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INTRODUCTION 
 
 TO 
 
 THE ENGLISH READER 
 
 OR, 
 
 A SELECTION OF PIECES 
 
 PROSE AND POETRY, 
 
 CALCULATED TO IMPROVE THE YOUNGER CLASSES OF LEARNERS 
 
 IN READING, AND TO IMBUE THEIR MINDS WITH 
 
 THE LOVE OF VIRTUE. 
 
 TO WHICH ABE ADDED, 
 
 RULES AND OBSERVATIONS 
 
 FOR ASSISTING CHILDREN TO READ WITH PROPRIETY. 
 
 BY LINDLEY MURRAY, 
 
 • Author of an English Grammar, &c. &c. 
 
 PHILADELPHIA: 
 
 PUBLISHED BY THOMAS L. BONSAL, 
 
 No. 33<| Market Street. 
 
 1841. 
 

 *l% 
 
 
 7U >f{< 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 "THE English Reader" and "The Sequel" to that per- 
 formance, having met with a favourable reception from the 
 public, the compiler has been induced to prepare a small volume, 
 on a similar plan, for the use of children who have made but 
 little progress in reading. It has been his aim to form a com- 
 pilation, which would properly conduct the young learner from 
 the Spelling-book to the " English Reader :" and in prosecuting 
 this design, he has been particularly careful to select such 
 pieces as are, adapted to the understanding, and pleasing to the 
 taste, of children. 
 
 A work calculated for different classes of young readers, 
 should contain pieces suited,. in point of language and matter, 
 to their various ages and capacities. The compiler, in con- 
 formity with this- idea, has endeavoured to arrange the 
 materials of each chapter so as to form an easy gradation, 
 which may be adapted to the different progress of the learners. 
 Judicious teachers will know how to apply this arrangement to 
 the years and abilities of their pupils. 
 
 Care has been taken to render the language of all the pieces 
 correct and perspicuous; that the young learner may improve 
 in style as well as in reading, and insensibly acquire a taste 
 for accurate composition. — To imbue the tender mind with 
 the love of virtue and goodness, is an especial object of the 
 present work; and with this view, the pieces have been scru- 
 pulously selected : and;, where necessary, purified from every 
 word and sentiment that could. offend the most delicate mind. 
 
 As a work tending to season the minds of children with piety 
 and virtue, and to improveTrtem in reading, language, and sen- 
 timent, the compiler hopes it will prove a suitable Introduction 
 to the M English Reader," and other publications of that nature ; 
 and also a proper book for those schools, in which, from their 
 circumscribed plan of education, larger works of the kind can 
 not be admitted. 
 
 Advertisement to the Second English Edition, 
 
 The compiler has added to this edition more than twenty 
 pages of matter, which he hopes will be found useful and in- 
 teresting. He has also given to many of the pieces a new 
 arrangement, calculated to render every part of the work mora 
 intelligible and pleasing to young minds. 
 
 3 
 
RULES AND OBSERVATIONS 
 
 FOR ASSISTING CHILDREN TO READ WITH PROPRIETY 
 
 THE compiler of this work having-, in the preface to his 
 M English Reader," explained at large the principles of elocu- 
 tion, nothing on this head seems to be necessary, in the present 
 publication, but to give a few plain and simple rules, adapted to 
 the younger classes of learners ; and to make some observations, 
 ealculated to rectify the errors which they are most apt to com- 
 mit. These rules may be comprehended under the following 
 heads. They are comprised in a few words, and a little sepa- 
 rated from the observations, that those teachers who wish their 
 pupils to commit them to memory, may more readily distinguish 
 them from the parts which require only an attentive perusal. 
 
 I. All the simple sounds should be pronounced with fulness, 
 distinctness, and energy, particularly the vowels, on the proper 
 utterance of which, the force and beauty of pronunciation 
 greatly depend. • 
 
 The simple sounds, especially those signified by the letters 
 £, r, 5, thy and sA, are often very imperfectly pronounced by 
 young persons. B and p are apt to be confounded: so are d 
 and t, s and z, f and v The letters v and w are often sounded 
 the one for the other : thus, wine is pronounced vine ; and 
 vinegar, winegar The diphthong ow, is in some words, vul- 
 garly sounded like er ; as foller, meller, winder : instead of 
 follow, mellow, window. When several consonants, proper to 
 be sounded, occur in the beginning or at the end of words, it is 
 a very common error to omit one of them in pronunciation : as 
 in the words asps, casks, guests, breadth, fifth, twelfth, strength, 
 hearths. Not sounding the letter h, when it is proper to sound 
 this letter, is a great fault in pronunciation, and very difficult 
 wholly to correct. 
 
 When children have acquired any improper habits with 
 respect to simple sounds, the best mode of correction is, to make 
 them frequently repeat words and sentences, in which those 
 sounds occur. When the simple sounds are thoroughly under 
 stood and acquired, the various combinations of them into syl- 
 lables and words will be easily effected. 
 
 II. In order to give spirit and propriety to pronunciation, 
 due attention must be paid to accent, emphasis, and cadence. 
 
 When we distinguish a syllable by a greater stress of the 
 voice, it is called accent. When we thus distinguish any word 
 in a sentence, it is called emphasis. It is difficult to give precise 
 rules for placing the accent : but the best general direction, is, 
 
Rules, life. t 
 
 to consult the most* approved pronouncing dictionaries, and to 
 
 imitate the practice of the most correct speakers. 
 
 There are, in every sentence, some word or words, on which 
 the sense of the rest depends ; and these must always be dis- 
 tinguished by a fuller and stronger sound of voice, whether they 
 are found in the beginning, the middle, or at the end of the 
 sentence. It is highly improper to lay an emphasis on words 
 of little importance. Words put in opposition to each other, 
 are always emphatical: as, u Here I am miserable ; but there I 
 shall be happy." "Children," says Beattie, "are not often 
 taught to read with proper emphasis. When books are put 
 before them which they do not understand, it is impossible they 
 should apply it properly. Let them, therefore, read nothing but 
 what is level to their capacity. Let them read deliberately and 
 with attention to every word. Let them be set right, not only 
 when they misapply the emphasis, but also cautioned against the 
 opposite extremes of too forcible and too feeble an application of 
 it : for, by the former of these faults, thej'- become affected in 
 their utterance,* and by the latter, insipid." That children may 
 be enabled to apply the empiiasis with judgment, they should 
 carefully study the subject, and ascertain the meaning of every 
 difficult w r ord and ^sentence, previously to their being called t« 
 read to the teacher. 
 
 As emphasis consists in raising the voice, cadence signifies 
 the falling of it. Towards the close of a sentence, the cadenco 
 takes place, unless the concluding words be emphatical. It 
 should always be easy and gradual, not abrupt; and should 
 never be expressed in a feeble and languid manner. Even the 
 falling of the voice may be managed with spirit and variety. 
 
 III. As the art of reading greatly depends on the proper 
 management of the breath, it should be used with economy. 
 The voice ought to be relieved at every stop ; slightly at a com- 
 ma, more leisurely at a semicolon, or a colon, and completely 
 at a period. 
 
 A due attention to this rule, will prevent a broken, faint, and 
 languid voice, which is the usual fault of ignorant and vulgar 
 readers. It will enable the reader to preserve the command of 
 his voice ; to pronounce the longest sentence with as much ease 
 as the shortest; and to acquire that freedom and energy, with 
 which a person of judgment naturally expresses his perceptions, 
 emotions, and passions, in common discourse. 
 
 The comma marks the shortest pause ; the semicolon, a pause 
 double that of the comma ; the colon, double that of the semi- 
 colon ; and the period, double that of the colon. A dash fol- 
 lowing a stop, shows that the pause is to be greater than if the 
 •top were alone ; and when used by itself, requires a pause of 
 a 2 
 
vi Rules, fcrc, 
 
 such length as the sense alone can determine. A paragraph 
 requires a pause double that which is proper at a period. 
 
 The points of interrogation and exclamation, are uncertain as 
 to their time. The pause which they demand is equal to a 
 semicolon, a colon, or a period, as the sense may require. They 
 should be attended with an elevation of the voice. The paren- 
 thesis, unless accompanied with a stop, requires but a small 
 pause. It generally marks a moderate depression of the voice. 
 
 IV. Let the tone of the voice, in reading, be the same as it 
 would be in speaking on the same subject. 
 
 To render this rule proper and effectual, children should be 
 taught to speak slowly, distinctly, and with due attention to the 
 sentiments they express. The mode of speaking is then only 
 to be imitated by the reader, when it is just and natural. 
 
 V. Endeavour to vary and modulate the voice, according to 
 the nature of the subject, whether it be in a solemn, a serious, 
 a familiar, a gay, a humorous, or an ironical strain. 
 
 It would be highly improper to read an interesting narrative, 
 with an air of negligence ,* to express warm emotions of the 
 heart, with cold indifference ; and to pronounce a passage of ■ 
 Scripture, on a sublime and important subject, with the familiar 
 tone of common conversation. On the other hand, it would be 
 absurd to read a letter on trivial subjects, in a mournful strain 
 •r a production of gaiety and humour, with grave formality. 
 
 VI. In reading verse, the same general directions must be 
 observed, as have been given for reading prose. 
 
 Narrative, didactic, descriptive, and pathetic pieces, have the 
 same peculiar tone and manner, in poetry as in prose. A sink- 
 ing note, and making the lines jingle by laying too great stress 
 ©n the rhyming words, should be particularly avoided. A very 
 small pause ought to be made at the end of a line, unless the 
 sense, or some of the usual marks of pause, require a considera- 
 ble one. The great rule for reading verse, as well as prose, ia 
 to read slowly, distinctly, and in a natural tone of voice. 
 
 We shall now caution young readers against some fault* 
 which many are apt to commit. In doing this, it will unavoid 
 ably happen, that a few of the preceding observations will m 
 some respects, be repeated : but this confirmation of the rules 
 will, it is presumed, be no disadvantage to the learners. A 
 display of the various errors in reading, incident to children, 
 may make a greater impression than directions which are 
 positive, and point only to the propriety of pronunciation. 
 
