tle than when he has much money; probably because, in the first case, he is desirous of concealing his poverty.

5. I walked towards the top of the street, looking eager ly on both sides, till I came to Market Street, where I met with a child with a loaf of bread. Often had I made my dinner on dry bread. I inquired where he had bought it, and went straight to the baker's shop, which he pointed

out to me.

6. I asked for some biscuits, expecting to find such as we had at Boston; but they made, it seems, none of that sort at Philadelphia. I then asked for a threepenny loaf. They made no loaves of that price.

7. Finding myself ignorant of the prices, as well as of the different kinds of bread, I desired him to let me have threepenny-wrth of bread of some kind or other. He gave me three large rolls. I was surprised at receiving so much: I took them, however, and, having no room in my pockets, I walked on with a roll under each arm, eating a third.

8. In this manner I went through Market Street to Fourth Street, and passed the house of Mr. Read, the father of my future wife. She was standing at the door, observed me, and thought, with reason, that I made a very singular and grotesque appearance.

9. I then turned the corner, and went through Chesnut Street, eating my roll all the way; and, having made this round, I found myself again on Market Street wharf, near the boat in which I arrived.

10. I stepped into it to take a draught of the river water, and, finding myself satisfied with my first roll, I gave the ether two to a woman and her child, who had come down with us in the boat, and was waiting to continue her journey.

11. Thus refreshed, I regained the street, which was now full of well-dressed people, all going the same way. I joined them, and was thus led to a large Quakers' mecting. house near the market place. I sat down with the rest, and, after looking round me for some time, hearing nothing said, and being drowsy from my last night's labor an want of rest, I fell into a sound sleep.

12. In this state I continued till the assembly dispersed, when one of the congregation had the goodness to wake

me.

This was consequently the first house I entered, a in which I slept, at Philadelphia.

LESSON XII.

Passage of the Potomac through the Blue Ridge.
JEFFERSON.

1. THE passage of the Potomac through the Blue Riage is perhaps one of the most stupendous scenes in nature.

2. You stand on a very high point of land. On your right comes up the Shenandoah, having ranged along the foot of the mountain a hundred miles to seek a vent.

3. On your left approaches the Potomac, seeking a passage also. In the moment of their junction, they rush together against the mountain, rend it asunder, and pass off to the sea.

4. The first glance at this scene hurries our senses into the opinion, that this earth has been created in time; that the mountains were formed first; that the rivers began to flow afterwards; that, in this place particularly, they have been dammed up by the Blue Ridge of mountains, and have formed an ocean which filled the whole valley; that, continuing to rise, they have at length broken over at this spot, and have torn the mountain down from its summit to its base.

5. The piles of rock on each hand, but particularly on the Shenandoah, the evident marks of their disrupture and avulsion from their beds by the most powerful agents of nature, corroborate the impression. But the distant finishing, which Nature has given to the picture, is of a very different character. It is a true contrast to the foreground. It is as placid and delightful as that is wild and tremendous.

6. For, the mountain being cloven asunder, she presents to your eye, through the cleft, a small catch of smooth blue horizon, at an infinite distance in the plain country, inviting you, as it were, from the riot and tumult roaring around, to pass through the breach, and participate of the

can below.

7. Here the eye ultimately reposes itself; and that way, too, the road happens actually to lead. You cross

the Potomac above its junction, pass along its side through the base of the mountain for three miles, its terrible precipices hanging in fragments over you, and within about twenty miles reach Fredericktown, and the fine country

round that.

8. This scene is worth a voyage across the Atlantic. Yet, here, as in the neighborhood of the Natural Bridge, are people who have passed their lives within half a dozen miles, and have never been to survey these monuments of a war between rivers and mountains, which must have shaken the earth itself to its centre.

LESSON XIII.

Ingratitude towards the Deity.-Appleton.

1. WITH what feelings do we receive and enjoy favors bestowed by our Creator! Our dependence on him is absolute and universal. Existence is not more truly his gift than are all those objects, which render existence valuable.

2. To his munificence are we indebted for intellectual powers, and the means for their cultivation; for the sustenance daily provided; for the enjoyments derived from the active and varying scenes of the day, and from the rest and tranquility of the night.

