of a younger sister, whom she not only supported, but endeavoured to make as good as herself. Notwithstanding her care, this young creature committed a crime for which, by the laws of her country, she was likely to be condemned to die, unless it could be proved that she had told some one of her offence. It would have been easy for Helen to say that her sister had made her a confidante; but as she had not done so, that would have been to tell a falsehood. From every violation of the truth Helen Walker recoiled; she could not bring her mind to speak what was not truc, even to save the life of a beloved sister. She therefore, when questioned on the trial, acknowledged that her sister had given her no intimation on the subject of her error; the consequence of which was, that the unfortunate girl was

condemned to die.

Helen now showed that it was from no indifference to the life of her sister that she had refused to save her life by a falschood. She proceeded on foot to London, to beg the life of her sister from the government. By this journey of more than three hundred miles, and by representing her case in its truc colours to the queen, she succeeded in her object: her sister was pardoned.

Sir Walter Scott heard of the story of Helen Walker, and so much admired her devotion to truth, and her exertions for her sister, that he made her the heroine of a novel. He also sought out her grave in the churchyard of Irongray, in the Stewartry of Kirkcudbright, and caused a handsome monument to be erected over it, setting forth her virtues. It is surely delightful thus to see a man of exalted talent and high station in the world paying a tribute of respect to the worth of a humble field-labourer.

Lying lips are abomination to the Lord; but they that deal truly are his delight.-Proverbs, xii. 22.

A false witness shall not be unpunished; and he that speaketh lies shall perish.-Proverbs, xix. 9.

Seest thou a man that is hasty in his words? There is more hope of a fool than of him.-Proverbs, xxix. 20.

J

i

f

Oh 'tis a lovely thing for youth
To walk betimes in wisdom's way;
To fear a lie, to speak the truth,
That we may trust to all they say.

But liars we can never trust,

Though they should speak the thing that's true;
And he that does one fault at first,

And lies to hide it, makes it two.

ammmm

WATTS.

MAGNANIMITY.

SOME people are said to have little minds. They are always finding fault with trifles; they resent the smallest injuries, even when the injury was not meant; they are jealous of every one in the same trade or profession with themselves; they envy everybody who succeeds in anything; they keep up spite for a long time about little offences, and vent it when they get a proper opportunity, long after everybody else has forgotten that they had been offended. It is very different with great-minded persons. They do not easily take offence; they soon dismiss anger; they rejoice to see others succeeding, even though they may not be succeeding themselves. They may emulate or strive to be equal with a neighbour, but their rivalry is of a generous nature. They can allow for the motives which actuate others, and easily pardon an error which has been committed through inadvertency, even though it may have been grievously mischievous to themselves. Such persons never condescend to tricks, or stratagems, or any other low arts, for the purpose of accomplishing an end. They scorn no one, however humble, if honest: they entertain no hatreds. They are too much at ease with themselves to be liable to sentiments that aim at the depreciation or injury of others. Such is magnanimity; a rare quality in the ordinary world, but one which is never beheld without the highest admiration.

PHILIP OF MACEDONIA AND HIS DETRACTORS..

Philip, king of Macedonia, was told that several calumnies were spread abroad against him by the Athenian orators. He was too great-minded to express himself in a spiteful manner against his detractors. He only said, "It shall be my care, by my life and actions, to prove them liars."

Being advised to banish one of his subjects who had railed at him, "Let us first sec," said he, "whether I have given him occasion." Finding, on inquiry, that the man had done him some services without receiving a reward, he at once acknowledged that the fault had been his own, and immediately ordered him a proper gratuity.

KING WILLIAM AND THE EARL OF GODOLPHIN.

After the Revolution, when James II. was dethroned, and William III. became king, it was high treason to correspond with the banished monarch. Many nobles and others, nevertheless, did correspond with King James, and amongst the rest the Earl of Godolphin, who was a very good man. King William took a magnanimous way of correcting the earl. Calling him to his closet, he showed him the letters which had been detected; commended his zeal for his former master, however unwise it might be; expressed a desire to have the earl for his friend; and at the same moment put the letters in the fire, that the earl might be under no restraint. The carl, overpowered by the generosity of the king, became one of the firmest of his friends, and continued to be so ever after.