 1. Avoid too loud, or too low a voice. 
 
 An overstrained voice is very inconvenient to the reader, ad 
 
Rules, &c. vii 
 
 well as disgusting to the hearer. It exhausts the reader's 
 spirits ; and prevents the proper management and modulation 
 of his voice, according to the sense of his subject ; and it na- 
 turally leads into a tone. Too low a voice is not so incon- 
 venient to the speaker, as the other extreme ; but it is very dis- 
 agreeable to the hearer. It is always offensive to an audience, 
 to observe any thing in the reader or speaker, that marks indo- 
 lence or inattention. When the voice is naturally too loud, or 
 too low, young persons should correct it in their ordinary con- 
 versation: by this means they will learn to avoid both the ex- 
 tremes, in reading. They should begin the sentence with an 
 even, moderate voice, which will enable them to rise or fall as 
 the subject requires. 
 
 2. Avoid a thick, confused, cluttering voice. 
 
 It is very disagreeable to hear a person mumble, clip, or swal- 
 low his words; leaving out some syllables in the long words, 
 and scarcely ever pronouncing some of the short ones ; but hur- 
 rying on without any care to give his words their full sound, or 
 his hearers the full sense of them. This fault is not easily 
 cured. The best means of mending it, is to endeavour, both in 
 conversation and reading, to pronounce every word in a deliber- 
 ate, clear, and distinct manner. 
 
 3. Be careful to read neither too quickly nor too slowly. 
 
 A precipitant reader leaves no room for pauses ; fatigues him- 
 self; and lowers the dignity of his subject. His hearers lose 
 much of what is delivered, and must always be dissatisfied with 
 a reader who hurries and tires them. Children are very apt to 
 read too fast, and to take a pleasure in it, thinking that they 
 who pronounce the words with the greatest rapidity, are the 
 best scholars. — The heavy, dronish, sleepy reader, and who 
 often makes pauses where there should be none, is also very 
 disagreeable. If he hems and yawns between the periods, he is 
 still more so. 
 
 4. Study to avoid an irregular mode of pronunciation. 
 
 It is a great fault in reading, to raise and fall the voice by fits 
 and starts; to elevate and depress it unseasonably without regard 
 to sense or stops ; or always to begin a sentence with a high 
 voice, and conclude it with a low one ; or, on the contrary, to 
 begin with a low voice, and conclude with a high one. To avoid 
 these errors, the sentence should not be begun in too high, or 
 too low a key ; regard should be had to the nature of the points, 
 and the length of the periods : and the reader's mind should be 
 attentive to the subject, sense, and spirit of his author. 
 
 5. With the utmost care avoid a flat, dull, uniform voice 
 without emphasis, or cadence, or a proper regard to the sens« 
 of what is reading. 
 
▼iii Rules, fSc. 
 
 This is a practice to which children who do not love learning! 
 und who are tired with their lessons, are very prone. When 
 this mode of reading- "becomes habitual, it is painful to the 
 hearer, and very difficult to be remedied. The best means of 
 cure are those prescribed for the preceding error : for if the 
 ihind be attentive to the sentiments delivered, the voice will be 
 adapted to their nature and importance. 
 
 6. Reading- with an improper tone, is a great and common 
 fault of learners, and must be carefully avoided. 
 
 No habit is more easy to be contracted than this, or harder to 
 be overcome. This unnatural tone in reading, is always dis- 
 gusting to persons of sense and delicacy. Some have a squeak- 
 ing tone. Persons whose voices are shrill and weak, or over- 
 strained, are apt to fall into.this tone. — Some have a singing or 
 canting note; others assume a high, swelling tone. These lay 
 too much stress on every sentence, and violate every rule of de- 
 cent pronunciation. — Some affect an awful and striking tone, 
 attended with solemn grimace ; as if they wished to move the 
 hearer with every word, whether the weight of the subject sup- 
 ports them or not. — Some have a set, uniform tone of voice, 
 which has already been noticed. Others have a strange, whim- 
 sical, whining tone, peculiar to themselves, and not easy to be 
 described. They are continually laving the emphasis on words 
 which do not require or deserve it. 
 
 To avoid all kinds of unnatural and disagreeable tones, we 
 should read with the same case and freedom that would mark 
 our private conversation on the same subject. We do not heal 
 persons converse in a tone : if we did, we should laugh at them. 
 44 Do not," says Dr. Watts, " affect to change that natural and 
 easy sound with which you speak, for a strange, new, awkward 
 tone, as some do when they begin to' read. We should almost 
 be persuaded that the speaker and the reader were two different 
 persons, if our eyes did not tell us the contrary." 
 
 We shall close these rules and observations, by a remark of 
 considerable importance to young persons who are desirous of 
 learning to read well. Few rules on the subject are intelligible 
 to children, unless illustrated by the voice of a competent in- 
 structor. They should, therefore, pay great attention to the 
 manner in which their teacher, and other persons of approved 
 skill, perform the business of reading. They should observe 
 their mode of pronouncing the words, placing the emphasis, 
 making the pauses, managing the voice, and adapting it to the 
 various subjects they read ; and, in all these respects, endeavour 
 to imitate them as nearly as possible. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PART 1,— PIECES IN PROSE. 
 
 Chapter I. — Select Sentences and 
 Paragrap/is, page 11 
 
 Chapter II.— Narrative Pieces. 
 Sect. 1. The pious sons, 18 
 
 2. Filial sensibility, 19 
 
 3. Cruelty to insects condemned, 20 
 
 4. Selfish sorrow reproved, 21 
 
 5. We are often deceived by ap- 
 
 pearances, 22 
 
 6. The two bees, 23 
 
 7. Ingenuity and industry re- 
 
 warded, 24 
 
 8. The secret of being always 
 
 satisfied, 2G 
 
 9. Beneficence its own reward, 27 
 
 10. The compassionate judge, 28 
 
 11. The generous negro, 2-) 
 
 12. The Indian Chief. 30 
 
 13. Noble behaviour of Scipio, 3.3 
 
 14. Virtue in humble life, 34 
 
 15. The female choice, 3' 
 
 16. The noble basket-maker, 39 
 
 Chapter III. — Didactic Pieces. 
 Sect. 1. Tenderness of mothers, 41 
 
 2. Respect and affection due 
 
 from pupils to their tutors, 42 
 
 3. On filial piety, 43 
 
 4. Love between brothers and 
 
 sisters, 44 
 
 5. Benevolence, ib. 
 
 6. Ingratitude to our Supreme 
 
 Benefactor, is highly cul- 
 pable, 45 
 7- Speculation and practice, 40 
 
 Chapter IV. — Descriptive Pieces. 
 
 fiect. 1. The eagle, 47 
 
 2. The humming-bird, 49 
 
 3. The horse, * 52 
 
 4. The ouran-outang, 54 
 
 5. The four seasons, 57 
 
 6. Divine Providence, 59 
 
 7. Health, 61 
 
 8. Charitv, ib. 
 
 9. Gratitude, 62 
 
 10. Mortality, ib. 
 
 11. Immortality, 63 
 U. Heaven 64 
 
 Chapter V.— Dialogues. 
 Sect. 1. Canute and his courtiers 
 
 —Flattery reproved. 66 
 
 2. The two robbers,— \Ve often 
 
 condemn in others what we 
 practice ourselves, 67 
 
 3. A family conversation — On 
 
 the slavery of the negroes, 69 
 
 4. The father redeemed from 
 
 slavery by bis so*h, 73 
 
 5. The tutor and his pupils. — 
 
 Eyes and no eyes ; or, the 
 art of seeing, * 75 
 
 Chapter VI. — Prota i tenons Pieces. 
 istroy pleasure by 
 pursuing" it too eagerly, 83 
 
 2. On sisteriv unity and love, ib. 
 
 3. The Supreme Ruler of the 
 
 world, 84 
 
 4. Abraham and Lot ; a fine ex- 
 
 ample of wisdom and con- 
 descension, 85 
 
 5. A persecuting spirit reproved, 86 
 
 6. The foil v of pride, 88 
 
 7. The whistle, 90 
 
 8. A generous mind does not re- 
 
 pine at the advantages 
 others en ; 91 
 
 9. Insolent deportment towards 
 
 inferiors reprov 92 
 
 10. Arachne and Melissa, 94 
 
 11. Socrates and Leanuer— Dis- 
 
 respect to parents, is in no 
 case allowable. 96 
 
 12. Socrates and Demetrius- 
 
 Brethren should dwell to- 
 gether in harmony, 97 
 
 13. On good breeding, 99 
 
 14. The ungrateful guest, 102 
 
 15. The hospitable negro wo- 
 
 man, 103 
 
 16. Catharina, empress of Rus- 
 
 sia, 106 
 
 17. The same subject continued, 103 
 
 18. Virtue and happiness equally 
 attainable by the rich and 
 poor, 101 
 
 19. The character of Christ, 111 
 
 9 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PART II— PIECES IN POETRY. 
 
 Chapter I. — Select 
 and Paragraphs, 
 
 Sentences 
 
 page 114 
 
 Chapter 11. — Narrative Pieces. 
 Sect. 1. The looking-glass; or, 
 ill-humour corrected, 
 
 2. The butterfly and the snail ; 
 
 or, elevaton renders little 
 minds proud and insolent, 
 
 3. The brother and sister; or. 
 
 memal excellence superior 
 to personal beauty, 
 
 4. The iamb and fcfoe pig; or, 
 
 nature and education, 
 
 5. The bee and the ant ; or. the 
 
 advantages of application 
 and diligence in early 
 wars, 
 
 6. The dov 
 
 7. Ihe goldfinches, 
 8 The p :t I 
 
 9. The famier, the spaniel, and 
 the 
 
 10. The wheat and the v, 
 
 11. Economy the source of 
 
 charity, 
 
 5. Heavenly wisdom, 
 
 6. The man of Ross, 
 
 7. Resignation, 
 
 8. Character of Christ, 
 
 138 
 139 
 ib 
 140 
 
 Chapter Wl.—Di/far.tic Pieces. 
 Sect. 1. To some children listen- 
 
 
 iug to a lark, 
 
 130 
 
 •2 
 
 The advantages of early re- 
 
 
 
 
 ib. 
 
 3. 
 
 . 1 love recommend- 
 
 
 
 ed, 
 
 131 
 
 4. 
 
 To a young woman with a 
 
 
 
 watch, 
 
 i>>: 
 
 S 
 
 accompanying a 
 
 
 
 riosegny, 
 
 132 
 
 0. 
 
 Duties of the mornimr. 
 
 133 
 
 7. 
 
