeth's abilities,
the following testimony was given by
her Treasurer Lord Burleigh.
S, c No one of her Councillors could tell
her what she knewe not; and when her
Council had said all they could, she
could find out a wise counsel beyond
theirs; and that there never was anie
great consultation about her countryat which she was not pre-
sent, to her great profitte and prayse.'
Scot, in his c Philomatbologia," says, that a courtier, who
had great place about her Majestie, made suite for an office be-
longing to the law. Shee told him he was unfitt for the plaoe.
He confessed as much, but promised to find out a sufficient
deputy. Do so, saith she, and then I may bestow i~R t
one of my ladies, for they, by deputation, may execute the
office of chancellor, chief justice, and others, as well as you.
This (said the author) answered him: and (adds he) I would
that it would answer all others, that fit men might be placed
in every office, and none, how great soever, suffered to keep
Puttenham tells us, that when some English knight, who had
behaved himself very insolently towards this Queen wheta she
was merely Lady Elizabeth, fell upon his knees before .he,
soon after she became the sovereign of these kingdoms, apd
besought her to pardon him, suspecting (as there was good
cause) that he should have been sent to the Tower; she said to
him very mildly, Do you not know that we are descended of
the lion, whose nature is not to prey upon the mouse, or other
Small vermin ?"
In a prince," says Puttenham, cit is decent to goe steady
and to march with leysure, and with a certain granditie rather
than gravitie as our souveraine lady and mistress, the verie
image of majestic and magnificence, is accustomed to do gene-
rally, unless it be when she walketh apace, for her pleasure, or
to catch her a heate in the cold mornings."
Osborne, in his Memoirs of Queen Elizabeth, tells this story
of her :-That one of her purveyors hav ved with some
injustice in the county of Kent, one of th lrs of that county
went to the Queen's palace at Greenwi and watching the
time when the Queen went to take her usual welk in the .orn-
ing, cried out loud enough for her Majesty to hear, < Pray which
is the Queen ?" She replied very graciously, 'I am your
Queen; what would you have with me?" ccYou (replied the
farmer) are one of the rarest women I ever saw, and can eat no
more than my daughter Madge, who is thought the properest
lass in the parish, though far short of you: but that Queen
Elizabeth I look for devours so many of my ducks, hens, and
capons, as I am not able to live." The Queen, as Osborne
adds, always auspicious to suits made through the mediation of
her comely shape, inquired who was the purveyor, and caused
him to be hanged.
HE effect of motive upon the human frame
Swas perhaps never better illustrated than in
the account of Abbe Rugellai, thus de-
/ scribed in that entertaining book, written
by Dom Noel d'Argonne, a Carthusian friar
PB F I of Gallion in Normandy, entitled, Melanges
d'Histoire et de la Litterature, par Vigneuil
de Marville."-This Abbe was the great nephew of the celebra-
ted Monsignor de la Casa, so well known by the excellence of
his Italian writings: he came from Rome to Paris with Mary
de Medicis, wife of Henry the Fourth, where he lived in great
splendour and profusion. He used to haiv served up at his
table, during the dessert, ,ea enamelled i,.gold full of
essences, perfumes, of gloves, ftns, and even pistales, for the
company to play with. By these citroastances one may readily
judge what sort oMfst Mr Rupolai was. His delicacy in
every thing was ": he dranknothing but water, but it
was a water that i rougbt from a great distance, and which
was to be drawn drop.by drop (if on may so express it.) The
least thing in the world ditreased himni e ` an, the dew, heat,
cold, the least cia' the im~d to have an
effect upon his constatii~ Te appehension of be-
coming ill would make, him keep fO rom t nd put himself to
bed. It is to him that our physicians are obliged for the in-
vention of that disease without a disease, called Vapours, which
makes the employment of those persons-who are idle, and the
fortunes of those who attend them. T- h poor Abbe oaied
greatly under the weight of those tries, darig toke
nothing where there was. the least trouble or .; A1,
however, goaded by ambition, or rather pesha te
to revenge himself ppon some person who :he hoigi i bt
used him well, he uadertook to serve his oldM mi l M C
Medicis, in some state intrigues which were veOi,
and which required great activity. At firt, te i, %4t
trouble which.had always appeared to him to be so dreadfil a
thing, was very near .akipg him abandon his underwking ;'vb
getting the better of his fears, he became so hardy an.sq active,
that his friends, who saw him work hard all the day, and take
no rest at night, who saw him riding post upon the most exe-
erable horses, and not caring what he ate or drank, but content-
ed always with what he found, used in joke to ask him newsof
the Abbe Rugellai pretending not to know what has become of
him, or what person had changed situations with him, or in
what other body the Abbe's soul had transmigrated."
MARY DE MEDICIS.O
oDQAL% RICHEMtEU, who had been
the servant of this queen, drove
her out of the kingdom of France,
and she died at Cologne. Chigi,
the popes legate in that city, assisted her
in her last moments. With great difficulty
he prevailed upon her to say that she forgave
Richelieu; but when he pressed her to send
the cardinal a bracelet, or a ring, as a token
of her perfect reconciliation with him, she
exclaimed-- Questo, e pur troppo-This indeed is too much !"
and died soon after.
cc In the month of August, 1641," says Lilly, I beheld the
old queen mother of France, Mary of Medicis, departing from
London, in company of Thomas Earl of Arundel. A sad spec-
tacle of mortality it was, and produced tears from mine eyes,
and many other beholders, to see an aged, lean, decrepid, poor
queen, ready for her grave, necessitated to depart hence, having
no place of residence left her, but where the courtesy of her
hard fortune assigned it. She had been the only stately and
magnificent woman of Europe, wife to the greatest king that ever
lived in France, mother unto one king, and unto two queens."
