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tation to hazard the public good for the benefit and gratification of a friend-must have been powerful. Some might have persuaded themselves that the public weal would not suffer; at least, they would have been willing to make the experiment. But Washington seems to have proceeded in this instance, and in what similar instance. did he not proceed, upon just and conscientious principles? His friend, with all his estimable qualities, had no business tact; his enemy was a gentleman of strong integ rity, promptitude, and fidelity in business, and every quality, which, if called into exercise, would render service to the state. The decision of Washington, therefore, was just, honorable, and patriotic.

But whence this admirable, I may say almost singular integrity? Was Washington an exception to the infirmities of our nature? Or was his piety of a higher order, and more efficient in its influence? The first is inadmissible the latter, improbable. But the true explanation of his sterling integrity is to be found, I think, in that happy and efficient maternal influence, which it is well known, was exercised upon him in his early days. On the death of his father, which occurred when he was only ten years old, the charge of his education devolved upon his mother. All accounts concur in the admission that she was an extraordinary woman-possessing not only rare intellectual endowments, but those moral qualities which give elevation, worth, and dignity to the soul. These lessons she was particularly anxious to engraft upon the heart of a beloved son, and with what success, the history of his life displays.

The particular process by which she accomplished so happy a design, it is not in my power at this time to describe; but a story occurs to my recollection, which may serve to show the adroit and admirable manner in which she proceeded on a certain occasion.

In the ample pasture belonging to her plantation, was a colt, which, on account of his beauty and high promise, she valued very much. Although of sufficient age to be used, it had never been mounted; no one seemed disposed to attempt to break its wild and vicious spirit. One day, George proposed some of his companions to assist him at a future time to secure the colt, until he could mount,

and he would curb his proud spirit. Accordingly, soon after sunrise, one morning, the youthful band assembled, and having drove the animal into an enclosure, succeeded, with no small difficulty however, in bridling him. In a moment, George sprung upon his back, and the next moment the surprised, wild, maddened creature bounded forth into the open field-rearing, running, plunging; but George grinding his teeth and clinching fast the bridle and the mane, held his seat firmly, as much determined to subdue, as the colt was determined not to be subdued. The struggle was mutually desperate; and as the companions of George looked on, their terror and amazement increased with every passing moment. At length, the colt obtained the advantage, and bounding forward with the speed of an arrow, made a mis-step, and in his fall broke a blood-vessel, and died on the spot.

George came down unhurt, but when he beheld the gasping of the noble animal, and thought of his mother's regard for it, he was troubled. His companions hurried to the spot, and joining in the regrets of George, anxiously inquired, "what will your mother say--who can tell her?"

At this moment they were summoned to breakfast. When seated at the table, Mrs. Washington said, "well young gentleman, have you seen my fine sorrel colt in your ramble this morning?" The question was natural -but what a question it was? No answer was returned -and it was repeated. Upon this, George, with perfect frankness, replied, "Mother, your sorrel colt is dead." This was followed by an exact account of the whole affair. As the youthful and agitated narrator passed along in his story, a flush of displeasure was scen rising upon her cheek; but it soon passed away, and she kindly and calmly said, "while I regret the loss of my favorite, 1 rejoice in my son, who always speaks the truth.”

I scarcely know in what terms to express my admira tion of the woman, or of the manner in which she treated this delicate and difficult case. George was greatly in fault, and her rebuke was appropriate and commensurate; -he frankly confessed the whole wrong, and she expressed her high sense of his regard to truth. That speech,. short as it was, I dare say, told upon his heart-drew his

mother nearer to his bosom, and taught him more effectually and more lastingly the importance and value of truth and integrity, than a volume of lecturing would have done.

It was by such means that this part of the character of Washington was formed. Under the tutelage of such a mother, the foundation of a character was laid, which was the admiration of the generation that was contemporary with him; which has lost nothing of its glory to the present time--and will lose nothing, as long as his memory

shall last.

Integrity of character! this is what we want in the magistracy of the land-in the senate chamber-in the pulpit in the neighborhood-in the family- every where. What a world this would be, were every one upright a lover of truth, justice, and equity! What a world it is, because these are so seldom found!