 The mind to be cultivated, 
 
 u 
 
 8. Dependence on Providence, 134 
 
 Chapter IV.— Descriptive Pieces. 
 Sect. 1. The pleasures of retire- 
 ment, Lie 
 
 2. The sluggard, ib. 
 
 3. Creation and Providence, 137 
 
 4. A morning in spring, ib. 
 
 Chapter V. — Promiscuous Pieces. 
 Sect. 1. Gratitude to the. Su- 
 preme Being, 141 
 
 2. Acknowledgment of Divine 
 
 favours, ib. 
 
 3. The excellence of the Bible, 149 
 4 On industry, 143 
 
 5. On early rising, ib. 
 
 6. The drowning fly, 144 
 
 7. To a retthreast, ib. 
 
 8. To a child five years old, 145 
 !). 'I'd;? ro*e, ib. 
 
 ! 10. The ;t at, ib. 
 
 11. A inorillng hymn, 14fj 
 
 1-2. An evening hymn, ib. 
 
 13. The winter's day, 147 
 
 14. Compassion and forgiveness, ib. 
 
 15. The ignorance of man, 148 
 IrJ. The happv choice, 141) 
 
 17. 'i'he Tall of the leaf, ib. 
 
 18. Tnisf in Hie goodness of God 150 
 11). The*Christian race, ib. 
 
 20. The dving Christian to hifi 
 
 soul." 151 
 
 21. Epi taph on a poor and vir- 
 
 t . j < » . i s man, ib. 
 
 •22. Love to enemies, 152 
 
 •2i. The dangers and snares of 
 
 life. ib. 
 
 '21 The Divine Being knows 
 
 and sens every thing, 153 
 
 25. All nature attests the great 
 
 Crent.-.r. 151 
 
 •2ii. Praise due to God for his 
 
 wonderful works, 155 
 
 »27. The happv mid, .15(5 
 
 28. A kind and gmi tie temper of 
 great importance to the 
 happiu>s of life, 157 
 
 2'). Simplicity ib. 
 
 3D. Cafe and generosity, 158 
 
 31. The slave, 159 
 
 32. The swallows, 101 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 TO THE ENGLISH READER. 
 
 PART L— PIECES IN PROSE. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 SELECT SENTENCES AND PARAGRAPHS. 
 
 SECTION I. 
 
 To be good is to be happy. 
 
 Vice, soon or late, brings misery. 
 
 We were not made for ourselves only. 
 
 A good person has a tender concern for the happi 
 ness of others. 
 
 Modesty is one of the chief ornaments of youth 
 
 Deceit discovers a little mind. 
 
 Cultivate the love of truth. 
 
 No confidence can be placed in those who are in 
 the habit of lying. 
 
 Neglect no opportunity of doing good. 
 
 Idleness is the parent of vice and misery. 
 
 Cleanliness promotes health of body and delicacy 
 of mind. 
 
 The real wants of nature are soon satisfied. 
 
 A contented mind is an inestimable treasure. 
 
 Deliberate before you promise. 
 
 Boast not of the favours you bestow. 
 
 Merit the approbation of the wise and good. 
 
 It is a great blessing to have pious and virtuous 
 parents. 
 
 The most secret acts of goodness are seen and ap 
 proved by the Almighty. 
 
 SECTION II. 
 
 Our reputation, virtue, and happiness, greatly de- 
 pend on the choice of our companions. x 
 
12 introduction, &c. Part 1 , 
 
 Good or bad habits, formed in youth, generally go 
 with us through life. 
 
 We should be kind to all persons, even to those 
 trho are unkind to us. * 
 
 When we acknowledge our misconduct, and are 
 sorry for it, generous and good persons will pity and 
 forgive us. 
 
 Our best friends are those who tell us of our faults, 
 and teach us how to correct them. 
 
 If tales were not listened to, there would be no 
 tale-bearers. 
 
 To take sincere pleasure in the blessings and ex- 
 cellencies of others, is a sure mark of a good heart. 
 
 We can never treat a fellow-creature ill, without 
 offending the gracious Creator and Father of all. 
 
 A kind word, nay, even a kind look, often affords 
 comfort to the afflicted. 
 
 Every desire of the heart, every secret thought, is 
 known to him who made us. ^ 
 
 SECTION III. 
 
 He that cares only for himself, has but few plea- 
 sures ; and those few are of the lowest order. 
 
 We may escape the censure of others, when we do 
 wrong privately ; but we cannot avoid the reproaches 
 of our own mind. 
 
 Partiality to self often hides from us our own faults ; 
 we see very clearly the same faults in others. 
 
 Never sport with pain and distress in any of your 
 amusements ; nor treat even the meanest insect with 
 wanton cruelty. 
 
 Vicious pursuits may yield a few scattered pleasures; 
 but piety and virtue will- make our whole life happy. 
 
 Fancy paints pleasures at a distance, with beautiful 
 colours ; but possession often takes away their beauty. 
 
 We should accustom ourselves to bear small inju- 
 ries patiently ; we shall then be better able to support 
 great ones. 
 
 When provoked by the follies of others, think of 
 your own imperfections ; be patient and humble. 
 
 * 
 
Chap. 1. SELECT SENTENCES, &C 13 
 
 Without frugality none can be rich ; and with it 
 very few would be poor. 
 
 The good or bad disposition of children often shows 
 itself in their behaviour to servants and inferiors ; it 
 is seen even in their treatment of dumb animals. 
 
 They who ridicule the wise and good, are dangerous 
 companions ; they bring virtue itself into contempt. 
 
 We cannot be good as God is good, to all persons 
 «svery where , but we can rejoice, that every where 
 <nere is a God to do them good. 
 
 SECTION IV. 
 
 Whe3 blessed with health and prosperity, cultivate 
 i humble and compassionate disposition : think of the 
 distresses of human life ; of the solitary cottage, the 
 dying parent, and the weeping orphan. 
 
 Avoid all harshness in behaviour: treat every one 
 with that courtesy w T hich springs from a mud and gen- 
 ie heart. 
 
 Be slow in forming intimate connexions; they may 
 bring dishonour and misery. 
 
 Almost all our desires are apt to wander into an im- 
 proper coarse : to direct them properly requires care ; 
 but that care will render us safe and happy through life. 
 
 The days that are past are gone for ever ; those that 
 nre to come, may not come to us ; the present time only 
 is ours : let us, therefore, improve it as much as possible. 
 
 They who are moderate in their expectations, meet 
 with few disappointments : the eager and presumptuous 
 are continually disappointed. 
 
 Whatever is worth doing at all, is worth doing well : 
 but it is impossible to do any thing well, without at- 
 tention. 
 
 Let us not expect too much pleasure in this life : 
 no situation is exempt from trouble. The best per- 
 sons are, no doubt, the happiest; but they too have 
 their trials and afflictions. 
 
 SECTION V. 
 
 How greatlvdothe kind offices of a dutiful and af- 
 B 
 
14 introduction, &c. Parti. 
 
 fectionate child, gladden the heart of a parent, espe- 
 cially when sinking under age or infirmities ! 
 
 What better proof can we give of wisdom and good- 
 ness, than to be content with the station in which 
 Providence has placed us ? 
 
 An honest man (as Pope expresses himself,) is the 
 noblest work of God. 
 
 How pleasant it is, when we lie down at night, to 
 reflect that we are at peace with all persons ! that we 
 have carefully performed the duties of the day ! that 
 the Almighty beholds and loves us ! 
 
 How readily should we forgive those who offend us, 
 if we consider how much our heavenly Father has 
 forgiven us! 
 
 Who would exchange the humble peace which vi rtue 
 gives, for all the honours and pleasures of a vain world ? 
 
 Pride (to use the emphatical words of a sacred 
 writer,) was not made for man. 
 
 How can we spend our time foolishly, when we 
 know that we must give an account hereafter, of our 
 thoughts, words, and actions ? 
 
 How glorious an object is the sun ! but how much 
 more glorious is that great and good Being, who made 
 it for our use ! 
 
 Behold, how rich and beautiful are the works of 
 nature ! What a bountiful provision is made for our 
 wants and pleasures ! — Surely, the author of so many 
 blessings is worthy of our love and gratitude. 
 SECTION VI. 
 
 Cyrus, when young, being asked what was the first 
 thing which he learned, answered, " To speak the 
 truth." 
 
 Epaminondas, the celebrated Theban general, was 
 remarkable for his love of truth. He never told a lie, 
 even in jest. 
 
 All our moral duties are contained in these few 
 words ; " Do as you would be done by." 
 
 The following was a favourite sentiment of the wise 
 and good Socrates : " We should eat and drink, in 
 
Chap. 1. SELECT SENTENCES, &C 15 
 
 order to live : instead of living, as many do, to eat 
 and drink." 
 
 Artaxerxes Mnemon, king of Persia, being, upon 
 an extraordinary occasion, reduced to eat barley-breaa 
 and dried figs, and to drink water ; " What pleasure," 
 said he, " have 1 lost till now, b^my delicacies and 
 excess." 
 
 When Cato drew near the close of life, he made 
 this most benevolent declaration to his friends: "The 
 greatest comfort of my old age, is, the pleasing re- 
 membrance of the friendly offices I have done to 
 others. To see them easy and happy by my means, 
 makes me truly so." 
 
 Mark Antony, when under adverse circumstances, 
 made this interesting exclamation, " I have lost all* 
 except what I have given away !" 
 
 The emperor Marcus Aurelius, a pious and good 
 man, expressed the benevolence of his heart, in these 
 words : " I cannot relish a happiness which no one 
 partakes of but myself." 
 
 Edward the VI. king of England, being, when very 
 young, required by his uncle to sign a warrant for the 
 execution of a poor woman, on account of her religious 
 principles, said, with tears in his eyes, " I almost wish 
 I had never learned to write." 
 
 SECTION VII. 
 
 Pity the sorrows and sufferings of the poor. Dis- 
 dain not to enter their wretched abodes; nor to listen 
 "to their moving lamentations. 
 
 Gratitude is a delightful emotion. The grateful heart 
 at once performs its duty, and endears itself to others. 
 
 If we ought to be grateful for services received from 
 our friends, how should our hearts glow with thank- 
 fulness to Him, who has given us being, and all the 
 blessings we enjoy ! 
 
 Young people too often set out in life, with too much 
 confidence in themselves. Alas ! how T little do they 
 know the dangers which await them ! 
 