x the 15th of September, 1837, as
the steamboat Vulean, was de-
scending the river towards
Nantes, a catastrophe, of which
a great number were victims,
stopped her course. Public ru-
mour a nouced to the, magis-
trates, that in the midst of all
these misfortunes, a rae instance
of devotion occurredL Nothing
more was 1powi. It is necessary that accompany which rewards
virtue, which seeks out good actions to reoomnpene -and
honour them, viz.: the Industrial Society of Nantes, should ma e
a minute inquest, submit every thing to exact interrogation,
and employ to discover virtue, the processes used hitherto
against crime. The result of the inquiry, in. this case, w as
Having arrived after the Ingrande, the Vulcan approaches
near the shore, in order to take passengers. In doing this she
grounds, her wheels become entangled, her boiler bursts, and
the steam spreads on all sides its scalding waves. A sailor,
whom this terrible wave reaches and wounds upon the deck, recol.
lects immediately five children with whom he had played an in-
stant before in the saloon. This brave man, whose name was Peter
Guillot, has no children; but he loves children; he had heard
one of these crying, and he bad gone naturally enough to help
their nurse and their mother to console them. He was holding
them upon his knees when the fatal shock had suddenly recalled
him to his post. The unfortunate family are *already in danger
of perishing. He hastens to return to them;-the staircase has
disappeared, being enveloped in the steam which suffocates and
devours. In vain he holds his hands over his face. To ad
vance one single step is impossible.
However, as he says in his examination, there was a mother
and five children about to be scalded alive. This idea, said
he, almost killed me.
He goes to the port-holes-he stoops ai,
their. You should have seen him su
foot to the balustrade of the vessel,*
carry away this unfortunate creature '
Death had claimed her. He returns,
attempts to save her.
SNo, No," cried she, though half.
my children !"'
You think, perhaps, that this is the
our prize was conferred. Alas! no, the sacific
mated; it was from God that this admirable womta h g eare
to receive her crown. Ah! allow us at least to pause one me-
ment at this death, which equals that of the martyrs, at this ad-
mirable maternal tenderness in a stranger, that no mateidl ten-
derness can surpass. All of us who call around us other aid
than our own, for our children, can appreciate that affection
which no salary can repay in the heart which could dictate, on
such an emergency, that cry, c Save, save my children."
c What became of them ultimately ?"
c Is it necessary to inform you, that the survivors became the
adopted children ofGuillot? He threw himself out by the port-
hole, and plunged into theconsuming furnace ; he twice descended
to their rescue. The five children and the nurse were all brought
out byhim. No miracle was wrought for their deliverance. Three
ofthechildrea and the nurse had perished. Only two survived."
This is not the only good trait in the character of Guillot ,-
his life is filled with similar feature. Once when submitted
to the examination, Guillot gave a great many instances.
At Ancenis did you not, at the risk of great dangers, extin-
quish a fire ?"
O that is a trifle; I scarcely remember that; it happened
four years ago." When he was asked if he* had other good
actions to confess, he replied, 0 O, I do not remember any
others." t at Nantes, on the 7th of September, 1830, do
you not remember having aved a woman who was near drown-
in the Loie' He gave a modest ,reitl of this. But
i rNalin) Mqt.ont-dee, did yot ot save three
If to, the rikt. pe rising with
avbWalthuisbai=-oa were admired
rolam: which mulelies and forgets.
b"t"iubd th ihabitants
Sis blicty ce branded
s ith Vs+idus PIh, 4Wh ad been for-
.~ .1 ;- u, D and-it e+napt eby Brutus
Himself in offices of trust, for having em-
bezzled the public money. Thi s sentence
offended his friend Cassius, who, but a few days before, had
absolved, in public, two of his own friends, and continued them
in their offices, though accused of the same crime, contenting
himself only with repriimnding them in prite. aiBe did not
conceal his sentiments on thislead from BrttR, weo he ac-
cused, in a friendly manner, of too much riger and' seerity,
when gentleness and favour were more necessary,.' nd w ld
prove of greater service to their cause. In answer to)s,
Brutus put him in mind of the Ides of March, the diy which
they killed Casar, who himself neither vexed nor ed
mankind, but was the support of those who did. He desired
him to consider, that if justice could be neglected, under any
colour or pretence, it had been better to suffer the injustice of
Caesar's friends, than to give impunity to their own, For
then," said he, < we could have been accused of cowardice
only ; whereas now, if we connive at the injustice of others, we
make ourselves liable to the same accusation, and share with
them in the guilt." From this we may perceive, as Plutarch
observes, what was the rule of all Brutus's actions.
A CRIMINAL RECLAIMED.
YOUNG man was lately stopped in a little
street, in one of the cities of France; his
purse or his life was demanded. A cou-
rageous and sensible heart soon distin-
guishes between, the voice of the unfortu-
nate wretch whom misery drags to crime,
and that of the villain whose wickedness
prompts him to it. The young man feels
that it is an unfortunate person whom he ought to save. ", What
do you ask, miserable creature, what do you ask ?" said he in
an imposing tone to his aggressor. <( Nothing sir," answered
a sobbing voice, I ask nothing of you."
"t Who are you, what do you do ?"
,(I am a poor journeyman shoemaker, without the means of
supporting my wife and four children."