Here then is ample scope for parental toil and watchfulness, for parental energy and wisdom. "Train up a child in the way he should go, and when he is old he will not depart from it," was verified in Washington: it may be verified in respect to others-in respect, mothers, to those little immortals whom you now press to your bosoms, and whom you love better than your own souls. So train them, that you may send them forth having on the breast-plate of truth; and in so doing you may accomplish more good for your country, than if you could convert her rocks and her mountains into gold. The man of integrity is like the pure and refreshing air of morn on the mountain's top-the dishonest mind, like the exhalations of the low and pestiferous pool: the one, invigorating as the pure and balmy breeze of the North -the other, withering as the Nubian blast.

The Sabbath and the House of Prayer.

How great is the mercy of God in providing these houses of prayer, where two or three may meet together in his name, and find their gracious Lord in the midst of them, saluting them, as in the days of his flesh, with his accustomed benediction, Peace be unto you. What a relief is it to come into these hallowed walls, out of the

strife and turmoil of the world, and commit ou cause, and our hopes, and our fears, to the care of God! What a comfort to leave behind us, for a brief interval, all the conflicting interests and the entangled devices of this perishable life, and to raise our thoughts to that happier time, when brother shall no longer strive with brother; when men shall be all of one mind in one house; when none shall hunger or thirst, neither shall the heat nor sun smite them by day, nor the cold by night! What a miserable scene of incessant struggle and worldliness would this land be without its Sabbath, and its house of prayer! Abused as are the blessings by so many, despised and trodden under foot, and desecrated, as are too often the holy things of this house, and of the Lord's own day, they yet shed a light and a religious cheerfulness over this world's scene, even in our imperfect observance of their duties, which those who value Christian privileges, value as the bread of life, and the best sustenance of the soul. They are the salt of our land; they keep alive the fire of religious feeling in the altar of the heart; they give a respite from earthly cares, and open a glimpse of heaven to our sight; they speak, as it were, a perpetual protest against vice and infidelity; they set up a standard for the gospel; they oppose a temporary check to the foes of the soul; they remind man that there is no peace or spiritual prosperity, but through reconciliation with God, and in communion with him.

Reminiscences of Dr. Payson.

THE following illustration was used in familiar conversation with a friend :-" God deals somewhat with us as we do with our children. When I am in my study, engaged in writing or meditation, if I hear one of my children cry, I do not go to it immediately. The occasion of its tears may be a mere momentary trouble, capable of being removed by others, or from which it may be diverted by some toy. But if its cries continue, and I find that nothing but my presence will pacify it, I leave every thing and go to it. So when the children of God begin to cry for his presence, he does not answer then.

immediately, but waits to see whether the cry is repeated; and if he finds that his child will be satisfied with nothing but his father's presence, this blessing will not long be withheld."

During his last illness, a friend coming into his room, remarked, familiarly, "Well, I am sorry to see you lying here on your back."

"Do you not know what God puts us on our backs for?" said Dr. P., smiling.

"No," was the answer.

"In order that we may look upward."

His friend said to him, "I am not come to condole, but to rejoice with you; for it seems to me that this is no time for mourning.

"Well, I am glad to hear that," was the reply; "for it is not often that I am addressed in such a way. The fact is, I never had less need of condolence, and yet every body persists in offering it; whereas, when I was prosperous and well, and a successful preacher, and really needed condolence, they flattered and congratulated me."

Gone, but not Lost.

JUST above the Highlands, the Hudson is widened into what is called Newburgh Bay; it is a beautiful expanse of water resting against the hills, as if it had gathered itself up for strength, before it burst away through the mountain barriers into the sea. On the eastern shore, as it slopes towards the bay, is a church and church-yard, as delightfully planted for prospect, as any on the banks of this river. It was in this grave-yard that I first met, on a tomb-stone, the inscription that stands at the head of these lines, and the scene and the associations render the mention of the circumstance suitable.

"Gone, but not lost." It was the tribute of affection and faith. It expressed in simple, but graphic words, the sad truth that one was gone; and also the sublime assurance that the departed was not lost.

Was it a fact? 1 confess it startled me at first. A few months since, and the one whose grave I was standing by, had lived and moved, and filled, perhaps, no little

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