 To repine at the improvements of others, and wish 
 
16 introduction, &c. Part 1. 
 
 to deprive them of the praise they have deserved, is 
 -an envious and odious disposition. 
 
 We ought not to be proud or vain of the advantages 
 we possess ; but humbly endeavour to use them for the 
 benefit of our fellow-creatures, and the glory of that 
 great Being from jjdiom we have received them. 
 
 If we consider how much the comfort, or the un- 
 easiness of all around us, depends on the state of our 
 own temper, we should surely endeavour to render it 
 sweet and accommodating. 
 
 When we feel our inability to resist evil, and to do 
 good, what a comfort it is, to know that our heavenly 
 Father will, if we humbly apply to him, hear our 
 prayers, and graciously assist us ! 
 
 When young persons are afflicted with illness, how 
 greatly do they endear themselves to all about them, 
 by being tractable, considerate, gentle, and grateful ! 
 but how painful it is, to see them peevish, self-willed, 
 and unthankful ! How much do the former qualities 
 lessen the affliction, and the latter increase it ! 
 
 A familv where the great Father of the universe is 
 duly reverenced ; where parents are honoured and 
 obeyed ; where brothers and sisters dwell together in 
 love and harmony ; where peace and order reign ; 
 where there is no law but the law of kindness and 
 wisdom ; is surely a most delightful and interesting 
 spectacle ! 
 
 SECTION VIII. 
 
 God is the kindest and best of beings. He is our 
 Father. He approves us when we do well : he pities 
 us when we err : and he desires to make us happy for 
 ever. How greatly should we love so good and kind a 
 Father ! and how careful should we be to serve and 
 please him ! 
 
 Never insult the unfortunate, especially when they 
 implore relief or assistance. If you cannot grant their 
 requests, refuse them mildly and tenderly. If you 
 feel compassion for them, (and what good heart cao 
 
Chap. I. SELECT SENTENCES, &C. 17 
 
 behold distress without feeling compassion ?) be not 
 ashamed to express it. 
 
 Listen to the affectionate counsels of your parents ; 
 treasure up their precepts ; respect their riper judg- 
 ment ; and enjoy, with gratitude and delight, the ad- 
 vantages resulting from their society. Bind to your 
 bosom, by the most endearing ties, your brothers and 
 sisters ; cherish them as your best companions, through 
 the variegated journey of life ; and suffer no jealousies 
 and contentions to interrupt the harmony, which should 
 ever reign among you. 
 
 They who are accustomed to view their companions 
 in the most favourable light, are like persons who 
 dwell amidst those beautiful scenes of nature, on which 
 the eye rests with pleasure. Suspicious persons resem- 
 ble the traveller in the wilderness, who sees no ob- 
 jects around him, but what are either dreary or terrible. 
 SECTION IX. 
 
 An amiable youth lamented, in terms of sincere 
 grief, the death of a most affectionate parent. His 
 companion endeavoured to console him by the reflec- 
 tion, that he had always behaved to the deceased, with 
 duty, tenderness, and respect. " So I thought," re- 
 plied the youth, "whilst my parent was living: but 
 now I recollect, with pain and sorrow, many instances 
 of disobedience and neglect, for which, alas ! it is too 
 late to make atonement." 
 
 Sir Isaac Newton possessed a remarkably mild and 
 even temper. , This great man, on a particular occa- 
 sion, was called out of his study to an adjoining apart- 
 ment. A little dog, named Diamond, the constant but 
 incurious attendant of his master's researches, happen- 
 ed to be left among the papers, and threw down a 
 lighted candle, which consumed the almost finished 
 labours of some years. Sir Isaac soon returned, and 
 had the mortification to behold his irreparable loss. 
 But, with his usual self-possession, he only exclaimed, 
 " Oh Diamond! Diamond! thou little knowest the 
 mischief thou hast done." 
 
 B 2 
 
18 INTRODUCTION, &C. Pott 1 
 
 Queen Caroline having observed that her daughter, 
 
 the princess , had made one of the ladies about 
 
 her, stand a long time, whilst she was talking to her 
 on some trifling subject, was resolved to give her a 
 suitable reprimand. When the princess came in the 
 evening, as usual, to read to her, and was drawing a 
 chair to sit down, the queen said : " No, my dear, 
 you must not sit at present ; for I intend to make you 
 
 stand this evening, as long as you suffered lady 
 
 to remain in the same position." 
 
 The benevolent John Howard, having settled hia 
 accounts at the close of a particular year, and found a 
 balance in his favour, proposed to his wife to make 
 use of it in a journey to London, or in any other amuse- 
 ment she chose. " What a pretty cottage for a pooi 
 family it would build !" was her answer. This cha- 
 ritable hint met his cordial approbation, and the mo- 
 ney was laid out accordingly. 
 
 Horace, a celebrated Roman poet, relates, that a 
 countryman, who wanted to pass a river, stood loiter- 
 ing on the bank of it, in the foolish expectation, that a 
 current so rapid would soon discharge its waters. But 
 the stream still flowed, increased, perhaps, by fresh 
 torrents from the mountains : and it must for ever flow, 
 because the sources, from which it is derived, are 
 inexhaustible. Thus, the idle and irresolute youth 
 trifles over his books, or wastes in play the precious 
 moments ; deferring the task of improvement, which 
 at first is easy to be accomplished, but which will be 
 come more and more difhcult,.the longer it is neglected 
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 NARRATIVE PIECES. 
 
 SECTION I.— The Pious Sons. 
 
 1. In one of those terrible eruptions of mount iEtna 
 which have often happened, the danger to the inhabit 
 ants of the adjacent country was uncommonly great. 
 
 2. To avoid immediate destruction from the flames, 
 
Chap. 2. NARRATIVE PIECES. 19 
 
 and the melted lava which ran down the sides of the 
 mountain, the people were obliged to retire to a con- 
 siderable distance. 
 
 3. Amidst the hurry and confusion of such a scene, 
 (every one flying and carrying away whatever he 
 deemed most precious,) two brothers, the one named 
 Anapias, and the other Amphinomus, in the height of 
 their solicitude for the preservation of their wealth and 
 goods, suddenly recollected that their father and mo- 
 ther, both very old, were unable to save themselves 
 by flight. 
 
 4. Filial tenderness triumphed over every other 
 consideration. "Where," cried the generous youths, 
 " shall w r e find a more precious treasure, than they 
 are who gave us being, and who have cherished and 
 protected us through life ?" Having said this, the one 
 took up his father on his shoulders, and th"e other his 
 mother, and happily made their way through the sur- 
 rounding smoke and flames. 
 
 5. All who were witnesses of this dutiful and affec- 
 tionate conduct, were struck with the highest admira- 
 tion : and they and their posterity, ever after, called 
 the path which these good young men took in their 
 retreat, « The Field of the Pious." 
 
 SECTION II.— Filial Sensibility. 
 
 1. A strong instance of affectionate and dutiful 
 attachment to parents, has been related in the pre- 
 ceding section. The following display of filial ten- 
 derness is scarcely less interesting and extraordinary. 
 
 2. A young gentleman in one of the academies at 
 Paris, w r as remarked for eating nothing but soup and 
 dry bread, and drinking only w T ater. The governor 
 of the institution, attributing this singularity to excess 
 of devotion, reproved his pupil, and endeavoured to 
 persuade him to alter his resolution. 
 
 3. Finding, however, that his remonstrances were 
 ineffectual, he sent for him again, and observed to him, 
 that such conduct was highly unbecoming, and that it 
 was his duty to conform to the rules of the academy. 
 
 
20 introduction, &c. • Part 1. 
 
 4. He then endeavoured to learn the reason of his 
 pupil's conduct ; but as the youth could not be pre- 
 vailed upon to impart the secret, the governor at last 
 threatened to send him back to his family. 
 
 5. This menace produced an immediate explana- 
 tion ; " Sir," said the young man, " in my father's 
 house I eat nothing but black bread, and of that very 
 little : here I have good soup, and excellent white 
 bread ; and though I might, if I chose it, fare luxuri- 
 ously, I cannot persuade myself to take any thing else, 
 when I reflect on the situation in which I have left 
 my father and mother." 
 
 6. The governor was greatly moved by this in- 
 stance of filial sensibility, and could not refrain froir 
 tears. " Your father," said he, " has been in the army 
 has he no pension f' " No," replied the youth : " ho 
 has long been soliciting one ; but for want of money 
 has been obliged to give up the pursuit : and rathe* 
 than contract any debts at Versailles, he has chosen 
 a life of wretchedness in the country." 
 
 7. " Well," returned the governor, " if the fact ii 
 as you have represented it, I promise to procure for 
 your father a pension of five hundred livres a year. 
 And since your friends are in so reduced circumstances, 
 take these three louis d'ors for your pocket expenses. 
 I will undertake to remit to your father the first half 
 year of his pension, in advance." 
 
 8. " Ah, Sir !" replied the youth, " as you have 
 the goodness to propose remitting a sum of money to 
 my father, I entreat you to add to it these three louis 
 d'ors. As I have here every thing I can wish for, I 
 do not need them : but they would be of great use to - 
 my father, in the maintenance of his other children.' 
 
 SECTION 111. — Cruelty to Insects condemned. 
 
 1. A certain youth indulged himself in the cruel 
 entertainment of torturing and killing flies. He tore 
 off their wings and legs, and then watched with plea- 
 sure their feeble efforts to escape from him* 
 
 
Chap* 2. • NARRATIVE PrECES. 21 
 
 2. Sometimes he collected a number of them to- 
 gether, and crushed them at once to death ; glorying, 
 like many a celebrated hero, in the devastation he 
 committed. 
 
 3. His tutor remonstrated with him, in vain, on this 
 barbarous conduct. He could not persuade him to be- 
 lieve that flies are capable of pain, and have a right, 
 no less than ourselves, to life, liberty, and enjoyment, 
 
 4. The signs of agony, which, when tormented, they 
 express, by the quick and various contortions of their 
 bodies, he neither understood nor regarded. 
 
 5. The tutor had a microscope ; and he desired his 
 pupil, one day, to examine a most beautiful and sur- 
 prising animal. " Mark," said he, " how it is studded 
 from head to tail with black and silver, and its body 
 all over beset with the most curious bristles ! The 
 head contains the most lively eyes, encircled with sil- 
 ver hairs ; and the trunk consists of two parts, which 
 fold over each other. The whole body is ornamented 
 with plumes and decorations, which surpass all the 
 luxuries of dress in the courts of the greatest princes." 
 