3. His gifts are the relations and friends, whom we love, and from whose affection to us so considerable a part of the joy of life is derived. His are the showers which mois ten, and the sun which warms the earth.

4. From him are the pleasures and animation of spring, and the riches of harvest-all that satisfies the appetite, supports or restores the animal system, gratifies the ear. or charms the eye.

5. With what emotions, let it be asked, are all these objects viewed, and these blessings enjoyed? Is it the habit of man to acknowledge God in his works, and to attribute all his pleasures and security of life to the Creator's munificence?

6. Possession and prosperity are enjoyed not as a gift to the undeserving, but as the result of chance or good fortune, or as the merited reward of our own prudence and

effort. Were gratitude a trait in the human character, it would be proportionate to obligation, and where much is received much would be acknowledged.

7. In this the liveliest sense of obligation would be exhib ited among the wealthy, and those whose prosperity had been long and uninterrupted. But do facts correspond to this supposition? Are God, his providence, and bounty, most sensibly and devoutly acknowledged by you, who feel no want, and are tried by no adversity?

8 The truth is, our sense of obligation usually diminishes in proportion to the greatness and duration of bles sings bestowed. A long course of prosperity renders us the inore insensible and irreligious.

9. But on no subject is human ingratitude so remarkably apparent, as in regard to the Christian religion. I speak not of those who reject, but of those who believe Christianity, and who, of course, believe that "God so loved the world, as to give his only begotten Son, that whosoever be. lieveth on him might not perish."

10. Search all the records of every era and nation; look through the works of God so far as they are open to human inspection, and you find nothing which equally displays the riches of divine mercy.

11. The Son of God died to save culprits from merited condeinnation. But is this subject contemplated with interest, with joy, with astonishment? It is viewed with the most frigid indifference or heartfelt reluctance. The hu man mind, far from considering this as a favorite subject, flies from it, when occasionally presented.

LESSON XIV.

Necessity of a pure National Morality.-BEECHER. 1. THE crisis has come. By the people of this generation, by ourselves, probably, the amazing question is to be decided, whether the inheritance of our fathers shall be preserved or thrown away; whether our Sabbaths shall be a delight or a loathing; whether the taverns, on that holy day, shall be crowded with drunkards, or the sanctuary of God with humble worshippers; whether riot and profane

ness shall fill our streets, and poverty our dwellings, and convicts our jails, and violence our land; or whether industry, and temperance, and righteousness, shall be the sta bility of our times; whether mild laws shall receive the cheerful submission of freemen, or the iron rod of a tyrant compel the trembling homage of slaves.

2. Be not deceived. IIuman nature in this state is like human nature every where. All actual difference in our favor is adventitious, and the result of our laws, institutions, and habits. It is a moral influence, which, with the blessing of God, has formed a state of society so eminently desirable. The same influence which formed it is indispensable to its preservation.

3. The rocks and hills of New England will remain till the last conflagration. But let the Sabbath be profaned with impunity, the worship of God be abandoned, the government and religious instruction of children neglected, and the streams of intemperance be permitted to flow, and her glory will depart. The wall of fire will no longer surround her, and the munition of rocks will no longer be her defence.

4. If we neglect our duty, and suffer our laws and insti tutions to go down, we give them up forever. It is easy to relax, easy to retreat; but impossible, when the abomination of desolation has once passed over New England, to rear again the thrown-down altars, and gather again the fragments, and build up the ruins of demolished institutions.

5. Another New England nor we nor our children shall ever see, if this be destroyed. All is lost irretrievably when the landmarks are once removed, and the bands which now hold us are once broken. Such institutions and such a state of society can be established only by such men as our fathers were, and in such circumstances as they were in. They could not have made a New England in Holland; they made the attempt, but failed.

6. The hand that overturns our laws and temples is the hand of death unbarring the gate of Pandemonium, and letting loose upon our land the crimes and miseries of Hell. If the Most High should stand aloof, and cast not a single ingredient into our cup of trembling, it would seem to be full of superlative wo.

7. But he will not stand aloof. As we shall have begun