I do not know whether you speak the truth.' (He well
A CRIMINAL RECLAIMED.
knew that what the poor creature said was but too true.)
c Where do you live ?"
"In such a street, at a baker's house."
SWe shall see,--4ead the way." The shoemaker, awed by
hisfiar led him. abode as he would have led him to the
arrive at the baker's. There was no
Sone Madam, do you know this man?"
"W ir aipbor journeyman shoemaker, who lives in
the flA sr d who h0as much difficulty in sustaining his
"TH ^vant breo, .
"Sir, ,fewle4stbl; cannot give
much; my- wih wish me to gi' m e han twenty-
four cents credit~~is ma Give him two loavwefobread."
c Take these two loaves, and mount to your room."
The shoemar r obeys, as much agitated as if he were about
to commit some crime; but in a very different kind of trouble.
They enter. The wife and children eagerly take the food which
is offered to them. The young man has seen too much. He
goes out after giving two louis to the baker's wife, with orders
to supply the family with bread according to their. wa Some
days after, he returns to see the children to whonibe lwd given a
second life, and he tells their father to follow him. H conducts
his poor protege into a shop well built and well fished with
tools and all the necessary materials for working at his trade.
" Would you be contented and happy if thisshop were your?"
Ah sir, but alas!"
I have not the freeman's right, and it costs-"
A Take me to the syndic jury.'" The license was bought,
and the shoemaker placed in the shop.
The author of so fine an act of humanity was a young man
about twenty-seven years old. It is calculated that the esta-
blishment of this workman cost him from three to four thousand
livres. He is not known, and useless researches have been
made to discover him.
MONTESQUIEU AND THE BOATMAN.
T Marseilles, a young man named Robert was
waiting one day in the port for some one to
engage his services as a boatman. An un-
known person at length placed himself in the
boat; but a moment after, he prepared to
leave it, notwithstanding the presence of Robert, whom
he did not suspect to be the proprietor of it. He said,
that since the conductor of the boat did nat appear, he
was about to enter another.
Sir," said the young man to him, c this is mine--do
you wish to leave the harbour ?"
NQ; because daylight will be over in an hour. I only
wished to take a few turns on the water, to profit by the beauty
and freshness of the evening. But you do not look like a
sailor, and you have not the manners of a man in that condition."
I am not one in reality; it is only in order to make money
that I adopt this trade on Sundays and holidays.-"--"
,"What! avaricious at your age ? That trait disgrnaes your
MONTESQUIEU AND THE BOATMAN.
youth, aml diminishes the interest which your happy phy-
"AAh, sir, if you knew Why I am so anxious to amass money,
you would not add to my grief, by attributing to me so vile a
I auy have wrangd you; but you have noteplaed
yourself at pil. Let us take a few turns, and you can relate
your history to me."
The unknown sits down. cc Well," said he, c tell me your
griefs; yoUtave disposed me to take part in them."
c I have but one," said the young man, that of having a
father in chains, without being able to release him. He was a
weaver in this city; he procured for himself, by his trtde,
and my mother's industry, at making dresses, an interest h a
vessel which he loaded for Smyrna. He wished to be present
himself at the ufloading, and exchange of his merchandise, and
make his own choice of the return cargo. The vessel was taken
by a Barbary corsair, and conducted to Tetuan, where my an-
happy father is in slavery, with the rest of the ship's company..
Two thousand crowns are necessary for his ransom; but as he
had exhausted all his money, in order to make his enterprise
more important and profitable, we are very far from having that
sum. However, my mother and sisters, work night and day;
I do the same at my master's as a jeweller, which trade I have
adopted; and I also try to make some profit, as you see, on
Sunday and holidays. We are economical even in the most
necessary things; one small room is,our whole dwelling-place.
I thought at first of going to take my father's place, and of de-
livering him, by loading myself with his irons. I was on the
point of putting this design into practice, when my mother, who
was informed of it, (I know not how,) assured me that the idea
was as impracticable as visionary, and forbade all the Eastern
captains to take me on board."
"c Do you ever receive any information about your father?
Do you know who is his master at Tetuan, and what treatment
he receives ? His master is the overseer of the king's gardens.
7W MONTESQUIEU AND THE BOATMAN.
He is humanely treated, and his work is not above his strength;
but we are not with him to console him, and to lighten his cap-
tivity. He is far from us, from a cherished wife, and from three
children whom be always loved with tenderness."
What is he called at Tetuan ?" *
t Hfe has not changed his name. He is called Robert, ps at
Robert at the overseer's of the king's garden ?"
Your misfortunes touch me; your filial affection merits,
and I dare to prophecy, a better fate, which I sincerely wish
you. While enjoying this gentle breeze, my friend, do not
think it hard that I am so tranquil about it."
When night came, Robert was ordered to land; and as the
unknown left the boat, he placed a purse in his hands, and,
without giving him time to thank him, went hastiff away. In this
purse were eight double louis d'or, and ten half crowns in silver.
Such generosity gave the young man the highest opinion of
him who was capable of it. In vain he endeavoured to find
and thank him.
Six weeks after this event, this honest family, who continued
to work without relaxation, in order to complete the sum they
needed, were eating a frugal dinner, composed of bread and
dried almonds, when they saw Robert, the father, enter. What
was the astonishment of his wife and children, what their trans-
ports of joy, can easily be imagined. The good Robert throws
himself into their arms, and exhausts himself in thanks for the
fifty louis, that were counted out to him, when he embarked in
the vessel at Tetuan, in which his passage was paid for in
advance, and for the clothes with which he was furnished. He
does not know how to be grateful enough for such zeal and
A new surprise astonished this family: they looked at each
other. The mother was the first to break the silence. She
imagines that it is her son who had done all this. She relates
to his father, how, ever since the beginning of his slavery, he
MONTESQUIEU AND THE BOATMAN.
