ly for the last month; and I am satisfied that you have not merely yielded occasionally to a sudden temptation, but that deception is an habitual thing with you; that, through life, you will endeavor to make your way by low knavery, if I do not root the mean vice out of you, and so save you from the contempt of men and the anger of God. Rest assured, your Maker looks on your heart as that of a liar. Go into school; and, as I am convinced, from reflecting on several circumstances which have taken place, that you had no just claim to the medal you now wear, I shall take it from you, and you must take your place at the foot of

the class.

Peter. And must I be publicly exposed, sir?

Master. Yes, sir; the reasons of your degradation shall be explained in the presence of all the scholars. I use the principle of emulation, in my school, to arouse talent and encourage industry; but I watch against its abuse. I endeavor to unite with the principle a noble and unwavering love of truth, and generous, honorable feelings, and am happy to say that, except yourself, I have no cause of doubt of having succeeded. I know not one of your companions who would not spurn from his heart the base means which you have resorted to; and, before this day is over, they shall have fresh motives to value fair dealing. You must be made an example of. I will no longer permit you to treat your schoolmates with injustice, or in such a manner as to injure your own soul.

8*

LESSON XXVII.

CONSONANT SOUNDS IN COMBINATION.

spr as in sprain, spray, spread, spring.
sps as in asps, clasps, hasps, rasps.
spt as in clasp'd, grasp'd, rasp'd, lisp'd.
st as in stain, stay, blest, rest.

History tends to strengthen the sentiments of virtue. In its faithful delineations, vice always appears odious, and virtue not only desirable and productive of happiness, but also favorable to true honor and solid glory.

The Saturday Afternoon Visit.

ANNA ATWELL came home from school, one pleasant Saturday noon, and said, "O mother, it is so pleasant, that I wish very much to go somewhere visiting this afternoon."

"And where do you wish to go?" said her mother. "O, I should like to go and see any of the little girls. Julia Allen is going to see Mrs. Hunt's daughters, and I should like to go there, if you are willing."

"Well, after dinner you may wash your face and hands, comb your hair, put on a clean frock and apron, and go."

Anna had quite a long walk to take, alone; but she did not feel lonesome, for her way lay through the fields, and she loved the fields and flowers, the trees,

and the blue sky; she loved to hear the songs of the birds, and to look at the grasshoppers and the butterflies, and all the little creatures that God has made to live in the woods and fields.

So on she went, sometimes going on one side of the path, and sometimes on the other, to look at something which she saw, and sometimes going hop-skip, in the pathway, till she arrived at Mrs. Hunt's.

Anna found her friend Julia at Mrs. Hunt's, and Ellen and Elizabeth Hunt were very glad to see her. Besides these, she found a little girl named Laura, who was assisting Mrs. Hunt. This girl was, perhaps, three or four years older than the other girls, but she liked very well to play with them. Neither of the visitors had ever seen her before; but children are not long in getting acquainted, and in a short time they felt as familiar as if they had known her a month.

Children do not like very well to play where there are grown people, and in a little while Laura asked Mrs. Hunt if she might take the baby and go up stairs. Mrs. Hunt said she might, and the little girls went up into Laura's room. Here they had a fine play; and, when they were tired, they sat down, and Laura opened her trunk and bandbox, and showed them her clothes. "O, what a pretty cape!" said Anna. "Did you work it yourself?"

"It is only an every-day cape," said Laura. "My mother made it."

"Do look here, Anna," cried Julia, "and see what beautiful calico, and how handsomely this dress is made, too. Is this yours, Laura ?""

"Yes, but it is nothing but an every-day frock."

Well, I am sure I should not call it an every-day frock. I should wear it to meeting, if it were mine.” "Well," said Anna, "this pink dress, hanging up by the door, is not an every-day dress, I know, for it is a French calico."

"O, yes, it is," said Laura. And I suppose she thought that the visitors would think she was quite a lady by this time, if she wore such nice things every day. I do not know but some of the little girls did think so; but I will tell you what Anna said to her mother, when she went home.

"Well, Anna," said her mother, as the little girl took off her bonnet, and folded her shawl, "have you had a pleasant visit?"

“O, yes, delightful," answered Anna, with great animation" delightful! we played almost every thing. First we went out of doors, Julia and Elizabeth, and Ellen and I; and we found some green moss, as soft as velvet, and took it up, and laid it on a smooth stone, and called it a green carpet; but Laura could not come out of doors, because she had the baby. Mrs. Hunt has got a beautiful baby, mother. And so we went into the house pretty soon, and went up stairs into Laura's bedroom, and she showed us how to play new plays, and — ”

"Stop a moment, dear; you talk so fast that I can hardly understand you. You have not yet told me who Laura is."

"Did I not? I forgot that. She is a girl that lives with Mrs. Hunt. I believe she is her cousin. She said

I have walked the world for fourscore years;
And they say that I am old,

And my heart is ripe for the reaper, Death,
And my years are well nigh told.
It is very true, it is very true;

I'm old, and "I 'bide my time;

But my heart will leap at a scene like this,
And I half renew my prime.

Play on, play on; I am with you there,
In the midst of your merry ring;
I can feel the thrill of the daring jump,
And the rush of the breathless spring;
I hide with you in the fragrant hay,
And I whoop the smothered call,
And my feet slip up on the seedy floor,
And I care not for the fall.

I am willing to die when my time shall come,
And I shall be glad to go;

For the world, at best, is a weary place,

And my pulse is getting low:

But the grave is dark, and the heart will fail
In treading its gloomy way;

And it wiles my heart from its dreariness
To see the young so gay.

Note to Teachers. The vowel sounds, when unaccented, are often perverted, or entirely suppressed. They should have a distinct, open, and specific sound. "Those, therefore, who wish to pronounce elegantly, nst be particularly attentive to the unaccented vowels, as a neat pronunciation of these forms one of the greatest beauties of speaking."-WALKER.