 6. Pleased and astonished with what he saw, the 
 youth was impatient to know the name and properties 
 of this wonderful animal. It was withdrawn from the 
 magnifier ; and when offered to his naked eye, proved 
 to be a poor fly, which had been the victim of his 
 wanton cruelty. percival. 
 
 SECTION IV.— Selfish sorrow reproved. 
 
 1. One day, during the summer vacation, Alexis had 
 prepared himself to set out, with a party of his com- 
 panions, upon a little journey of pleasure. But the 
 sky lowered, the clouds gathered, and he remained for 
 some time in anxious suspense about his expedition, 
 which at last was prevented by heavy and continued 
 rain. 
 
 2. The disappointment overpowered his fortitude ; 
 he burst into tears ; lamented the untimely change of 
 weather, and sullenly refused all consolation. 
 
22 introduction, &c. . Part 1 
 
 3. In the evening, the clouds were dispersed ; the 
 sun shone with unusual brightness ; and the face of 
 mature seemed to be renewed in vernal beauty. 
 
 4. Euphronius conducted Alexis into the fields. The 
 storm of passion in his breast was now stilled ; and the 
 serenity of the air, the music of the feathered song- 
 sters, the verdure of the meadows, and the sweet per- 
 fumes which breathed around, regaled every sense, 
 and filled his mind with delightful emotions. 
 
 5. " Do not you remark," said Euphronius, " the 
 delightful change which has suddenly taken place in 
 the wnole creation ? Recollect the appearance of the 
 scene before us yesterday. The ground was then 
 parched with a long drought; the flowers hid their 
 drooping heads : no fragrant odours were perceived ; 
 and vegetation seemed to cease. To what- cause must 
 we impute the revival of nature ?" 
 
 6. " To the rain which fell this morning," replied 
 Alexis, with a modest ^confusion. He was struck with 
 the selfishness and folly of his conduct ; and his own 
 bitter reflections anticipated the reproofs cf Euphro- 
 nius. PERCIVAL. 
 
 SECTION V.— We are often deceived 
 by appearances. 
 
 1. A youth, who lived in the country, and who 
 had not^^uired, either by reading or conversation, 
 any knJHKdge of the animals which inhabit foreign 
 regions, came to Manchester, to see an exhibition of 
 wild beasts. 
 
 2. The size and figure of the elephant struck him 
 with awe ; and he viewed the rhinoceros with aston- 
 ishment. But his attention was soon withdrawn from 
 these animals, and directed to another, of the most 
 elegant and beautiful form. 
 
 3. He stood contemplating with silent admiration, 
 the glossy smoothness of his hair ; the blackness and 
 regularity of the streaks with which he was marked ; 
 the symmetry of his limbs ; and, above all, the placid 
 sweetness of his countenance. 
 
Chap. 2. NARRATIVE PIECES. 23 
 
 4. " What is the name of this lovely animal," said 
 he to the keeper, " which you have placed near one 
 of the ugliest beasts in your collection ; as if you 
 meant to contrast beauty with deformity ]" 
 
 5. " Beware, young man," replied the intelligent 
 keeper, " of being so easily captivated with external 
 appearance. 1 'ho animal which you admire is called 
 a tiger ; and notwithstanding the meekness of his looks, 
 he is fierce and savage beyond description. I can 
 neither terrify him by correction, nor tame him by in- 
 dulgence. But the other beast, which you despise, is 
 in the highest degree docile, affectionate, and useful. 
 
 6. " For the benefit of man he traverses the sandy 
 deserts of Arabia, where drink and pasture are seldom 
 to be found ,* and will continue six or seven days with- 
 out sustenance, yet still patient of labour. His hair 
 is manufactured into clothing; his deshis deemed 
 wholesome nourishment ; and the milk of the female 
 is much valued by the Arabs. 
 
 7. " The camel, therefore, for such is the name 
 given to this animal, is more worthy of your admira- 
 tion than the tiger ; notwithstanding the inelegance of 
 his make, and the two bunches upen his back. For 
 mere external beauty is of little estimation ; and de- 
 formity, when associated wmIi amiable dispositions and 
 useful qualities, does not preclude our respect and 
 approbation." percival. 
 
 SECTION NX— The Two Bees. 
 
 1. On a fine morning in summer, two bees set for- 
 ward in quest of honey, the one wise and temperate, 
 the other careless and extravagant. They soon arrived 
 at a garden enriched with aromatic herbs, the most 
 fragrant flowers, and the most delicious fruits. 
 
 2. They regaled themselves with the various dain- 
 ties that were spread before them : the one loaded his 
 thighs, at intervals, with provisions for the hive against 
 the distant winter ; the other revelled in sweets, with- 
 out regard to any thing but his present gratification. 
 
 3. At length they found a wide-mouthed phial, that 
 
24 introduction, <fcc. Part 1. 
 
 nung beneath the bough of a peach-tree, filled with 
 honey ready tempered, and exposed to their taste in 
 the most alluring manner. The thoughtless epicure, 
 in spite of his friend's remonstrances, plunged head- 
 long into the vessel, resolving to indulge himself in 
 all the pleasures of sensuality. 
 
 4. His philosophic companion, on the other hand, 
 sipped a little with caution ; but being suspicious of 
 danger, flew off to fruits and flowers ; where, by the 
 moderation of his meals, he improved his relish for 
 the true enjoyment of them. 
 
 5. In the evening, however, he called upon his 
 friend, to inquire whether he would return to the hive : 
 but he founcl him surfeited in sweets, which he was as 
 unable to leave, as to enjoy. 
 
 6. Clogged in his wings, enfeebled in his feet, and 
 his whole frame totally enervated, he was but just able 
 to bid his friend adieu ; and to lament, with his latest 
 breath — that though a taste of pleasure may quicken 
 the relish of life, an unrestrained indulgence leads to 
 inevitable destruction. dodsley. 
 
 SECTION VII. — Ingenuity and Industry rewarded* 
 
 1. A rich husbandman had two sons, the one ex- 
 actly a year older than the cl,ner. The very day the 
 second was born, he set, in the entrance of his orchard, 
 two young apple-trees of equal size, which he culti- 
 vated with the same care, and which grew so equally, 
 that no person could perceive the least difference be- 
 tween them. 
 
 2. When his children were capable of handling gar- 
 den tools, he took them, one fine morning in spring, 
 to see these two trees, which he had planted for them, 
 and called after .neir names : and when they had suf- 
 ficiently admired their growth, and the number of 
 blossoms that covered them, he said : " My dear chil 
 dren, I give you these trees: you see they are in good 
 condition. 
 
 3. u They will thrive as much by your care, aa 
 
Chap. 2. NARRATIVE PIECES. 25 
 
 they will decline by your negligence ; and their fruit 
 will reward you in proportion to your labour." 
 
 4. The youngest, named Edmund, was industrious 
 and attentive. He busied himself in clearing his tree 
 of insects that would hurt it ; and he propped up its 
 stem, to prevent its taking a wrong bent. 
 
 5. He loosened the earth about it, that the warmth of 
 the sun, and the moisture of the dews, might cherish 
 the roots. His mother had not tended him more carefully 
 in his infancy, than he tended his young apple-tree. 
 
 6. His brother, Moses, did not imitate his example. 
 He spent a great deal of time on a mount that was 
 near, throwing stones at the passengers in the road. 
 He went among all the little dirty country boys in 
 the neighbourhood, to box with them; so that he was 
 often seen with broken shins and black eyes, from 
 the kicks and blows he received in his quarrels. 
 
 7. In short, he neglected his tree so far, that he 
 never thought of it, till, one day in autumn, he, by 
 chance, saw Edmund's tree so full of apples, streaked- 
 with purple and gold, that had it not been for the 
 props which supported its branches, the weight of its 
 fruit must have bent it to the ground. 
 
 8. Struck with the sight of so fine a tree, he hasten- 
 ed to his own, hoping to find as large a crop upon it : 
 but, to his great surprise, he saw scarcely any thing, 
 except branches covered with moss, and a few yellow 
 withered leaves. 
 
 9. Full of passion and jealousy, he ran to his father, 
 and said : " Father, what sort of a tree is that which 
 you have given me ? It is as dry as a broomstick ; and I 
 shall not have ten apples on it. My brother you have 
 used better : bid him at least share his apples with me." 
 
 10. << Share with you!" said his father; " so the 
 industrious must lose his labour, to feed the idle ! Be 
 satisfied with your lot: it is the effect of your negli- 
 gence : and do not think to accuse me of injustice, 
 when you see your brother's rich crop. Your tree 
 was as fruitful, and in as good order as his : it bore as 
 
26 introduction, &c Pari i* 
 
 many blossoms, and grew in the same soil, only it wan 
 not fostered with the same care. 
 
 11. " Edmund has kept his tree clear of hurtful in* 
 gects ; but you have suffered them to eat up yours in 
 its blossoms. As I do not choose to let any thing 
 which God has given me, and for which I hold myself 
 accountable to him, go to ruin, I shall take this tree 
 from you, and call it no more by your name. 
 
 12. " It must pass through your brother's hands, 
 before it can recover itself; and from this moment, 
 both it and the fruit it may bear, are his property. 
 You may, if you will, go into my nursery, and look 
 for another ; and rear it, to make amends for your fault ; 
 but if you neglect it, that too sjiall be given to your 
 brother, for assisting me in my labour." 
 
 13. Moses felt the justice- of his father's sentence, 
 and the wisdom of his design. He therefore went 
 that moment into the nursery, and chose one of the 
 most thriving apple-trees he could find. Edmund as- 
 sisted him with his advice in rearing it; and Moses 
 embraced every occasion of paving attention to it. 
 
 14. He was now never out of humour with his com- 
 rades, and still less with himself; for he applied cheer- 
 fully to work ; and, in autumn, he had the pleasure of 
 seeing his tree fully answer his hopes. Thus he had 
 the double advantage of enriching himself with a splen- 
 did crop of fruit ; and, at the same time, of subduing 
 the vicious habits he had contracted. His father was* 
 so well pleased with this change, that, the following 
 year, he divided the produce of a small orchard be- 
 tween him and his brother. berq,uin». 
 