MONTESQUIEU AND THE BOATMAN.
had wished to take his place, and how she had prevented it.
Six thousand francs were necessary for his ransom. We
have," continued she, c a lite more than half of if ; of which
the best part is the fruit of his work. He niust have found
friends who have aided him." Suddenly silent and thoughtful,
the father becomes alarmed. Then addressing his son, Un-
fortimate creature, what have yod done ? How can I owe my
deliverance to you without regretting it? How can it be a
secret from your mother, if obtained virtuously ? At your age,
son ofan unfortunate man, of a slave the resources which you
have used were not honestly procured. I shudder to think
that filial love may have made you culpable. Tell me the
whole truth; and let us die, if you have ceased to be honest."
c Be tranquil, father," answered the young man, embracing
him; c your son is not unworthy of that title; nor happy enough
to have proved to you how dear you are to him. I know our
benefactor. Do you remember, mother, the unknown, who
gave me the purse? -He asked me a great many questions.
I will pass my life in seeking him out. I will find him, and
he shall come to enjoy the sight of the effect of his benefieence."
He then related to his father the anecdote of the unknown, and
reassured him on the ground of his fears.
Returned to his family, Robert found friends and assistance.
His most sanguine expectations were realized. At the end of
two years he had acquired a comfortable living. His children,
whom he had established, shared their happiness with him and
his wife; and his enjoyment would have been without alloy
if the continual researches of his son had been able to discover
where their benefactor, who eluded the gratitude and their
wishes, was. He at last meets him one Sunday morning walk-
ing alone near the beach. Ah! my guardian angel It
was all he could utter while throwing himself at his feet, where
he fell senseless.
The unknown hastened to aid him, and ask the cause of his
condition. What, sir, can you be ignorant of it? Have you
80 MONTESQUIEU AND THE BOATMAN.
forgotten Robert and his unfortunate family, whom you
awakened to life by restoring the father ?"
cc You mistake me, my friend; I do not know you; you
cannot know me, a stranger at Marseilles; I have only been
here a few days."
cc All that may be true; but do you not remember being here
twenty-six months ago ? Do you not remember the promenade
on the beach, the interest you took in my misfortunes, the
numerous questions you asked me to enlighten you, and give
you the information necessary for your becoming our bene-
factor? My father's liberator, can you forget that you are the
saviour of his entire family, who desire nothing more than
your presence. Do not refuse their wishes, but come and see
the happy persons you have made. Come! "
My friend, I assure you, you are mistaken." c No, sir,
I do not mistake you at all. Your features are too deeply en-
graved for me ever to be deceived. Come, for pity's sake! "
At the same time, he took him by the arm and dragged him
along with a kind of violence. A multitude of people aa-
sembled round them. Then the unknown, in a grave and firm
tone said,cc Sir, this scene begins to be fatiguing. What re-
semblance has occasioned your error? Recall your senses,
and return to your family to enjoy the tranquillity which you
appear to have received."
c What cruelty!" cried the young Robert; ccthe benefactor
of this family, why change, by your resistance, the happiness it
owes only to you ? Do I remain in vain at your feet ? Will
you be so inflexible as to refuse the tribute which we have re-
served so long for your kindness? And you who are present,
you whom the trouble and disorder in which you see me ought
to touch, unite with me in supplicating the author of my happi-
ness to come and contemplate with me his own work."
At these words, the unknown appears to struggle with his
feelings; but then calling together all his strength and all his
courage to resist the seduction of the sweet enjoyment offered
him, he escapes like an arrow in the midst of the crowd, and
disappears in an instant.
This unknown would have remained so to this day, if his
business acquaintances, haring found among his papers after the
death of their owner, a bill of six hundred iSousand lires,
sent to Mr. Maia at Cadiz, had not as-id aeqo-unt of this
from curiosity, ince the paper wdtorn a0m d ~ plml like those
intended tb be burnti The famous -bikr answered, that he
had used it to. deliver u tive ofi arseilie4 called Robert, a
slave at Tetua s.' ig to therttrder of Cares tof Secondat,
Baron of Montesquieu, It is known that hMotequrieu loved
to travel, and that he ofen visited his sister, Madamae d'Henri-
court, married at Versailles.
s Bernard Gilpin, a the apostle of the north,"
(as he has been honourably distinguished),
was on his way to London in the custody of
the officers who had been sent to arrest him
under the charge of having preached doctiaes
favourable to the Reformation, it happened
that he broke his leg, and was detained upon the road by that
accident. He had frequently observed to his keepers by th.
way, that nothing befalls us but what is intended for our good;
and when this catamity occurred to him, they inquired, with a
sneer, c Whether he thought that his broken leg was so in-
tended ?" He meekly answered, that he had no doubt it was.
And a mercifulProvidence verified his words in a most remark-
able manner; for, in point, of fact, before Mr. Gilpin reached
London, Queen Mary died ; the snare was broken, and he was
delivered. Had this accident not providentially occurred, we
might have had to add the name of Bernard Gilpin to the list
of our Protestant martyrs.
FILIAL LOVE AMONG THE JAPANESE.
