would approve of, if he knew of it.

It was summer time; and on Henry's birthday, at seven o'clock in the morning, (for they knew their friend was an early riser,) a strain of grand and beautiful music broke the stillness of the early hour, and a long procession of five hundred men was seen to wind around the house.

The musicians, playing upon their fine wind instruments, and dressed very gayly, came first. Then came those of his workmen who had been with him twenty-five years; then his clerks and book-keepers; then followed his other workmen, and then all the boys who were employed in his factory. All wore black coats, with a green bow pinned on the breast.

They drew up in a circle on the lawn before his house; and five old men, who had been with him for twenty-five years, stood in the centre, holding something which was wrapped up in the Hamburg flag. Now all the musical instruments played a solemn, religious hymn. Immediately after, the five hundred voices joined in singing it. Never did a truer music rise to heaven than this; it was the music of grateful, happy hearts.

When the hymn was sung, the book-keeper came forward and made an address to his master, in the name of them all. In this address they told Henry how happy he had made them; how much good he had done them; how sensible they were of his kindness to them, and how full of gratitude their hearts were towards him. They expressed the hope that they should live with him all their lives.

Now the old men advanced, and uncovered what they bore in their hands. It was a fine portrait of their benefactor, in a splendid frame. The picture was surrounded on the margin by fine drawings, arranged in a tasteful manner, of all the various articles which were made in his factory, views of his warehouses in Hamburg, of the factory in which they worked, of his house in town, of the one in the country where they then were, and of the old exchange, where he used to stand when he sold canes and dust sticks. Then the old men presented to him the picture, saying only a few words of respectful affection.

The good man shed tears. He could not speak at first. At last he said, that this was the first time in his life that he regretted that he could not speak in public; that if he had ever done any thing for them, that day more than repaid him for all. They then gave him three cheers. They now sang a German national tune, to words which had been written for the occasion.

The children, who, as I told you, knew what was to happen, had prepared a breakfast for these five hundred of their father's friends. All the tables were spread in the garden behind the house, and Henry desired that all the store rooms should be opened, and that nothing should be spared.

After an excellent breakfast, at which the children of the good man waited, the procession marched around to the fine music; and the workmen, having enjoyed themselves all the morning to their hearts' content, went to partake of a dinner which the family had provided for them in a large farm house. Here they sang, and laughed, and told stories till about eight o'clock in the evening, when they returned by railway to Hamburg, in a special train which the railroad directors ordered, free of expense, out of respect for Henry. The railroad was behind Henry's house, and as the workmen passed, they waved their hats and cheered him and the family till they were out of hearing.

The picture I had so much admired was a copy of this very picture which the workmen had presented. The original was hung up in Henry's drawing room, as his most valuable possession. No wonder his daughter felt proud of that picture, and loved to show her copy of it to her friends. Near it hung a likeness of his dear Agatha. She was very beautiful. It was a pleasant thing to hear the daughter talk of her father and mother.

Thus did Henry live a useful, honorable, and happy life—the natural result of his industry, perseverance, uprightness, and true benevolence. Like Ben Adhem, he had shown his love to God by his love to man.

One of Henry's sons had come to this country, to set up a cane and whalebone factory in New York. The father had aided him as far as he thought best, but urged him to depend as far as possible upon his own industry and ability.

This son followed his father's example, and was very successful; but was obliged, on account of the bad effects of our climate upon his health, to return to his native land. The father, who was anxious to visit the United States, and wished much to see his daughter again, who was particularly dear to him, determined to come, for a while, in his son's place. Henry thought also that his health, which began to fail, might be benefited by a sea voyage.

One reason why he wished much to visit America was, that he might see, with his own eyes, the position of the laboring classes in the Free States. Of the Slave States he never could think with patience. His daughter told me that the only time when she had seen her father lose his self-command, was when a gentleman, just returned from the West Indies, had defended slavery, and had said that the negroes were only fit to be slaves. Henry's anger was irrepressible, and, although it was at his own table, and he was remarkable for his hospitality and politeness, he could not help showing his indignation.

Nothing could exceed his delight at what he saw in this part of our country. The appearance every where of prosperity and comfort; the cheerful look of our mechanics and laborers; their activity; the freedom and joyousness of their manners,—all spoke to him of a free, prosperous, and happy people.

He was only, for any long time, in New York, where his son's factory was, and in Massachusetts, where his daughter lived. Unhappily his health did not improve. On the contrary, it failed almost daily. Still he enjoyed himself much. While in this part of the country, he took many drives around the environs of Boston with his daughter, and expressed the greatest delight at the aspect of the country, particularly at the appearance of the houses of the farmers and mechanics.

He found, when in the city of New York, that attention to business was too much for his strength; so he resolved to travel. "Nature," he said, "will cure me; I will go to Niagara."

He brought with him, as a companion and nurse, his youngest son, a lad of fifteen years of age. The boy went every where with him. When they arrived at Niagara, Henry would not go to the Falls with any other visitors; he only allowed his son to accompany him. When he first saw this glorious wonder of our western world, he fell on his knees and wept; he could not contain his emotion. He was a true worshipper of Nature, and he courted her healing influences; but he only found still greater peace and health of mind; his bodily health did not return.

His daughter, who, like all Germans, held a festival every Christmas, wrote to urge him to pass his Christmas with her at her Massachusetts home; he was then in New York. He replied that he was too ill to bear the journey at that season. The pleasure of the thought of her Christmas evening was gone; but she determined to make it as pleasant as she could to her husband and children, though her thoughts and her heart were with her sick father.

In the morning, however, a telegraphic message arrived from her father, saying he would be with them at eight o'clock in the evening.

With the Germans, the whole family make presents to each other, no matter how trifling; but some little present every one receives. Henry's little granddaughter was dressed in a style as fairy-like as possible, and presented her grandfather with a basket of such fruits as the season would allow of, as the most appropriate present for a lover of Nature. A very happy evening the good man had with his children.

He was forced to return to New York. It was not many months after that his daughter heard that he was very ill at Oyster Bay, where he had gone to a water cure establishment. She went immediately to him,