tion to the lesser duties of behaviour; and that, under the notion of freedom, it may excuse a careless, or even a rough demeanour. On the contrary, an intimate connexion can only be perpetuated by a constant endeavour to be pleasing and agreeable. The same behaviour which procures friendship, is absolutely necessary to the preservation of it. Let no harshness, no appearance of neglect, no supercilious affectation of superiority, be encouraged in the intercourse of friends. A tart reply, a proneness to rebuke, a captious and contradictory spirit, are often known to embitter domestic life, and to set friends at variance; it is only by continuing courtesy, and urbanity of behaviour, that we long preserve the comforts of friendship.

You must often have observed, that nothing is so strong a recommendation, on a slight acquaintance, as politeness; nor does it lose its value by time or intimacy, when preserved, as it ought to be, in the nearest connexions and strictest friendships.

In general, propriety of behaviour must be the fruit of instruction, of observation, and reasoning; and it is to be cultivated and improved, like any other branch of knowledge or virtue. Particular modes and ceremonies of behaviour vary in different places. These can only be learned by observation on the manners of those who are best skilled in them. But the principles of politeness are the same in all places. Wherever there are human beings, it must be impolitic to hurt the temper or pain the feelings of those you converse with. By raising people up, instead of mortifying and depressing them, we make ourselves so many friends, in place of enemies.-Mrs. Chapone.

DECEIVING PARENTS.

LOUISA MORTON, and her young companion, Ellen Sturgess, were returning from school together one afternoon. "What book is that?" inquired Ellen, perceiving that her companion had in her hand a volume which did not look like a school-book. "The Romance of the Forest!" she continued, reading, with some surprise, the lettering upon the back of the book. "Does your mother allow you to read such books as that, Louisa ?” "Why, no; she does

not exactly allow me to read such books; but she does not know that I have them," replied Louisa; "so I am very careful not to let her see me reading them. She little suspects how many of these volumes I contrive to see every week," continued the heartless girl with a laugh.

An expression of unaffected surprise escaped from Ellen; she had never suspected Louisa of deceit, and last of all, would she have supposed her capable of boasting openly of her success in deceiving her mother. Involuntarily she almost withdrew her arm from Louisa's, and for a few minutes their walk was pursued in silence. "Why, what is the matter, Ellen ?" said Louisa, at length, affecting a laugh. "Do you think there is really any thing wrong in reading novels?" "I have always considered it wrong to do any thing that my parents would be unwilling to have me do," replied Ellen, gravely. Here they reached Louisa's house, and the conversation dropped. Louisa had been as well instructed as Ellen, and equally understood her duty to her parents; but with this difference, that she did not always care to perform it. She knew that she had the kindest of parents, and could not deny that they cheerfully allowed her every proper indulgence, and provided amply for her improvement and amusement. She was also abundantly supplied with proper books, but her parents were desirous, as every judicious and considerate parent should be, that only such books should be read as would afford profitable employment for her mind, and, to this end, they wished that her reading should be under their own direction.

What reasonable, considerate daughter could suppose that her parents would deny her the gratification of reading, for any other reason, than because they judged it not to be for her interest or happiness? What can be the feelings of a girl while she clandestinely peruses a book, which her parents have prohibited her from reading, or which she knows they wish her not to read? It must be, that she is destitute of proper thought; but the time may come, when she will reflect with bitterness upon her

deceitful and undutiful conduct.

But to return to Louisa and The Romance of the Forest. It was not until she had retired for the evening, that she had an opportunity of reading without interruption; for it happened that as often as she drew forth the volume,

when left alone for a minute, she was startled by approaching footsteps, before scarcely a paragraph was finished, and thus, from time to time, compelled to hurry the book out of sight. But when she had retired to her room and fastened the door, she felt secure. It was a winter's night; she threw a shawl over her shoulders, and sat poring over the book until completely benumbed with cold. At length she began to feel a soreness in her throat, and uneasy sensations in breathing. She reluctantly laid aside the book, but it was in vain that she tried to sleep. She had caught a violent cold, which every moment increased. Her mother's anxiety was greater than her own, when, upon entering her room in the morning, she found her feverish, and suffering from headache and sore throat. "You have taken a violent cold," said her mother; "were you in any way exposed to a draught yesterday?" Louisa hesitated at first, and then framed a reply, which, though not amounting to a direct falsehood, was not the simple truth. This duplicity she had to reflect upon during the period she continued ill; and, until it had been freely confessed and forgiven, it remained a heavy burden upon her conscience. The very sight of her mother, from whom she was receiving unceasing attention and kindness, caused a feeling of self-reproach, which she I tried in vain to banish. She sought forgiveness, and

resolved never again to be guilty of deceit, or of undutifulness towards her parents. When she recovered, the lesson she had so dearly learned was faithfully remembered. Perfect openness now characterizes her conduct towards her parents; she feels more pleasure in referring every thing to their decision, than she ever received from stolen gratifications, and so will every daughter who tries the experiment.