T is among the Japanese annals that we find the fol-
lowing' extraordinary example of filial love. A wo-
man was left a widow with three boys, and she was
maintained solely by their labour. Though the price
of this subsistence was very small, nevertheless, the
work of these young people was sometimes insufficient
to provide it. The sight of a mother whom they
cherished, a prey to want, made them one day conceive the
strangest resolution. It had been published that whoever would
deliver the thief who had stolen certain articles should receive
a considerable sum. The three brothers agree among them-
selves that one of them shall represent the robber, and that the
other two are to. conduct him to the judge. They draw lots
to know which shall be the victim of filial love, and the lot
falls on the youngest, who suffers himself to be tried and con-
victed as a criminal. The magistrate questions him, and he
FILIAL LOVE AMONG THE JAPANESE. 88
replies that he has stolen the articles; they send him to prison,
and the informers receive the promised sum. Their heart is
then alarmed as to the danger of their brother. They find
means to enter into the prison, ind thinking that a~ one sees
them, they embrace and shed tears over him. Thet1ggrag e,
who perceives them by chance, surprised at i novel a six t
gives one of his attendants a commissioa:Et foHi thhW two "n
former, and he enjoins him not to lose-si6 t o i tO T ut
gaining an explanation of so singular a' eua~staoee, Tie
domestic acquits himself perfectly of this .oniMioft, aa 4 ce-
turns, saying, that having seen these two yo7ag p om. eater
a house, he had approached it, and had heater A j relate to
their mother what has just been read, and that the "oor woman,
at this recital, uttered lamentable cries, atd had ordered them
to return the money, saying, that she wished rather to die than
purchase life at the price of her son's. The magistrate, who
can scarcely conceive this prodigy of filial piety, makes his
prisoner appear, and questionshim anew as to his pretended
theft, and even threatens him with the most cruel punishments;
but the young man, occupied by his tenderness, remains silent
and motionless. c Ah! this is too much-virtuous child! y6ur
conduct astonishes me," exclaims the magistrate, throwing him-
self on his neck. He hurriedly goes. and relates this to the
emperor, who, charmed at so heroic an affection, summons the
three brothers before him, and loads them with caresses, and
assigns to the youngest a considerable pension, and a lesser to
each of the others.
'A xISHOP BURET was a. great gossip, of a
very inquisitive turn in conversation,
and of so much absence of mind,
that he would occasionally mention
in company circumstances that could
not fail to be displeasing to persons
that were present. He teazed several
of his friends to introduce him to
SPrince Eugene, whom he soon very
much offended, by asking him some questions about his mother,
the Countess of Soissons, who escaped to Flanders, being
suspected of having poisoned her husband; and he mentioned
to the Prince his own evasion from France in early life, for
having ridiculed Louis XIV. in some intercepted letters. Lord
Godolphin he represents as a continual card-player, who, it
seems, always took care to play at cards when he was in com-
pany with the Bishop, lest he should put to him impertinent
and leading questions. The first Lord Shaftesbury he represents
as addicted to judicial astrology, who used to talk on that sub-
ject before the Bishop, merely to prevent his talking politics to
him. Bishop Burnet, at the age of eighteen, wrote a Treatise
on Education in very wretched language, but in which there is
this curious observation: ", That the Greek language, except
for the New Testament, is of no very great use to gentlemen,
as most of the best books in it are translated into Latin, English,
According to Dr. Cockburn, when Bishop Burnet was pre-
sented to Charles the Second, by the Duke of Lauderdale, he
said to his Majesty, Sir, I bring a person to you who is not
capable of forgetting any thing." The King replied, "< Then,
my Lord, you and I have the more reason to take care what
we say to him, or before him."
THE FRENCH LADY BOUNTIFUL.
T is difficult to create for oneself an elact
idea of the salutary influence which the
great proprietors of France exercise on the
well being and morality of the inhabitants
of the country, where they join to a virtuous*
example, an enlightened and active beaevo-
tlence. It isuseful, in several way, to make
essential and varied setviees known, whidh
they can render in thus accepting the mission which they have
received from Provdence, and in teaching others the good
use which ought to be made of fortune's gifts. Among the
vast number of persons which we might quote, and who might
serve as models of this kind, we will limit ourselves to recall-
ing one of whom the justly venerated memory is dear to some
of our readers.
Madame d'Hervilly was thirty years old when the Revolution
broke out. Thrown into prison with her three young children,
she lost, at the same time, her father and uncle on the scaffold,
and her husband at Quiberon. Threatened herself with being
brought before the revolutionary tribunal, she prayed God to
suffer her to live for the sake of her three daughters. Stripped of
her possessions, stricken at the same time with all kinds of
persecutions and misfortunes, in the grasp of a complete ruin,
she always preserved that calmness, confidence, and resolution,
which are the privilege of great souls. She maintained ber
family by the labour of her hands, and condemned herself to
privations in order to prevent theirs. By dint of patience,
activity, good sense, order, and intelligence, she succeeded in
accumulating the wrecks of her fortune, whose use she con-
sidered, in her social and religious convictions, the fulfilment
of a duty attached to the rank she had just regained. As soon
as she recovered a portion of her annuity, she instituted a
THE FRENCH LADY BOUNTIFUL.
pension in favour of her friends who, stricken as she herself had
been by adversity, had not been able to repair their losses.
Since then, she has been able to be the administrator of good
among poor people. An orphan and a widow, stripped of all her
riches, she had found herself again, by dint of firmness and
courage, able to pursue a course of her beneficence in a place
filled with cruel remembrances; and where any other person
would have sunk into despair and inactivity, she only became
younger, and more ardent and capable.
