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10. "The emperor said, 'Rise, rise!' but I would not rise. I still held out my papers, resolved not to rise till he had taken them. At last the emperor who seemed much moved, extended one hand toward me, and took the papers with the other, saying, 'Rise, Mademoiselle! I command you to rise.' I ventured to kiss his hand, and said with tears, I pray your Majesty to read that paper.' He said, 'I will read it.' I then arose and stood watching him, while he unfolded the petition and read it. His countenance changed, and he exclaimed once or twice, 'Is it possible! This is dreadful!'"

11. "When he had finished, he folded the paper, and immediately said, Mademoiselle Ambos, your brother is pardoned. The words rang in my ears, and I again flung myself at his feet, exclaiming, 'Do you indeed pardon my brother? Your ministers would never suffer me to approach you; and even yet I fear!' He said, Fear nothing; you have my promise.' He then raised me up and conducted me himself to the door. I tried to thank and bless him, but could not. He held out his hand to me to kiss, and then bowed his head as I left the room."

LESSON XXXIX.

THE EXILE AND HIS SISTER,

CONCLUDED.

1. "Just five days after I had seen the emperor," continued my young heroine, “a packet was put into my hands, containing the pardon of my brother, with the emperor's seal and signature. Then I forgot every thing but joy!"— Those mean officials who had before spurned her, now pressed upon her with offers to expedite the pardon to Siberia, in order to save her trouble; but she would not suffer the precious paper out of her hands; she determined

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to carry it herself, to be herself the bearer of glad tidings. So she immediately set off for Moscow, where she arrived in three days.

2. She told me, that after leaving Moscow she traveled by post, alone and wholly unprotected, and suffered much from hunger. She described, with great truth and eloquence, her own sensations, as she was whirled rapidly over those wide, silent, solitary, and apparently endless plains. Her journey was horrible in the highest degree, and, indeed, even the recollection of it made her shudder; but, at the time, there was the anticipation of unspeakable happiness, which made all fatigues light, and all dangers indifferent.

3. At length, in the beginning of August, she arrived at the end of her journey, and was courteously received by the commander of the fortress. She presented the pardon with a hand which trembled with impatience and joy too great to be restrained, almost to be borne. The officer looked very grave, and took, as she thought, a long time to read the paper, which consisted only of six or eight lines. At last he stammered out,-"I am sorry; but the Henri Ambos mentioned in this paper is dead!" Poor, bereaved one! she fell to the earth!

4. When she reached this part of her story, she burst into a fresh flood of tears, and, with an accent of despair and overwhelming grief, exclaimed," What a horrible fate was mine! I had come thus far to find, not my brother, only a grave!"-- The unfortunate man had died a year before. I have not much more to tell. She obtained some papers and letters which her unhappy brother had left, and with these she returned, half broken-hearted, to St. Petersburgh. If her former journey, when hope cheered her on the way, had been so fearful, what must have been her return! I was not surprised to hear, that on her arri val, she was seized with a dangerous illness, and was for many weeks confined to her bed.

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1. The influence of the female character is now felt and acknowledged in all the relations of life. I speak not now of those distinguished women, who instruct their age through the public press; nor of those, whose devout strains we take upon our lips when we worship, but of a much larger class of those, whose influence is felt in the relations of neighbor, friend, daughter, wife, mother.

2. Who waits at the couch of the sick, to administer tender charities while life lingers, or to perform the last acts of kindness when death comes? Where shall we look for those examples of friendship, that most adorn our nature? those abiding friendships, which trust even when betrayed, and survive all changes of fortune? Where shall we find the brightest illustrations of filial piety? Have you ever seen a daughter, herself, perhaps, timid and helpless, watching the decline of an aged parent, and holding out with heroic fortitude, to anticipate his wishes, to administer to his wants, and to sustain his tottering steps to the very borders of the grave?

3. But in no relation does woman exercise so deep an influence, both immediately and prospectively, as in that of mother. To her is committed the immortal treasure of the infant mind. Upon her devolves the care of the first stages of that course of discipline, which is to form, of a being perhaps the most frail and helpless in the world, the fearless ruler of animated creation, and the devout adorer of its great Creator.

4. Her smiles call into exercise the first affections that spring up in our hearts. She cherishes and expands the earliest germs of our intellects. She breathes over us her deepest devotions. She lifts our little hands, and teaches our little tongues to lisp in prayer. She watches over us

like a guardian angel, and protects us through all our helpless years, when we know not of her cares, and her anxieties on our account. She follows us into the world of men, and lives in us, and blesses us, when she lives not otherwise upon the earth.

5. What constitutes the center of every home? Whither do our thoughts turn, when our feet are weary with wandering, and our hearts sick with disappointment? Where shall the truant and forgetful husband go for sympathy, unalloyed and without design, but to the bosom of her, who is ever ready and waiting to share in his adversity or his prosperity? and if there be a tribunal, where the sins and the follies of a froward child may hope for pardon and forgiveness this side heaven, that tribunal is the heart of a fond and devoted mother.

6. Finally, her influence is felt deeply in religion. "If Christianity should be compelled to flee from the mansions of the great, the academies of philosophers, the halls of legislators, or the throng of busy men, we should find her last and purest retreat with woman at the fireside; her last altar would be the female heart; her last audience would be the children gathered round the knees of the mother; her last sacrifice, the secret prayer escaping in silence from her lips, and heard, perhaps, only at the throne of God."

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LESSON XLI

THE DESERTED VILLAGE. GOLDSMITH. *

Sweet Auburn! loveliest village of the plain,

Where health and plenty cheered the laboring swain,

Gold'smith, (Oliver,) was born in Ireland in 1731, and died in 1774. He trav eled extensively, and was an excellent writer.

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Where smiling spring its earliest visit paid,
And parting summer's lingering blooms delayed:
Dear, lovely bowers of innocence and ease,

Seats of my youth, when every sport could please,
How often have I loitered o'er thy green,
Where humble happiness endeared each scene!
How often have I paused on every charm,

The sheltered cot, the cultivated farm,
The never-failing brook, the busy mill,

The decent church that topped the neighboring hill,
The hawthorn bush, with seats beneath the shade,
For talking age, and whispering lovers made!

How often have I blessed the coming day,
When toil remitting lent its aid to play,

And all the village train, from labor free,
Led up their sports beneath the spreading tree !
While many a pastime circled in the shade,
The young, contending, as the old surveyed;
And many a gambol frolicked o'er the ground,
And sleights of art and feats of strength went round!

Sweet, smiling village, loveliest of the lawn,

Thy sports are fled, and all thy charms withdrawn ;
Amid thy bowers, the tyrant's hand is seen,
And desolation saddens all thy green:
No more thy glassy brook reflects the day,
But, choked with sedges, works its weedy way;
Along thy glades, a solitary guest,

The hollow-sounding bittern guards its nest.

Ill fares the land, to hastening ills a prey,
Where wealth accumulates, and men decay;
Princes and lords may flourish, or may fade;
A breath can make them, as a breath has made:

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