Never do any thing that you are unwilling should come to your parents' knowledge-never be guilty of deceiving them in the most trifling case. Undutiful behaviour, on the part of children, is not always attended with immediate punishment, but this, at least, is certain-it never goes unpunished. The pangs of remorse and self-reproach are, sooner or later, sure to follow, whether there be any other direct punishment or not.-Abbott's Reader.

M

THE COPERNICAN SYSTEM.

THE sun, revolving on its axis, turns,
And with creative fire intensely burns;
Impell'd the forcive air, our Earth supreme,
Rolls with the planets round the solar gleam;
First Mercury completes his transient year,
Glowing, refulgent, with reflected glare;
Bright Venus occupies a wider sway,
The early harbinger of night and day;
More distant still our globe terraqueous turns;
Nor chills intense, nor fiercely heated burns;
Around her rolls the lunar orb of light,
Trailing her silver glories through the night :
On the Earth's orbit see the various signs,
Mark where the Sun, our year completing, shines;
First the bright Ram his languid ray improves ;
Next glaring wat'ry thro' the Bull he moves;
The am'rous Twins admit his genial ray;
Now burning, thro' the Crab he takes his way;
The Lion flaming, bears the solar power;
The Virgin faints beneath the sultry shower.
Now the just Balance weighs his equal force,
The slimy Serpent swelters in his course;
The sabled Archer clouds his languid face;
The Goat, with tempests, urges on his race.
Now in the water his faint beams appear,
And the cold Fishes end the circling year.
Beyond our globe the sanguine Mars displays
A strong reflection of primeval rays:
Next belted Jupiter far distant gleams,
Scarcely enlight'ned with the solar beams;
With four unfix'd receptacles of light,

He tours majestic through the spacious height:
But further yet the tardy Saturn lags,
And five attendant luminaries drags ;
Investing with a double ring his pace,
He circles thro' immensity of space.

These are thy wondrous works, first Source of good! Now more admir'd in being understood.-Chatterton.

PROPER IMPROVEMENT OF A CHILD'S

BIRTH-DAY.

A BIRTH-DAY should not be allowed to pass unmarked, even in the very humblest family.-Children, as well as older persons, are influenced and impressed by times and circumstances. There should some change be made for the occasion, in the very poorest condition, so as to mark it a holiday. There is enjoyment not only to the child, but to the parents, and to brothers and sisters, in looking forward to such a day as it approaches, and enjoyment in looking back to it when it is gone. There is a uniformity in time which ought now and then to be relieved, a uniformity in feeling which ought occasionally to be quickened; this uniformity is peculiarly felt in the more lowly walks of life, and what season more fitted for giving it an impulse than a birth-day? The return of such a day should be marked by cheerfulness-not folly,-by a measured, sober happiness-not by indulgence in any shape. The family should wear that day their happiest looks, as they would put on their best attire, and interchange their kindliest feelings; and where it can be afforded, and is deserved, some little present, as a suitable book, or article of use, might be given by the parents, and older members perhaps, to mark still further the interesting occasion. The child who is the object of all these little unusual arrangements, must benefit by the mental elevation which is thus moderately and innocently produced, a state of mind very remote from either pride or vanity. He will feel that he is not an unnoticed agent in this world, and may do what he pleases; but that there are many eyes on him. He will understand that he is not a solitary being unconnected with others, but capable of giving them pain or pleasure, and so dependent on others for pain or pleasure in return. The lapse of so large and important a period of time as a whole year may lead to serious inquiry, and humble, or grateful, or penitential recollections. What has been done, or learned, or lost in the past year. What benefit has it conferred on ourselves, or through us, upon others; what errors have been committed, what habits acquired; what resolutions have been made and kept; or what besetting infirmities appeared