The castle of Leschelle (department of Aisne) always offered
a sacred asylum to suffering humanity, a tutelar refuge to the
At the beginning of the last century, those who bore at that
time the titles of Lords of Leschelle, founded in that place two
schools, one for boys, and the other for girls, with the buildings
and yearly income necessary for their establishment and support.
The boys' school belonged, after the Revelution, to the Con-.
munity; the girls' school was maintained by the family which
had established it. Two school mistresses, called by the name
of the sisters, but belonging to no particular religious congre-
gation, there instructed, gratuitously, all the little girls of the
country and the environs. They had their house, their meadow,
their garden, which they cultivated themselves, and enjoyed
the fruits of the earth without paying any tax whatever; the
hand which gave them the house, field, and garden, paid it for
them. It would be difficult to enumerate all the services which
these worthy young women rendered; always ready, in spite
of the continuance of their instructions, to oblige and aid the
suffering. They also transmitted, as if by right of succession,
the affection and gratitude which attached them to each other,
and to their labour.
The schools of Leschelle did not confine themselves to the
instruction of the scholars; they also exerted an active influence
over their manners. The dance was very much liked in
Picardy. But this pleasure permitted, when tasted with inno-
cence, and in a suitable place, offered the greatest danger to
THE FRENCH LADY BOUNTIFUL.
young girls; for the danoe was carried on in an inn, in the
lower story, damp, exhaling a strong smell of cider, wine,
brandy, and tobacco, often reddened by the blood of the daners;
the most part, of them being drunken, and who often followed
up insulting speeches by threats and bows.
It was the privilege of the family, who were. the visible
Providence of the country, to offer to youth nobler amanumeMats
An annual distribution of prizes was held at the castle. All
that could excite vanity, and betray ostentation, was absolutely
withdrawn from this simple and touching amnement,. The
successful scholars have no witnesses of their seen, except
their schoolmates, their instructresses, (the good sisters,) and the
family to whom the school owed its existence and support.
After this, they pla, deae, run, and slide with shoes pepared
for the purpose on the splendid floors of the saloon of Lesebele.
They made in this place, usually so orderly, a noise which W e
sounded in its subterraneous vaults, ad .a dust not usaly to be
seen there. They were happy, and this joy, this hippaine, so
frank, and so relaxing, how cordially it is shared in by all the
spectators. This is not all. Three days after, the .ehobl
who have gained prizes are invited to seat themselves all at the
same table in the dining-roorp of the chateau. They ate .s
much waited upon by the family, as by the servants. Nothing
can equal the pleasure which they feel to find themselves thus
The scholars are exhorted and encouraged, as. they grow
older, not to frequent balls; and those who keep this wise
resolution continue to assist, after quitting school,in the annual
distributions, and receive at them prizes for perevereace.
The castle is open to them on a holiday, and they are invited to
play, dance, and gather the fruits of its gardens, and abandon
themselves, in the presence of the sisters,to the amusements of
their age. In this manner, and by this sweet and simple in-
fluence, many young girls are preserved from the dangers which
In 1737, the owners of the castle promised regular help to
THE FRENCH LADY BOUNTIFUL
the poor and infirm persons at Leschelle. Convinced that the
power of an act lies in its morality, more than in its material
accomplishment, Madame d'Hervilly applied all her care in
order to find a sure means of obliging the unfortunate without
degrading them. Having known for a long time that giving
alms often degrades the receiver, and encourages idleness, she
usually gave her benefits in the form, or at least in the manner,
of a salary, and always had work for empty hands, and a suitable
occupation for the old and infirm deprived of vigour. The
children of the poor, and the poor themselves, were often
clothed at her expense. She sent them, in severe weather,
frequent and abundant distributions of wood. She often visited
one and another, in order to keep up their courage, and open
her purse to them. She gave orders that she should be apprised,
at any hour of the day or night, when a poor person needed
her aid. Many times, in the cold and darkness, has a woman
been seen to go out of the castle gate, wrapped in a cloak, and-
carrying a lighted lantern in one hand. This was the Countess
of Hervilly, (see engraving), who was about to carry help and
consolation to some woman who was afflicted with some dan-
In time of the dearness of corn and bread, her charities in-
creased. She conceived the idea of sending distributions of
building wood to those poor persons whose houses had been
beaten down by the tempest, and to add to them some money
to pay for the straw for thatching. Those who were burnt out
never claimed her benevolence in vain, and many of them owe
to her the re-establishment of their domestic hearths.
Always animated by that sentiment which is necessary to
elevate man, and give him the consciousness of his strength in
aiding it, she favoured the acquisition of land, and furnished,
at a reasonable price, the materials for construction, in order to
assure a lodging for the needy, and granted them the facility
of borrowing money for some time, and without interest.
Her spirit of justice, and her charitable feelings interfered
between the embarrassed villager and the cupidity of the busi-
THE FRENCH LADY BOUNTIFUL.
ners man, on the point of ruining his victim by a seizure of his
property. She thus-prevented, by an effectual loan, the dis-
astrous effects of'those usurious contracts so frequent in the
country, and preserved to the poor man his paternal roof, with
a portion of the land which maintained his family.
Madame d'Hervilly always had a great number of pensioners,
receiving daily portions in money or bread. She constantly
supported in apprenticeship a great number of poor children
and orphans, in order to provide good trades for them, and
place in their hands the means of helping their parents, or
their adopted families.