MADAME VILLACERFE.

Madame Villacerfe, a young French lady of great beauty, and Festeau, an eminent surgeon of Paris, regarded cach other with mutual esteem; but the difference of their rank forbade their being united. Years passed, during which he avoided her society, and studied to forget his passion. In a slight illness the lady had occasion to be bled, and Festeau was appointed to perform the operation. Approach

ing her with a disturbed mind, he opened an artery instead of a vein-a circumstance which always endangers life. The lady continued tranquil. In three days it was found necessary to cut off her arm, when, so far from treating her surgeon with any degree of asperity, she requested that he would be present to give his aid and advice, if necessary. Soon after, symptoms appeared which convinced Festeau that Madame Villacerfe could not live above twenty-four hours. His looks informed her of her fate; but while his mind was wrung by the most torturing feelings, she remained calm and collected, and immediately proceeded to make her will. Then calling Festeau into her presence, and dismissing the rest of her attendants, she said to him, "Being about to leave the world, it becomes me to feel like one who has put off its ordinary feelings. I bear not the least resentment against you for your error: I rather feel happy that it has occurred, as it the sooner introduces me to a better world. But others may not think of you as I do. Your mistake may be the cause of your professional prospects being blighted. I have therefore provided in my will against everything you may have to dread from this cause. Farewell."

It was found that this excellent lady had actually left a large portion of her fortune to the unfortunate man, who had innocently been the cause of her death.

THE THREE YOUNG PAINTERS.

At one of the celebrated schools of painting in Italy, a young man named Guidotto produced a piece so well painted, that it was the admiration of the masters in the art, who all declared it to be their opinion that he could not fail of rising to the summit of his profession, should he proceed as he had begun.

This performance was looked upon with very different eyes by two of his fellow-scholars. Brunello, the elder of them, who had himself acquired some reputation in his studies, was mortified in the highest degree at this superiority of Guidotto; and regarding all the honour his rival had acquired as so much taken from himself, he conceived the most rancorous dislike of him, and longed for nothing

THE THREE YOUNG PAINTERS.

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so much as to see him lose the credit he had gained. Afraid openly to decry the merit of a work which had obtained the approbation of the best judges, he threw out secret insinuations that Guidotto had been assisted in it by one or other of his masters; and he affected to represent it as a sort of lucky hit, which the reputed author would probably never equal.

Not so Lorenzo. Though a very young student in the art, he comprehended in its full extent the excellence of Guidotto's performance, and became one of the sincerest of his admirers. Fired with the praises he heard him receive on all sides, he ardently longed one day to deserve the like. He placed him before his eyes as a fair model which it was his highest ambition to arrive at equalling-for as to excelling him, he could not as yet conceive the possibility of it. He never spoke of him but with rapture, and could not bear to hear the detractions of Brunello.

But Lorenzo did not content himself with words. He entered with his whole soul into the career of improvement

-was first and last of all the scholars in the designing-room -and devoted to practice at home those hours which the other youths passed in amusement. It was long before he could please himself with any of his attempts, and he was continually repeating over them, "Alas! how far inferior is this to Guidotto's!" At length, however, he had the satisfaction of becoming sensible of progress; and having received considerable applause on account of one of his performances, he ventured to say to himself, "And why may not I too become a Guidotto?"

Meanwhile, Guidotto continued to bear away the palm from all competitors. Brunello struggled a while to contest with him, but at length gave up the point, and consoled himself under his inferiority by ill-natured sarcasm and petulant criticism. Lorenzo worked away in silence, and it was long before his modesty would suffer him to place any piece of his in view at the same time with one of Guidotto's.

There was a certain day in the year on which it was customary for all the scholars to exhibit their best performance in a public hall, where their merit was solemnly judged by a number of select examiners, and a prize of