Eliza. I promised Sarah Lee, that I would call for her to go and see widow Harris, who is quite ill; and Sarah's mother told her she would send some nice things to her, if she would carry them. I suppose Sarah will go without me, and Mrs. Harris will have the things; and my going will make no difference, you know.

Mother. Make no difference! did you not say you promised to go? and do you make thus light of your promises? Eliza. No, mother, I should not, if it was of any consequence; but I do not see what good I shall do by going.

Mother. A promise is a promise, and, as such, is of the first consequence, and to be kept, because you have made it; this is the first and best reason for keeping a promise You say it will make no difference; it will make a differ ence; and perhaps a great one. In the first place, Sarah may, and probably will, wait for you, perhaps until it is too late to go; and her mother may not like to have her go alone at all. Then poor Mrs. Harris may suffer for the want of the comforting things which Mrs. Lee is so kind as to provide for her. Then your kind. friend Sarah will lose confidence in you, and not know what to expect or depend upon another time. But the most important thing of all, my dear, is, that you will get, and by repeated indul gence strengthen, the habit of not keeping your promises; and you will certainly allow that this would be a very bad habit, and would be attended with many unpleasant con

sequences.

Eliza. Yes, mother; but I would keep my promises when they are of consequence; and break them only when it is of no consequence.

Mother. You cannot always tell when it is of no conse quence: you may sometimes think it of no consequence to keep your promise, when the person to whom you have made it thinks differently. The only right way, and therefore the only safe and happy way, is to make only such promises, as you intend fully to keep.

Eliza. Sometimes I have made promises which I could not keep, and at others, promises, which, I think, even you would have thought proper to break. Suppose I had engaged the same thing to two persons, for the same time; how could I keep both my promises? Or suppose I had engaged to walk with some one, and it should rain violent

ly, at the time appointed to go; would you not think it proper for me to stay at home?

Mother. Certainly I should; but in this case, the rain is an unexpected circumstance, and one which would have prevented your making the engagement, if you had known beforehand that it would happen; it is not like your disposition, something over which you have control, but is entirely out of your power, and is the very circumstance which renders it equally desirable both for you and your companion, that you should stay at home. It is your disposition, that which is in your power, that I would have you control; and not allow yourself, from any weariness, caprice of feeling, or fear of the cold, to suppose a promise may be broken with impunity; for in this case, you offend against truth, you deceive your friend, and injure yourself, by the indulgence of a bad habit. With regard to your first supposition, you must yourself undoubtedly see the fallacy.

Eliza. You will say, I suppose, that I should not make two such inconsistent promises; but sometimes I cannot well help it without giving offence.

Mother. And do you think to lessen your offence, by promising what you cannot, and in fact do not mean to perform? I know this is a common fault in young ladies, and I hope never to be so unhappy, as to see it_taking_root and gaining strength in your character; for I consider it not only mean and disgusting, but sinful. There is a discased desire of pleasing, which very often leads young people astray from the path of truth and plain dealing; and this desire is very different from the laudable and salutary desire of approbation on account of good actions and vir

tuous exertions.

I have known people, who had this contemptible fear of giving offence, to such a degree, that they were hardly ever heard to say no, and seldom known to perform yes; consequently, no one trusted them,-every one knew that they were in the habit of promising more than they could perform. They gained nothing but constant uneasiness, and apprehension, lest they should be unpopular, and in the end, the distrust and contempt of all who knew them. Far different from this may be the character of my daughter! Never make any promises which you do not intend to keep, or which you do not think it probable you shall be able to keep.

There are many people who would start, if you were to tell them that they were destitute of principle, who yet, in their daily conversation and conduct, exhibit the most unprincipled selfishness. They promise all kinds of things, knowing at the same time they shall never execute them; they flatter that they may be flattered in their turn; and you might, without exaggeration, say that their whole life was a system of cheating.

On such we can have no dependence; we cannot love them, nor can we take any pleasure in their company.They are nuisances rather than ornaments to society; they live for themselves alone, while they are pretending to live for others; and if they have any influence in the world, it is a bad one.

Preserve, my dear, singleness and purity of heart. Be simple in your intentions. Avoid stratagems; in your promises, particularly, adhere to the right line of intending and keeping them in the sense in which you know they are understood by others. Be what you are capable of being in heart and character. You will then gratify the dearest wish, and receive the most ardent blessing, of an affectionate mother.

seen.