Accessible by all, she never made any one wait when she
was asked for, in the conviction she had, that the tia.ofthse
who maintain their families by the sweat of tLhirbP, de-
manded to be more economized than her own. ;
She always knew howto make her fortune a db t iment
of help; in oneway, to the soul, in the othe*era me
of the body, by employing her money in giving l those
who needed it, and by her benefits, herself inspiring the love of
work, the spirit of order, affection for their equals, submission to
duty, and above all, the sentiments of a true and constant piety,
which are the most solid support of a laborious life, the sure
guarantee of morality, and the most efficacious road to happiness.
Her misfortunes had not robbed her of any of the sweet
gaiety of her character. Persuaded that repose was necessary
to mankind as well as joy, in order that his life maybe cheerful
as well as pure and irreproachable, she often thought about, and
devoted much time to the pleasures of the inhabitants of Les-
chelle. She was seldom happier than when she assembled
them together, and saw them laugh at the representations ofthe
castle theatre, occupied several times in the year by her children,
and the members of the family. What sentiments of love and
respect she inspired in the country, may easily be imagined.
Madame d'Hervilly is now no more; but her soul has passed (so
to say) into her family. Her good works, her extended benefits,
have not ceased with her earthly life. Following her example,
her family continue to watch over the moral and physical. wants
of the inhabitants of Leschelle, and the surrounding district;
and her family are still, here below, the visible Providence of
those who suffer and are in need of protection and good
nrr this minister was once reproached
by his sovereign, Philip the Fourth, of
Spain, for not having done for him
what Cardinal Richelieu had done
for his master, Louis XIII, and for
having lost him one kingdom, that of
Portugal, whilst Richelieu had extend-
ed the dominions of Louis, he re-
plied, The Cardinal, Sire, had no scruples." Olivarez, is
one thing at least, imitated the Cardinal. He caused himself
to be styled the Count Duke, because Richelieu had taken the
title of Cardinal Duke. Olivarez seems to have made some
wise regulations for his country. He freed from the charge of
public offices, for four years, all newly-married men, and ex-
empted from taxation all those persons who had six male
children. To increase the population of his country, he had
recourse to one very dangerous and shameful expedient; he
permitted marriages between young people without the consent
of their parents. On being displaced from the post of Prime
Minister, he retired to his estate at Loches, where, according
to Vittorio Siri, he died completely of chagrin and disappoint-
FILIAL PIETY OF HENRIETTA GARDEN.
Iss HENRIETTA GARDEN, born at Parisk lived
there in the Rue de la Vererie, and was
but eight years old when she lost her mo-
ther. Her father left her to the care of
three ladies, old friends of Madame Gar-
den, who could only give her a plain eda-
.cation; and she learned merely to sew
and take care of the house.
At fourteen years of age, she returned to Mr. Garden, and
he placed her at the head of his household. Happy in antici-
pating the slightest wish of her father, she purposed passing all
her life with him; and this intention was so pleasing to her
thoughts that she refused several offers of marriage. Suddenly,
her father tells her that he is abqut to marry a second time.
The news surprised her; but she did not permit herself to make
94 FILIAL PIETY OF HENRIETTA GARDEN.
the least remark upon it. She even smiled on seeing her father
flatter himself with the idea of being happy. The match is
concluded, and Miss Garden is so unfortunate as not to follow
her father to his new wife's house.
She was then twenty years of age, and she took lodgings in
a single room. She was obliged, in order to subsist, to sew
and mend linen; on the most prosperous days she never got
more wages than twenty cents. Her sole happiness consisted
in occasionally visiting her father. It was pasyfor her to see
that her presence was not agreeable to Mr. Garden's wife.
The simplicity of her manners, the meaness of her clothing,
contrasted too strongly with the elegance which reigned in her
father's house. She suffered, without complaining or her step-
mother's proceedings. She did not cease showing the most
lively tenderness to her father, and to a young child, her bro-
ther, the fruit of Mr. Garden's new marriage.
Soon she was enjoined not to pay her visits, except at the
times consecrated by filial piety; and she was even forbidden
to appear, except at the hours when the family were alone,
and to enter by a private staircase, reserved for the domestics.
If her father was sick, it was only with great difficulty that she
could obtain permission to watch by his pillow, and that under
the condition of never naming herself before stranger, and
passing, even before the doctor, for a hired nurse,
Thirty years passed after Mr. Garden's new marriage. For
a time, he resided in the country, and his daughter was ignorant
of the place of his residence, when one day, he presented
himself at her apartment, saying, that his business obliged him
to stay a short time in Paris, and that during his stay, he was
determined to remain at her modest abode. Mr. Garden had lost
his fortune; dissension had separated his family from him; he had
now but one friend in the world--that one was his daughter. She
received him with transport, and quickly gave up her bed to
him. Mr. Garden, from that time until his death, which hap-
pened two years after, did not speak of returning home. His
daughter never asked him the smallest question about the
FILIAL PIETY OF HENRIETTA GARDEN.
reasons for which he separated himself from his ifea and son.
She suffered from a painfuLsickness; bui she still found strength
to serve and take care of her father.
She employed herself in the morning in mending her father's
clothes, and preparing his meals. The peroes for whom she
worked agreed that she should not oeme to her work until
noon; but to make up for lost time, she always stayed in the
evening until eleven o'clock. Her moderate gains could not
suffice for the maintenance of two persons; but with a pious
delicacy, she concealed from her father the extent of her poverty.
She found herself compelled to profit by the goodwill of some
benevolent neighbours, and to contract with them debts, which
at her father's death, amounted to five hundred francs. What
a sum for a poor girl who had nothingbut her own labour to sup-
port her! Her father died in her arms.
