The good merchant patted Benjamin on the head, and evidently considered him a wonderful boy. When his parents saw how much their son's performances were admired, they no doubt remembered the prophecy of their old friend respecting Ben's future eminence. Yet they could not understand how he was ever to become a great and useful man merely by making pictures.

One evening, shortly after Mr. Pennington's return to Philadelphia, a package arrived at Springfield, directed to our little friend Ben.

"What can it possibly be?" thought Ben, when it was put into his hands. "Who could have sent me such a great square package as this?"

On taking off the thick brown paper in which it was wrapped, behold! there was a paint-box, with a great many cakes of paint, and brushes of various sizes. It was the gift of good Mr. Pennington. There were likewise several squares of canvas, such as artists use for painting pictures upon, and, in addition to all these treasures, some beautiful engravings of landscapes. These were the first pictures that Ben had ever seen, except those of his own drawing.

What a joyful evening was this for the little artist! At bedtime he put the paint-box under his pillow, and got hardly a wink of sleep; for, all night long, his fancy was painting pictures in the darkness.

In the morning, he hurried to the garret, and was seen no more till the dinner-hour; nor did he give himself time to eat more than a mouthful or two of food before he hurried back to the garret again.

The next day, and the next, he was just as busy as ever; until at last his mother thought it time to ascertain what he was about. She accordingly followed him to the garret.

On opening the door, the first object that presented itself to her eyes, was our friend Benjamin, giving the last touches to a beautiful picture. He had copied portions of two of the engravings, and made one picture out of both, with such admirable skill that it was far more beautiful than the originals. The grass, the trees, the water, the sky, and the houses were all painted in their proper colors. There, too, were the sunshine and the shadow, looking as natural as life.

"My dear child, thou hast done wonders!" cried his mother.

The good lady was delighted. And well might she be proud of her boy; for there were touches in this picture, of which old artists, who had spent a life-time in the business, need not have been ashamed. Many a year afterward, this wonderful production was exhibited at the Royal Academy in London.

Well, time went on, and Benjamin continued to draw and paint pictures, until he had now reached the age when it was proper that he should choose a business for life. His father and mother were in considerable perplexity about him.

According to the ideas of the Friends, it is not right for people to spend their lives in occupations that are of no real and sensible advantage to the world. Now, what advantage could the world expect from Benjamin's pictures?

This was a difficult question; and, in order to

set their minds at rest, his parents determined to consult the preachers and wise men of their society. Accordingly, they all assembled in the meeting-house, and talked the matter over from beginning to end.

Finally, they came to a very wise decision. It seemed so evident that Providence had intended Benjamin to be a painter, and had given him abilities which would be thrown away in any other business, that the Friends resolved not to oppose his desire. They even admitted that the sight of a beautiful picture might convey instruction to the mind and might benefit the heart as much as a good book or a wise discourse.

They therefore committed the youth to the direction of God, being well assured that He best knew what was his proper sphere of usefulness. The old men laid their hands upon Benjamin's head and gave him their blessing, and the women kissed him affectionately. All consented that he should go forth into the world and learn to be a painter, by studying the best pictures of ancient and modern times.

So our friend Benjamin left the dwelling of his parents, and his native woods and streams, and the good Friends of Springfield, and the Indians who had given him his first colors,-he left all the places and persons whom he had hitherto known, and returned to them no more. He went first to Philadelphia, and afterward to Europe.

Here he was noticed by many great people, but retained all the sobriety and simplicity which he had learned among the Friends. It is related of him, that, when he was presented at the court of

the Prince of Parma, he kept his hat upon his head, even while kissing the prince's hand.

When he was twenty-five years old, he went to London, and established himself there as an artist. In due course of time, he acquired great fame by his pictures, and was made chief painter to King George the Third, and President of the Royal Academy of Arts.

When the Friends of Pennsylvania heard of his success, they felt that the prophecy of the old preacher as to little Ben's future eminence was now accomplished. It is true, they shook their heads at his pictures of battle and bloodshed, such as the "Death of Wolfe,” thinking that these terrible scenes should not be held up to the admiration of the world.

His picture of "Christ Healing the Sick” was exhibited at the Royal Academy in London, where it covered a vast space, and displayed a great number of figures as large as life. On the wall, close beside this admirable picture, there hung a small and faded landscape. It was the same picture that little Ben had painted in his father's garret, after receiving the paint-box and engravings from good Mr. Pennington.

He lived many years in peace and honor, and died in 1820, at the age of eighty-two. The story of his life is almost as wonderful as a fairy tale; for there are few more wonderful changes than that of a little unknown boy of the Society of Friends, in the wilds of America, into the most distinguished English painter of his day.

Let us each make the best use of our natural abilities as Benjamin West did; and, with the bless

ing of Providence, we shall arrive at some good end. As for fame, it is but little matter whether we acquire it or not.

NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE.

Biography.-Nathaniel Hawthorne, one of our best known American writers, was born at Salem, Mass., in 1804. He was graduated at Bowdoin College in 1825.

There were times in the life of Hawthorne when, on account of poor health, he was compelled to give up literary work. On several of these occasions, he filled various minor positions of public trust.

The readiness of his mind for sudden changes of employment, may be illustrated by the following incident. In 1849, he was a surveyor of customs in Boston, and lost his position through a change in the national administration. It is related that on the very day he gave up his business duties, he began the composition of "The Scarlet Letter," one of his masterpieces.

Besides the work already mentioned, the most popular of Hawthorne's books are "Twice-told Tales," "The House of the Seven Gables," "The Marble Faun," and of his juvenile works, — “Tanglewood Tales," and "Wonder Book."

Hawthorne died at Plymouth, New Hampshire, in 1864. Composition.-Select the points from the last two lessons, that could be used in a biographical sketch.

10.-THE

OLD FARM-HOUSE.

hearth'-stone, stone before the fire; fireside.

bāize, a coarse woolen cloth with

a long nap.

flåsk, a vessel for carrying gunpowder.

shōrn, clipped; cut.

pătched, mended with pieces.

The easy chair, all patched with care,

Is placed by the cold hearth-stone,
With witching grace, in the old fire-place,
The evergreens are strewn ;

And pictures hang on the whitened wall,

And the old clock ticks in the cottage hall.