 SECTION VIII.— The secret of being always 
 satisfied. 
 1. A certain Italian bishop, was remarkable for his 
 happy and contented disposition. He met with much 
 opposition, and encountered many difficulties in his 
 journey through life : but it was observed that he 
 never repined at his condition, or betrayed the least 
 degree of impatience. 
 
Chap. 2. NAKXATIVE PIECES. 27 
 
 2. An intimate friend of his, who highly admired 
 the virtue which he thought it impossible to imitate, 
 one day asked the prelate, if he could communicate the 
 secret of being always satisfied. "Yes," replied the 
 oood old man, " I can teach you my secret, and with 
 <rreat facility. It consists in nothing more, than in 
 making a right use of my eyes." 
 
 3. His friend begged him to explain himself. "Most 
 willingly," returned the bishop. "In whatever state 
 I am, I first of all look .up to heaven, and reflect, that 
 my principal business here is to go to that blessed 
 abode. I then look down upon the earth, and call to 
 mind that, when I am dead, I shall occupy but a small 
 space in it. 
 
 4. " I then look abroad into .the world, and observe 
 what multitudes there are, who, in every respect, are 
 less fortunate than myself. Thus I learn where true 
 happiness is placed ; where all our cares must end ; 
 and how very little reason I have to repine, or to 
 complain." 
 
 SECTION IX. — Beneficence its own reward. 
 
 1. Pigalle, the celebrated artist, was a man of 
 great humanity. Intending, on a particular occasion, 
 to make a journey from Lyons to Paris, he laid by 
 twelve louis d'ors to defray his expenses. But a little 
 before the time proposed for his setting out, he ob- 
 served a man walking with strong marks of deep-felt 
 sorrow in his countenance and deportment. 
 
 2. Pigalle, impelled by the feelings of a benevolent 
 heart, accosted him, and inquired, with much tender- 
 ness, whether it was in his power to afford him any re- 
 lief. The stranger, impressed w T ith the manner of this 
 friendly address, did not hesitate to lay open his dis- 
 tressed situation. 
 
 3. " For want of ten louis d'ors," said he, " I must 
 be dragged this evening'to a dungeon ; and be sepa- 
 rated from a tender wife and a numerous family." 
 
 * Do you want no more ?" exclaimed the humane art 
 
2$ introduction, <fcc. Part 1 
 
 ist. " Come along with me ; I have twelve louis d'ors 
 in my trunk ; and they are all at your service." 
 
 4. The next day a friend of Pigaile's met him, and 
 inquired whether it was true, that he had, as was pub- 
 licly reported, very opportunely relieved a poor man 
 and his family from the greatest distress. " Ah, my 
 friend!" said Pigalle, ">vhat a delicious supper did I 
 make last night, upon bread and cheese, with a family 
 whose tears of gratitude marked the goodness of theii 
 hearts ; and who blessed me at every mouthful thev 
 ate !" 
 
 SECTION X. — The compassionate Judge. 
 
 1. The celebrated Charles Anthony Domat, was 
 promoted to the office of a judge of a Provincial court, 
 in the south of France, in which he presided, with 
 public applause, for twenty-four years. One day a 
 poor widow brought a complaint before him, against the 
 baron de Nairac, her landlord, for turning her out of 
 possession of a farm which was her whole dependence. 
 
 2. Domat heard the cause ; and finding by the clear- 
 est evidence, that the woman had ignorantly broken a 
 covenant in the lease, which empowered the landlord 
 to take possession of her farm, he recommended mercy 
 to the baron towards a poor honest tenant, who had 
 not willingly transgressed, or done him any material 
 injury. But Nairac being inexorable, the judge was 
 obliged to pronounce a sentence of expulsion from the 
 farm, and to order payment of the damages mentioned 
 in the lease, together with the costs of the suit. . 
 
 3. In delivering this sentence, Domat wiped his 
 eyes, from which tears of compassion flowed plenti* 
 fully. When the order of seizure, both of her person 
 and effects, was decreed, the poor woman exclaimed: 
 " O just and righteous God ! be thou a father to the 
 widow and her helpless orphans !" and immediately 
 she fainted away. 
 
 4. The compassionate judge assisted in raising the 
 distressed woman ; and after inquiring into her charac- 
 ter, the number of her children, and other circum 
 
Chap, 2. NARRATIVE PIECES. 29 
 
 stances, generously presented her with a hundred louis 
 d'ors, the amount of her damages and costs, which he 
 prevailed with the baron to accept as a full recom- 
 pense ; and the widow was restored to her farm. 
 
 5. Deeply affected with the generosity of her bene- 
 factor, she said to him : " O, my lord ! when will you 
 demand payment, that I may lay up for that purpose?" 
 " I will ask it," replied Domat, " when my conscience 
 shall tell me I have done an improper act." 
 
 SECTION XL— The generous Negro. 
 
 1. Joseph Rachel, a respectable negro, resided in 
 the island of Barbadoes. He was a trader, and dealt 
 chiefly in the retail way. In his business, he conduct- 
 ed himself so fairly and complaisantly, that, in a town 
 filled with little peddling shops, his doors were throng- 
 ed with customers. I have often dealt with him, and 
 always found him remarkably honest and obliging. 
 
 2. If any one knew not where to obtain an article, 
 Joseph would endeavour to procure it, without making 
 any advantage for himself. In short, his character was 
 so fair, his manners- so generous, that the best people 
 showed him a regard, which they often deny to men 
 of their own colour, because they are not blessed with 
 the like goodness of heart. 
 
 3. In 1756 a fire happened, which burned down 
 great part of the town, and ruined many of the inhabit- 
 ants. Joseph lived in a quarter that escaped the de- 
 struction ; and expressed his thankfulness, by. soften- 
 ing the distresses of his neighbours. Among those 
 who had lost their property by this heavy misfortune, 
 was a man, to whose family, Joseph, in the early part 
 sf his life, owed some obligations, 
 
 4. This man, by too great hospitality, an excess 
 rery common in the West Indies, had involved him- 
 self in difficulties, before the fire happened ; and his 
 estate lying in houses, that event entirely ruined him. 
 Amidst the cries of misery and want, which excited 
 Joseph's compassion, this man's unfortunate situation 
 claimed particular notice. The generous, the open 
 
 9 2 
 
30 introduction, &c. Part 1 
 
 temper of the sufferer, the obligations that Joseph 
 owed to his family, were special and powerful motives 
 for acting towards him the part of a friend. 
 
 5. Joseph had his bond for sixty pounds sterling. 
 " Unfortunate man !" said he, " this debt shall never 
 come against thee. I sincerely wish thou couldst settle 
 all thy other affairs as easily ! But how am I sure that 
 I shall keep in this mind? May not the love of gain, 
 especially when, by length of time, thy misfortune 
 shall become familiar to me, return with too strong a 
 current, and bear down my fellow-feeling before it ? 
 But for this I have a remedy. Never shalt thou apply 
 for the assistance of any friend against my avarice." 
 
 6. He arose, ordered a large account that the man 
 had with him, to be drawn out : and in a whim thai 
 might have called up a. smile on the face of charity 
 filled his pipe, sat down again, twisted the bond, and 
 lighted his pipe with it. VVhile the account was draw- 
 ing out, he continued smoking, in a state of mind that 
 a monarch might envy. When it was finished, he went 
 in search of his friend, with the discharged account, 
 and the mutilated bond, in his hand. 
 
 7. On meeting him, he presented the papers to him 
 with this address : " Sir, I am sensibly affected with 
 your misfortunes ; the obligations I have received from 
 your family, give me a relation to every branch of it. 
 I know that your inability to pay what you owe, give3 
 you more uneasiness than the loss of your own sub- 
 stance. That you may not be anxious on my account 
 in particular, accept of this discharge, and the remains 
 of your bond. I am overpaid in the satisfaction that 1 
 feel from having done my duty. I beg you to considei 
 this only as a token of the happiness you will confei 
 upon me, whenever you put it in my power to do you 
 a good office." ramsay. 
 
 SECTION XII.— The Indian Chief. 
 1. During the war in America, a company of In 
 dians attacked a small body of British troops, and de 
 feated them. As the Indians had greatly the advan 
 
Chap. 2. NARRATIVE PIECES. 31 
 
 tage in swiftness of foot, and were eager in the pursuit, 
 very few of the British escaped : and those who fell 
 into their hands, were treated with a cruelty, of which 
 there are not many examples, even in that country. 
 
 2. Two of the Indians came up to a young officer, 
 and attacked him with great fury. As they were arm- 
 ed with battle-axes, he had no hope of escape. But? 
 »ust at this crisis, another Indian came up, who was 
 advanced in years, and was armed with a bow and 
 arrows. 
 
 3. The old man instantly drew his bow ; but, after 
 having taken his aim at the officer, he suddenly drop- 
 ped the point of his arrow, and interposed between 
 him and his pursuers, who were about to cut him in 
 pieces. They retired with respect. The. old man 
 then took the officer by the hand, soothed him into 
 confidence by caresses ; and, having conducted him 
 to his hut, treated him with a kindness which did ho- 
 nour to his professions. 
 
 4. He made him less a slave than a companion ; 
 taught him the language of the country ; and instruct- 
 ed him in the rude arts that are practiced by the in- 
 habitants. They lived together in the most perfect 
 harmony : and the young officer, in the treatment he 
 met with, found nothing to regret, but that sometimes 
 the old man fixed his eyes upon him, and, having re- 
 garded him for some minutes with a steady and silent 
 attention, burst into tears. % 
 
 5. In the mean time, the spring returned, and the 
 Indians again took the field. The old man, who was 
 still vigorous, and able to bear the fatigues of war, set 
 out with them, and was accompanied by his prisoner. 
 They marched above two-hundred leagues across the 
 forest, and came at length to a plain, where the Bri- 
 tish forces were encamped. The old man showed his 
 prisoner the tents at a distance : " There," says he, 
 
 are thy countrymen. There is the enemy who wait 
 o give us battle. Remember that I have saved thy 
 l*fe, that 1 have taught thee to conduct a canoe, to 
 
32 introduction, &c. Part 1. 
 
 arm thyself with a bow and arrows, and to surprise 
 the beaver in the forest. 
 
 6. "What wast thou when I first took thee to my hut ? 
 Thy hands were those of an infant. They could nei- 
 ther procure thee sustenance nor safety. Thy sou* 
 was in utter darkness. Thou wast ignorant of everv 
 thing. Thou owest all things to me. Wilt thou then ga 
 over to thy nation, and take up the hatchet against 
 us?" The officer replied, "that he would rather lostf 
 his own life, than take away that of his deliverer." 
 
