fication of his prince. "Hold!” cried the emperor; "to our brother of Persia say, that, yesterday, our foragers returned and bore with them the persons of six officers, captured while distant from the camp. Say to him more: these we present our brother, as the first pledge of peace. The vizier bowed and replied, "What comes from your most gracious majesty, is hallowed by the giver. I take them, and, from you, I know my lord will value them; yet hardly can I hold them of great rank, since, even till now, their loss was unknown to me." At these words, the captive monarch and his train were led in and delivered to the vizier; who, with a frowning aspect, turned and rebuked them for their temerity in wandering from the camp. Return," said he, "and know the duty better which, at such cost, you have learned." Returned triumphant in his scheme, the grand vizier was commanded to annul the truce by his ingenuity first obtained, and the Greek was left as best he could to recover from the mortification of his slighted friendship. Stung by this apparent contempt, the emperor, under all the disadvantages of crossing the river, resolved to venture a battle; and, accordingly, putting into motion his immense host, no sooner was the vanguard on the Persian side, than a most furious action commenced, in which the Greeks were partially routed, and the emperor, who had fought in the first rank, led captive into the tent of the victorious Shah. If the Persian started at beholding now in his possession, one who, but two days before, had been his arbiter of life and death, what was the Greek's astonishment to behold in his conqueror-to see surrounded by power, and splendor, and pomp, his slave, as it were, of yesterday. But, resolving to be, "Even in fate's despite, a king," and, feeling how much more his dignity required in his fallen state than when in power, a despot, he raised his brow severely, and addressed the conqueror. "King of Persia, I know not to disguise my rank, and shame to hide my title; I am the emperor of the Greeks. Art thou indeed a monarch? I ask of thee deliverance from these bonds! Art thou a merchant? then say the price you will, and sell a king. Art thou a butcher? lead me to the slaughter! A slight frown once crossed the dark brow of Melek, but it passed. 'If," said he, the king of Persia has not yet been a monarch in thine eyes, this day shall crown him one;-go, my brother king, thy soldiers wait thee, enough, even yet, if fortune be with thee, to shake this throne; go to thy camp-there will we treat of peace." 66 The Autumn Evening. Behold the western evening light! It melts in evening gloom; The winds breathe low; the withering leaf How beautiful on all the hills The crimson light is shed! "T is like the peace the Christian gives How mildly on the wandering cloud The sunset beam is cast! 'T is like the memory left behind And above the dews of night So faith springs in the hearts of those But soon the morning's happier light And eyelids that are sealed in death LESSON ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTIETH. Public Duty and Private Friendship. When Cleon came into the administration of public affairs at Athens, he assembled all his friends, and declared to them, that, from that moment, he renounced their friendship, lest it should prove an obstacle to him in the discharge of his duty, and induce him to act with partiality and injustice. As Plutarch, however, very fairly observes, it was not his friends, but his passions, which he ought to have renounced. An anecdote is told of a patriot of modern times, the great Washington, which exhibits, in a much finer light, the distinction between public duty and private friendship. During his administration as president of the United States, a gentleman, the friend and companion of the general throughout the whole course of the revolutionary war, applied for a lucrative and very responsible office. The gentleman was at all times welcome to Washington's table; he had been to a certain degree, necessary to the domestic repose of a man who had for seven years fought the battles of his country, and who had now undertaken the task of wielding her political energies. At all times, and in all places, Washington regarded his revolutionary associate with an eye of evident partiality and kindness. He was a jovial, pleasant, and unobtrusive companion. In applying for the office, it was, accordingly, in the full confidence of success; and his friends already cheered him on the prospect of his arrival at competency and ease. The opponent of this gentleman was known to be decidedly hostile to the politics of Washington; he had even made himself conspicuous among the ranks of the opposition. He had, however, the temerity to stand as candidate for the office to which the friend and the favorite of Washington aspired. He had nothing to urge in favor of his pretensions, but strong integrity, promptitude and fidelity in business, and every quality which, if called into exercise, would render service to the state. Every one considered the application of this man hopeless; no glittering testimonial of merit had he to present to the eye of Washington; he was known to be his political enemy; he was opposed by a favorite of the general's; and yet, with such fearful odds, he dared to stand candidate. What was the result? The enemy of Washington was appointed to the office, and his table companion was left destitute and dejected. A mutual friend, who interested himself in the affair, ventured to remonstrate with the president on the injustice of his appointment. "My friend," said he, "I receive with cordial welcome; he is welcome to my house, and welcome to my heart; but, with all his good qualities, he is not a man of business. His opponent is, with all his political hostility to me, a man of business; my private feelings have nothing to do in this case. I am not George Washington, but president of the United States; as George Washington, I would do this man any kindness in my power; but, as president of the United States, I can do nothing." LESSON ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTY-FIRST. The Fountain of Siloam. By cool Siloam's shady fountain, How sweet the lily grows! How sweet the breath, on yonder mountain, Lo! such the child whose young devotion By cool Siloam's shady fountain, The lily must decay; The rose that blooms on yonder mountain A little while the bitter morrow Of man's maturer age Will shake the soul with cankering sorrow, O thou! whose every year, untainted, Preserve the flowers thy grace has planted, LESSON ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTY-SECOND. Bankrupt Family made Happy. A merchant of Bourdeaux, who had carried on trade, with equal honor and propriety, till he was turned of fifty years of age, was, by a series of unexpected and unavoidable losses, at length unable to |