LESSON XVI.

The Peaches.

1. A COUNTRYMAN, returning from the town, carried home with him five peaches, the most beautiful ones that could be The children had never seen any fruit of the kind before, and therefore they wondered and rejoiced very much over the beautiful fruit, with their rosy cheeks all covered over with delicate down.

2. Each of the four boys got one, and the fifth was given to the mother for her share. At bed-time, as the children were about going to their chamber, the father said, "Well, boys, how did you like the pretty peaches?" Oh, delight ful," said the oldest boy; "so savory and sweet! I ate mine, and have taken good care to keep the stone, and in tend to raise a tree of my own." "Well done," replied the father; "that looks like a householder-take care of the future; that is like a farmer."

3. "I've eaten mine too," said the youngest boy," but threw away the stone, and mother gave me half of hers.

Oh, how sweet!—it almost melts in my mouth!” "Now, indeed," observed the father, "I can't say much for thy prudence; but never mind; it was natural and child-like, as might have been expected; and as for prudence, there is room enough for that in a lifetime.”

4. Then began the second son: "I got the stone that little brother threw away, and cracked it, and in it was a kernel-so sweet-like a nut! But I sold the peach, though; and see, I have got money enough to buy me a dozen of them when you take me to town." Here the old man shook his head. "Prudence," said he, "is very well in its place, but it was not very child-like or natural. Beware, my son, lest you should turn merchant."

5. "And you, Edmund?" asked the father. Quietly and openly answered the boy, "I gave my peach, sir, to our neighbor's son, poor, sick George, he that has got the fever. He refused to take it, but I laid it on his bed and came away." "There, now," cried the father, "who has made the best use of his peach ?—has not Edmund?" "Oh, yes, Edmund, to be sure," said all the three boys together. But Edmund said not a word-he was hushed-but his mother embraced him with tears in her eyes.

LESSON XVII.

Honesty the best Policy.

1. A FARMER called on Earl Fitzwilliam to represent that his crop of wheat had been seriously injured in a field adjoining a certain wood, where his hounds had, during the winter, frequently met to hunt. He stated that the young wheat had been so cut up and destroyed, that in some parts he could not hope for any produce.

2. " Well, my friend," said his lordship, "I am aware that we have frequently met in that field, and that we have done considerable injury; and, if you can procure an estimate of the loss you have sustained, I will repay you."

3. The farmer replied, that, anticipating his lordship's consideration and kindness, he had requested a friend to assist him in estimating the damage; and they thought, that, as the crop seemed quite destroyed, fifty dollars would not more than repay him. The earl immediately gave him the money.

4. As the harvest, however, approached, the wheat grew; and in those parts of the field that were trampled, the corn was the strongest and most luxuriant. The farmer went again to his lordship, and, being introduced, said, "I am come, my lord, respecting the field of wheat adjoining such a wood." He instantly recollected the circum

stances.

5. " 'Well, my friend, did I not allow you sufficient to remunerate you for your loss?" Yes, my lord; I have found that I have sustained no loss at all; for where the horses had most cut up the land, the crop is most promising, and I have, therefore, brought the fifty dollars back again." "Ah!" exclaimed the venerable earl, "this is what I like; that is what ought to be, between man and man.'

6. He then entered into conversation with the farmer, asking him some questions about his family-how many children he had, &c. His lordship then went into another room, and, returning, presented the farmer a check for one hundred dollars. "Take care of this, and when your eldest son is of age, present it to him, and tell the occasion that produced it."

7. We know not what most to admire, the benevolence or the wisdom displayed by this illustrious man; for, while doing a noble act of generosity, he was handing down a lesson of integrity to another generation.

LESSON XVIII.
Important Law Case.

EDWIN versus AUGUSTUS.

1. ON Tuesday afternoon, the 23d of May, suit was brought before the Supreme Court of the Chauncey Institute by Edwin against Augustus, to recover a cap belonging to the plaintiff, said to have been mischievously taken and concealed by the defendant.

2. Witnesses were produced on the part of the prosecu tion, to prove that Augustus had knocked the cap from the head of the complainant, and had refused to pick it up again, whereby the latter had been put to the necessity of going home without it, rather than endure the mortification of picking it up. In defence it was shown, that the plain