 7. The Indian, bending down his head, and cover- 
 ing his face with both his hands, stood some time si- 
 lent. Then looking earnestly at his prisoner, he said, 
 in a voice that was at once softened by tenderness and 
 grief; "Hast thou a father T " My father," said the 
 young man, *" was alive when I left my country." 
 " Alas !" said the Indian, " how wretched must he 
 be !" He paused a moment, and then added, " Dost 
 thou know that I have been a father ? — I am a father 
 no more. — I saw my son fall in battle. — He fought at 
 my side. — I saw him expire. — He was covered with 
 wounds, when he fell dead at my feet." 
 * 8. He pronounced these words with the utmost ve- 
 hemence. His body shook with a universal tremor. 
 He was almost stifled v/ith sighs, which he would not 
 suffer to escape him. There was a keen restlessness 
 in his eye ; but no tears flowed to his relief. At length 
 he became calm by degrees : and, turning towards the 
 east, where the sun had just risen ; "Dost thou see," 
 said he to the young officer, " the beauty of that sky, 
 which sparkles with prevailing day ? and hast thou 
 pleasure in the sight ?" " Yes," replied the young , 
 officer, "I have pleasure in the beauty of so fine 'a 
 sky." " I have none !" said the Indian, and his teara 
 then found their way. 
 
 9. A few minutes after, he showed the young man 
 a magnolia in full bloom. " Dost thou see that beau- 
 tiful tree ?" said he, " and dost thou look upon it with 
 pleasure ?" " Yes," replied the officer, " I look with 
 
* 
 
 Chap. 2. NARRATIVE PIECES. 33 
 
 pleasure upon that beautiful tree." — " T have no long- 
 er any pleasure in looking 1 upon it !" said the Indian 
 hastily: and immediately added. "Go, return to thy 
 father, that he may still have pleasure, when he sees 
 ♦he sun rise in the morning, and the trees blossom in 
 the spring!" 
 
 SECTION XIII.— Noble behamovr of Scipio. 
 
 1. Scipio the younger, at twenty-four years of age, 
 was appointed by the Roman republic to the command 
 of the army against the Spaniards. Soon after the con- 
 quest of Carthagena, the capital of the empire, hia 
 integrity and virtue were put to the following exem- 
 plary and ever-memorable trial, related by historians, 
 ancient and modern, with universal appl; 
 
 2. Being retired to his camp, some of his officer* 
 brought him a young virgin of such exquisite beauty, 
 that she drew upon her the eyes and admiration of 
 every body. The young conqueror started from his 
 seat with confusion and surprise ; and seemed to be 
 robbed of that presence of mind and self-possession, so 
 necessary in a general, and for which Scipio was very 
 remarkable. In a few moments, having recovered him- 
 self, he inquired of the beautiful captive, in the most 
 civil and polite manner concerning her country, birth, 
 and connexions; and finding that she was betrothed 
 to a Celtiberian- prince, named Allucius, he ordered 
 both him and the captive's parents to "be sent for. 
 
 3. When the Spanish prince appeared in his pre- 
 sence^ Scipio took him aside ; and to remove the anx- 
 iety he might feel on account of the young lady, ad- 
 dressed him in these words : " You and I are young, 
 which admits of my speaking to you with freedom. 
 They who brought me your future spouse, assured me 
 at the same time that you loved her with extreme ten- 
 derness ; and her beauty and merit left me no room 
 to doubt it. Upon which, I reflected, that if I were 
 in your situation, I should hope to meet with favour : 
 I therefore think myself happy in the present con- 
 juncture to do you a service 
 
$4 introduction, &c. Part 1 
 
 4. " Though the fortune of war has made me your 
 master, I desire to be your friend. Here is your 
 wife : take her, and may you be happy ! You may 
 rest assured, that she has been among us, as she would 
 have been in the house of her father and mother. 
 Far be it from Scipio to purchase any pleasure at the 
 expense of virtue, honour, and the happiness of an 
 honest man. No ; I have kept her for you, in order to 
 make you a present worthy of you and of me. The 
 only gratitude I require of you, for this inestimable 
 gift, is, that you will be a friend to the Roman people." 
 
 5. Ailucius's heart was too full to make him any 
 answer ; but, throwing himself at the general's feet, 
 he wept aloud : the captive lady fell down in the same 
 posture, and remained so, till the aged father, over- 
 whelmed with transports of joy, burst into the follow- 
 ing words : " O excellent Scipio ! Heaven has given 
 thee more than human virtue. O glorious leader ! O 
 wondrous youth! what pleasure can equal that which 
 must now fill thy heart, on hearing the prayers of thi* 
 grateful virgin, for thy health and prosperity ?" 
 
 6. Such was Scipio ; a soldier, a youth, a heathen ! 
 nor was his virtue unrewarded ! Allucius, charmed 
 with such magnanimity, liberality, and politeness, re- 
 turned to his own country, and published, on all occa- 
 sions, the praises of his generous and humane victor; 
 crying out, " that there was come into Spain a younp 
 hero, who conquered all things less by the force of hi** 
 arms, than by the charms of his virtue, and the great 
 ness of his beneficence." dodd. 
 
 SECTION XIV.— Virtue in humble life. 
 
 1. In the preceding section we have seen an illu? 
 trious instance of virtue in a person of exalted rank 
 This section exhibits an equally striking example of 
 uprightness in humble life. Virtue and goodness are 
 confined to no station : and wherever they are disco- 
 vered, they command respect. 
 
 2. Perrin, the amiable subject of this narrative, lost 
 both his parents before he could articulate their nam** 
 
Chap. 2. NARRATIVE PIECES. 35 
 
 and was obliged to a charity school for his education. 
 At the age of fifteen he was hired by a farmer to be a 
 shepherd, in a neighbourhood where Lucetta kept hei 
 father's sheep. They often met, and were fond of 
 being together. After an acquaintance of- five years, 
 in which they had many opportunities of becoming 
 thoroughly known to each other, Perrin proposed to 
 Lucetta to ask her father's consent to their marriage : 
 she blushed, and did not refuse her approbation. 
 
 3. As she had an errand to the town next day, the 
 opportunity of her absence was chosen for making the 
 proposal. " You wish to marry my daughter," said 
 the old man : " have you a house to cover her, or mo- 
 ney to maintain her? Lucetta's fortune is not enough 
 for both. It will net do, Perrin ; it will not do." 
 " But," replied Perrin, " I have hands to work : I 
 have laid up twenty crowns of my wages, which will 
 defray the expense of the wedding ; I will work hard- 
 er, and lay up more." " Well," said the old man, 
 "you are young, and may wait a little : get rich, and 
 my daughter is at your service." Perrin waited for 
 Lucetta's return in the evening. 
 
 4. " Has my father given you a refusal '?" cried Lu- 
 cetta. " Ah, Lucetta," replied Perrin, " how unhap- 
 py am I for being poor ! But I have not lost all hopes : 
 my circumstances may change for the better." As they 
 were never tired of conversing together, the night ap- 
 proached, and it became dark. Perrin, making a false 
 step, fell on the ground. He found a bag, which was 
 heavy. Drawing towards a light in the neighbour- 
 hood, he discovered that it was filled with gold. " I 
 thank heaven," cries Perrin, in a transport of joy, "for 
 being favourable to our wishes. This will satisfy your 
 father, and make us happy." In their way to her fa- 
 ther's house, a thought struck Perrin. " This money 
 is not ours, it belongs to some stranger ; and perhaps 
 this moment, he is lamenting the loss of it ; let us go to 
 the vicar for advice : he has always been kind to me." 
 
 5 Perrin put the bag into the vicar's hand, saying, 
 
36 introduction, <fcc. Part 1* 
 
 " that at first he looked on it as a providential present, 
 to remove the only obstacle to their marriage; but 
 that he now doubted whether he could lawfully retain 
 it." The vicar eyed the young couple with attention : 
 he admired their honesty, which appeared even to 
 surpass their affection. " Perrin," said he, "cherish 
 these sentiments; Heaven will bless yrju. We will 
 endeavour to find out the owner : he will reward thy 
 honesty : I will add what I can spare. You shall have 
 Lucetta." 
 
 6. The bag was advertised in the newspapers, and 
 cried in the neighbouring parishes. Some time having 
 elapsed, and the money not having been demanded, 
 the vicar carried it to Perrin. " These twelve thou- 
 sand livres bear at present no profit: you may reap 
 the interest at least. Lay them out in such a manner, 
 as to insure the sum itself to the owner, if he should 
 ever appear." A farm was purchased, and the con 
 sent of Lucetta's father to the marriage was obtained. 
 Perrin was employed in husbandry, and Lucetta in 
 family itffairs. They lived in perfect cordiality: and 
 two children endeared them still more to each other. 
 
 7. Perrin one evening returning homeward from his 
 work, saw a chaise overturned with two gentlemen in 
 it. lie ran to their assistance, and offered them every 
 accommo lation his small house could afford. " This 
 spot," cried one of' the gentlemen, " is very fatal to 
 me. Tvai years ago, I lost here twelve thousand 
 livres." ^ Perrin listened with attention. "What 
 search made you for them?" said he. "It was not in 
 my power," replied the stranger, " to make any search. - 
 I was hurrying to Port TOrient to embark for the In- 
 dies, as the vessel was ready to sail." 
 
 8. Next morning, Perrin showed to his guests his 
 house, his garden, his cattle, and mentioned the pro- 
 duce of his fields. "All these are your property," 
 m£ he, addressing the gentleman who had lost the 
 bag: "the money fell intj my hands; I purchased this 
 farm with it; the farm is yours. The vicar has an 
 
 
Chap. 2. NARRATIVE FIECES. 37 
 
 instrument which secures your property, though I had 
 died without seeing you." 
 