Filial piety is a duty; but are there not circu istajAicwhich
give to that which is in fact a simple duty, a sit character
of high virtue? Besides, Miss Garden had othei'latims on
her beneficence wfiich she recognized.
During the time in which she had lived alone, and before she
had the happiness to see her father agair, she welcomed to her
home, Miss Sophia de Vailly, her friend, a working girl like
herself, and like her, poor and without support. After eight
years, Miss de Vailly was attacked with a disease in the chest,
which lasted two years. Miss Garden, although as sick as her
friends passed the nights in watching over the poor consumptive
girl, and the days in working ardently to procure for her'the
comforts her situation claimed, and even in satisfying her
An old man, a relation of Miss de Vailly, succeeded to her
in Miss Garden's affections. She welcomed him in his turn,
supported him by her work, and assisted him in his last moments.
After her father's death, she shared her feeble resources with
a poor widow of seventy, Madame Brosette. Nothing can
be mere touching than the union which exists between these
two poor women. Although Miss Garden was tormented b)
SIR NICHOLAS THIROCKMORTON.
the idea of the debt of five hundred franci, contracted to pro-
vide for her father's last wants, how could she close her door
to this unfortunate Madame Brosette? She worked with all
her might; she imposed upon herself privations which she did
not impose on her companion, in order to pay her debt;
and her most ardent wish was to live until it was paid.
Miss Garden remained entirely a stranger to the design
formed by some charitable persons of rewarding her.virtue.
If she had been consulted, she would never have permitted her
good conduct towards her father to have been published.
SIR NICHOLAS THROCKMORTON
As arraigned for high treason before the Lord
Mayor of London, and some of the principal
nobility and judges of the realm, for being
concerned in Sir Thomas Wyatt's rebellion.
The jury, however, acquitted him, against
the pleasure of the judges, and in spite of their menaces.
They were, however, all imprisoned for this terrible
offence; some of them were fined, and paid five hun-
dred marks apiece, according to Stowe; the rest were
fined smaller sums, and, after their discharge from
confinement, ordered to attend the Council Table at a minute's
In one of the trials about this time, the following occurrence
A person tried for treason, as the jury were about to leave the
bar, requested them to consider a statute which he thought
made very much for him. ccSirrah," cried out oneof the judges,
" I know that statute better than you do." The prisoner coolly
replied, i I make no doubt, Sir, but that you do know it better
than I do; I am only anxious that the jury should know it as
THE ADOPTED CHILD.
DRIVER of what is called a glan coach,
Francis Roger, whose stand has been
f or ten years at the Hotel des Fames,
in Grenelle, St. Honore street, has
always been remarked in his profession
for regular conduct, and irreproachb
able manners. He is married, has four
children, and only has for the support
of.bis family, the daily pay he receives
from the owner of the coach.
In 1829, a woman came to place her young son to board
with him. The first month was paid in advance; but for some
time the mother does not return, and the deserted child remains
at the expense of Roger, whose labour is hardly sufficient for
the nourishment and education of four of his own children; but
he does not hesitate to shelter a fifth. He denies himself the
customary glass of wine with his meals, in order to meet the
THE ADOPTED CHILD.
Two years aftei, the mother of the poor child again re-ap.
pears, but to reclaim the child. They give him up with grief.
They suffer him to depart without exacting the cost of his board;
but when, some days after, the honest conductor goes to ask
after the health of the little Louis,4he wicked mother is con-
fused; she stammers, anAI ans*eys with embarrassment, that in
the evening she had sern her son to the environs of Tours, to
some rich relations, who iad promised to take care o4him.
Roger's tenderness is alarmed; he suspects a falsehood. He
asked at all the public stage coaches, but all the drivers answer
that no such child had started for Tours at the designated time.
Indefatigable in his researches, he at last learns that one had
been left at the doors of the police office; and that from thence
it had been transferred to the Foundling Hospital. He hastens
to this place, and recognizes his poor little foster-child, weak,
suffering, and its life in danger. He reclaims him, but the rules
forbid his being given up, unless the person who receives him
will pay, or give security for two hundred and fifty francs.
What can he do? Roger distracted, consults his family. They
approve his resolution, and on the next day, 14th of September,
1829, the act of adoption is drawn up by Mr. Champion a notary.
To old privations, new ones are now added. The husband
works earlier, the wife later; and at last the two hundred and
fifty fratcs are accumulated. Oh! what a happy day it was
for Roger, when he led back his fifth child to his humble hearth!
The foster-mother, who has the best claims to be called the
mother, presses the child in her arms; her tender care restores
him to health, and after twelve years, in which he has only
good lessons, and above all good examples, his adopted pa-
rents place him as an apprentice to a joiner. Roger is at this
time sixty four years old. If his courage and fortitude remain
always the same, his strength begins to fail; but his old age
will not be deserted. He owes to an institution, composed of
some of the greatest benefactors of humanity, part of the trea-
sure which he worthily enjoys. The academy has granted
Roger a premium of three thousand francs.
N the streets of Vienna, the Emperor
Joseph II., while walking alone, dressed
as a private individual, met a young
girl weeping, and carrying a bundle
under her arm.
S' What is the matter with you?" said
he, affectionately; what are you carry-
ing? Where are you going? Cannot I calm your grief ?"
CC I am carrying the clothes of my unfortunate mother," re-
plied she to the prince, who was unknown to her, cc and I am
going to sell them. It is our last resource," added she, in a
broken voice. < Ah! if my father, who shed his blood so
often for the country, still lived, or if he had obtained the re-
compense due to his services, you would not see me in this