on this subject. One of them said that half the crimes in this country proceeded from intemperance. This man seemed to be vexed that such things should be allowed. He said there were thousands of beings, human brutes, he called them, who would stay half the night at a tippling house, with a company of idle spendthrifts, and lay out their last shilling for drams, when their poor children at home, had not bread to eat. "Is there no way, 'ma," said Jack, "that the Mayor of the city, or the Judges, or the Governor of the state could contrive to prevent so many people from getting drunk?"

His mother said that drunkenness was indeed a degrading and alarming evil, in this country; but that many good people were now earnestly engaged in efforts to stop its progress; that much had been done already, and that the hope was, the evil would be growing less from year to year, till few or none should give themselves up to this vulgar and ruinous vice, and be guilty of such a sin against God, their Maker, and Benefactor.

LESSON 13.

The Man with one bad Habit

Mr. Upton, of Cambridge, was the son of a poor, industrious shoemaker. He learned his father's trade, and being prudent and steady, he was soon in the way of making a comfortable little property. He married a worthy young woman, who always managed to make their own neat fire-side the pleasantest place in the whole world to her hard-working husband. The floor was always nicely sanded, the hearth swept clean, and a plentiful kettle of warm broth or soup was always provided for his return.

Things were in this state at the commencement of the revolutionary war. Then Mr. Upton felt it his duty to join the army. It was, no doubt, a sad trial to the honest man to leave the place, where he had spent so many happy hours; but his wife and children must be defended, so he buckled on his sword, and without shedding a tear, he hurried to the camp.

His courage and good conduct were soon noticed by the officers, and he was made one of Washington's life-guard. Like every one else, who knew that great and good man, he soon loved him with unbounded attachment and respect. While the General had his head quarters at Cambridge, it was frequently necessary for detachments of the army to make excursions into the neighbouring

towns.

On one of these occasions, Washington and his life-guard were pursued by a company of British soldiers. They retired as rapidly as possible, but the English being close upon their rear, they were often obliged to turn and fight. In the midst of the retreat, an Englishman had just raised his sword above the head of the General, when Mr. Upton sprang forward and placed his body between him and the commander. The uplifted weapon descended upon his thigh, and crippled him for life.

After they had safely effected their return to the American barracks, Washington called to inquire concerning the man, who had so generously preserved his life at the risk of his own. "Thanks be to God, my General, that your life, is saved," exclaimed the wounded soldier ; "America could lose such a man as I am, but what could she do without your Honor ?"

His wound disabled him for battle, but he continued to perform various services to his country until the close of the war. After seeing his coun

try in the possession of peace and freedom, he returned to his home. True, it was now almost desolated and comfortless. No one had been left to cultivate his small farm, and what little stock he possessed had been killed for the use of the army. America was then too poor to pay their soldiers for what they had lost and suffered; and Mr. Upton was obliged to contend with poverty as he could.

His hard-earned bread, however, was sweetened by the respect which was everywhere paid to him. When he swung his axe over his shoulder, and went forth to labor in the woods, he was always welcomed with smiling looks and a cordial shake of the hands from his companions; and the older boys would often call out to their little brothers, "Off with your hat, Joe, and make a bow,-for there is the man who saved the life of General Washington."

The poor soldiers of the revolution had but few of those comforts, which now make our fire-sides so cheerful; but when the long winter evenings came on, dearly did they love to fight their battles over again, and often would they say to Mr. Upton, "The loss of your limb in such a cause, neighbour, is a greater honor to you, than if you had king George's crown upon your head."

The tears would sometimes trickle down his cheeks, as he replied, "The Lord make us thankful that it saved his Honor's life. It is little we should have done against all Burgoyne's troops, if his wisdom had not been at the helm. I am thinking, friends, that I could depart in peace, if I could once more look George Washington in the face, and say, 'God bless your Honor.'"

Now, my young readers, this was in 1784, which you all ought to remember was the year after Great Britain acknowledged the independence of America,—and can you believe that only four years after, when General Washington desired an interview

with Mr. Upton, he was ashamed to grant it? Yes! the man, whose bravery saved his general; whose integrity won the respect of his neighbours; whose industry had procured a comfortable home; and whose kindness had ensured him an affectionate family, gave way to the sin of intemperance.

Once his little ones used to run out eagerly to kiss his healthy good-humored countenance; but now he had become so cross and troublesome that children were afraid of him. His firm, bold step had become weak and trembling with intoxication; and his round, handsome face was now red and bloated.

When Washington visited New England, he sent a servant to request a visit from his old preserver. The wretched man heard the summons, and wept aloud. "Heaven knows," said he, "that in my best days, I would have walked from here to Mississippi, for the honor which Washington now pays me. But I cannot-I cannot carry this shameful face into his presence. Tell General Washington that my love and gratitude will always follow him. Tell him that none but the good have a right to look upon his blessed countenance, and Mr. Upton is no longer among that number."

If ever my young friends should be tempted to persevere in one thing, which they know to be wrong, let them remember, that one bad habit changed Mr. Upton from a brave soldier and a respected citizen, into a worthless and neglected sot; procured for him the contempt of those who once esteemed him; the fear and distrust of his family; the sorrowful disapprobation of his general; and finally broke his heart with shame and remorse.

LESSON 14.

Wonderful Discoveries by the Microscope.

"What book is that," said Rosamond to Laura, " which you have just taken from its shelf?"

"It is the Copperplates of Dr. Hook's wonderful discoveries by the Microscope, reprinted and fully explained," said Laura.

"Ha! fully explained! I am glad of that, particularly if it is true," said Rosamond. "Now for the pictures-prints they are here is the print. of the sort of fly you were looking at just nowa blue-bottle fly."

"But, my dear Laura, this cannot be meant for the picture of a fly, or print of a fly-for it is almost as large as a bird, as a robin-look, moth

er !"

"The fly was magnified, that is, made to look large by the magnifying glasses in the microscope, in which it was seen," said her mother.

"But ma'am, you have a magnifying glass, now I recollect-will you lend it to me for one minute?" Her mother unlocked her writing desk, lent Rosamond a magnifying glass, and she immediately ran to the window and caught a fly.

"It wont stand still, ma'am for me to look at him there, now he is quite still-his wing! I see all the parts of it so plainly; and it is like thin gauze, or like the skeleton of a leaf, which I saw yesterday on the walk ;-and his head and eyesOh! I saw his eyes.-But his head looks only about three times as large as his real head-and the whole fly, now I see it all together, seems only about three times as large as it is in realitynothing like the size of the fly there in the bookI am afraid the man, who wrote that book did not tell the truth, Laura,-what do you think, mother? What can be the reason, that I do not see this fly,