 9. The stranger read the instrument with emotion ; 
 he looked on Perrin, Lucetta, and the children. 
 ** Where am I," cried he, " and what do I hear ! — 
 What virtue in people of so low a condition ! Have 
 you any other land but this farm?" " No," replied 
 Perrin ; but you w T ill have occasion for a tenant, and 
 J hope you will allow me to remain here." " Your 
 honesty deserves a better recompense," answered the 
 stranger. "My success in trade has been great, and 
 £ have forgotten my loss. You are well entitled to 
 this little fortune : keep it as your own. What man 
 in the world could have acted more nobly than you 
 have done V* 
 
 10. Perrin and Lucetta shed tears of affection and 
 joy. " My dear children," said Perrin, " kiss the 
 hand of your benefactor. — Lucetta, this farm now be- 
 longs to us, and we can enjoy it without any anxiety 
 or remorse." Thus was honesty rewarded. Let those 
 who desire the reward practice the virtue. — dodd. 
 
 SECTION XV.— The female choice. 
 
 1. A young girl, having fatigued herself one hot 
 day, with running about the garden, sat down in a plea- 
 sant arbour, where she presently fell asleep. During 
 fter slumber, two female figures presented themselves 
 before her. One was loosely habited in a thin robe 
 of pink, with light green trimmings. Her sash of sil- 
 ver gauze flowed to the ground. Her fair hair fell in 
 ringlets down her neck ; and her head-dress consisted 
 of artificial flowers interwoven with feathers. She held 
 in one hand. a ball-ticket, and in the other a fancy-dress 
 all covered with spangles and knots of gay riband. 
 
 2. She advanced smiling to the girl, and with a fa- 
 miliar air thus addressed her : 
 
 " My dearest Melissa, I am a kind genius who have 
 watched you from your birth, and have joyfully be« 
 held all your beauties expand, till at length thevhava 
 rendered you a companion worthy of me. See what J 
 
 D 
 
38 " intro ihtction, &c. Part 1* 
 
 have brought you. This dress, and this ticket, wilF 
 give you free access to all the ravishing delights of 
 my palace. With me you will pass your days in a 
 perpetual round ©fever-varying amusements. 
 
 3. Like the gay butterfly,, you will have no other 
 business than to flutter from flower to flower, and 
 gpread vour charms before admiring spectators. No 
 restraints, no toils, no dull tasks, are to be found with- 
 in my happv domains. All is pleasure, life, and good 
 humour. Come then, my dear ! Let me put on you 
 this dress, which will make you quite enchanting ; and 
 away, awav, with me !" 
 
 Melissa felt a strong inclination to comply with the 
 call of this inviting nymph ; but first she thought it 
 would be prudent at least to ask her name* 
 
 u My name," said she is " Dissipation." 
 
 4. The other fetmle then advanced. She wat 
 clothed in a close habit of brown stuff, simply relieved 
 with white. She wore her smooth hair under a plain 
 cap. Her whole person was perfectly neat and clean. 
 Her look was serious, but satisfied ; and her air waa 
 staid and composed. She held in one hand a distaff: 
 on the opposite arm hung a work-basket; and the gir- 
 dle round her waist was garnished with scissors, knit- 
 tincr-kneedles, reels, and other implements oi iemaie 
 labour. A bunch of keys hung at her side, fene thus 
 accosted the sleeping oirl. 
 
 5. « Melissa, t am the genius who have ever oeea 
 the friend and companion of your mother ;' and I now 
 offer you my protection. I have no allurements to 
 tempt you with, like those of my gay rival. Instead 
 of spending all vour time in amusements, if you enter 
 yourself of mv train, you must rise early, and pass the 
 loner day in a variety of employments, suine of them 
 difficult, some laborious, and all requiring ^ertionot 
 bodvorofmind. You must dress plainly ; live mostly 
 at home ; and aim at being useful, rather than ^imng ; 
 6. -But in return, I will insure you content ever 
 spirits, self.approbation, and the esteem of all wht 
 
Chap* 2. NARRATIVE PIECES. 3D 
 
 thoroughly know you. If these offers appear to youi 
 ?oung mind less inviting than those of my rival, be 
 assured, however, that they are more real. She has 
 promised much more than she can ever make goocL 
 Perpetual pleasures are no more in the power of Dis- 
 sipation, than of Vice and Folly, to bestow. Her de- 
 lights quickly pall, and are inevitably succeeded by 
 languor and disgust. She appears to you under a dis- 
 guise, and what you see is not her real face. 
 
 7. u For myself, I shall never seem to you less 
 amiable than I now do; but, on the contrary, you will 
 like me better and better. If I look grave to you 
 now, you will see me cheerful at my work ; and when 
 work is over, I can enjoy every innocent amusement. 
 But I have said enough. It is time for you to choose 
 whom you will follow, and upon that choice all your 
 happiness depends. If you would know my name, it 
 is Housewifery." 
 
 8. Melissa heard her with more attention than de- 
 light ; and though overawed by her manner, she could 
 not help turning again to take another look at the first 
 speaker. She beheld her still offering her presents 
 with so bewitching an air, that she felt it scarcely pos- 
 sible to resist; when, by a lucky accident, the mask 
 with which Dissipation's face was so artfully covered, 
 fell off. As soon as Melissa beheld, instead of 
 Basiling features of youth and cheerfulness, a eounio 
 nance wan and ghastly with sickness, and soured by 
 fretfulness, she turned away with horror, and gave 
 her hand unreluctantly to her sober and sincere corn- 
 Pinion. BARBAULD. 
 
 SECTION XVI.— The noble basket-maker. 
 
 1. The Germans of rank and fortune, were formerly 
 remarkable for the custom of having their sons instruct- 
 ed in some mechanical business, by which they might 
 be habituated to a spirit of industry ; secured from the 
 miseries of idleness ; and qualified, in case of neeea^ 
 «ity, to support themselves and their families, A 
 
40 introduction, &c. Part 1. 
 
 striking proof of the utility of this custom, occurs in 
 the following narrative. 
 
 2. A young German nobleman of great merit and 
 talents, paid his addresses to an accomplished young 
 lady of the Palatinate ; and applied to her father for 
 his consent to marry her. The old nobleman, amongst 
 other observations, asked him, " how he expected to 
 maintain his daughter." The young man, surprised 
 at such a question, observed, " that his possessions 
 were known to be ample, and as secure as the honours 
 of his family." 
 
 3. "All this is very true," replied the father: " but 
 you well know, that our country has suffered much 
 from wars and devastation ; and that new events of 
 this nature may sweep away all your estate, and ren- 
 der you destitute. To keep you no longer in suspense, 
 (continued the father, with great politeness and affec- 
 tion,) I have seriously resolved never to marry my 
 daughter to any person, who, whatever may «be his 
 honours or property, does not possess some mechani- 
 cal art, by which he may be able to support her io 
 case of unforeseen events." 
 
 4. The young nobleman, deeply affected with his 
 determination, was silent for a few minutes ; when, 
 recovering himself, he declared, " that he believed 
 his happiness so much depended on the proposed 
 union, that no difficulty or submissions, consistent with 
 his honour, should prevent him from endeavouring to 
 accomplish it." He begged to know whether he 
 might be allowed six months to acquire the knowledge 
 of some manual art. The father, pleased with the 
 yourcg man's resolution, and affection for his daughter 
 consented to the proposal ; and pledged his honour that 
 the marriage should take place, if, at the expiration of 
 the time limited, he should succeed in his undertaking 
 
 5. Animated by the tenderest regard, and by a high 
 sense of the happiness he hoped to enjoy, he went im- 
 mediately into Flanders, engaged himself to a white- 
 twig basket-maker, and applied every power of inge 
 
 i 
 
Chap. 3. DIDACTIC PIECES. 41 
 
 nuity and industry to become skilled in the business. 
 He soon obtained a complete knowledge of the art 5 
 and, before the expiration of the time proposed, re- 
 turned, and brought with him, as specimens of his 
 skill, several baskets adapted to fruit, flowers, and 
 needle-work. 
 
 6. These were presented to the young lady ; and 
 universally admired for the delicacy and perfection 
 of the workmanship. Nothing now remained to pre- 
 vent the accomplishment of the noble youth's wishes : 
 and the marriage was solemnized to the satisfaction 
 of all parties. 
 
 7. The young couple lived several years in afflu- 
 ence ; and seemed, by their virtues and moderation, 
 to have secured the favours of fortune. But the ra- 
 vages of war, at length, extended themselves to the 
 Palatinate. Both the families were driven from their 
 country, and their estates forfeited. And now opens 
 a most interesting scene. 
 
 8. The young nobleman commenced his trade of 
 basket-making ; and by his superior skill in the art, 
 soon commanded extensive business. For many years, 
 he liberally supported not only his own family, but also 
 that of the good old nobleman, his father-in-law : and 
 enjoyed the high satisfaction of contributing, by his own 
 industry, to the happiness of connexions doubly endear- 
 ed to him by their misfortunes : and who otherwise 
 would have sunk into the miseries of neglect and indi- 
 gence, sharpened by the remembrance of better days* 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 DIDACTIC PIECES. 
 
 SECTION L— Tenderness of Mothers. 
 1. Mark that parent hen, said a father to his be- 
 loved son. With what anxious care does she call 
 together her offspring, and cover them with her ex- 
 panded wings! The kite is hovering in the air, and, 
 disappointed of his prey, may perhaps dart upon tho 
 hen herself, and bear her off in his talons. 
 D 2 
 
42 introduction, &c. Part 1 
 
 2. Does not this sight suggest to you the tender- 
 ness and affection of your mother ! Her watchful car© 
 protected you in the helpless period of infancy, when 
 she nourished you with her milk, taught your limbs to 
 move, and your tongue to lisp its unformed accents. 
 In your childhood, she mourned over your little griefs ; 
 rejoiced in your innocent delights ; administered to 
 you the healing balm in sickness ; and instilled into 
 your mind the love of truth, of virtue, and of wisdom. 
 Oh ! cherish every sentiment of respect for such a 
 mother. She merits your warmest gratitude, esteem, 
 and veneration. percival. 
 
 SECTION II. — Respect and affection due from 
 pupils to their tutors. 
 
 1. Quinctilian says, that he has included almost 
 all the duty of scholars in this one piece of advice 
 which he gives them : to love those who instruct them, 
 as they love the sciences which they study ; and tc 
 look upon them as fathers from whom they derive.no! 
 the life of the body, but that instruction which is in 
 
 8 manner the life of the soul. 
 
 2. This sentiment of affection and respect dispose* 
 Ihem to apply diligently during the time of their stu- 
 dies ; and preserves in their minds, during the re- 
 mainder of life, a tender gratitude towards their in 
 gtructors. It seems to include a great part of what \$ 
 to be expected from them. 
 
 3. Docility, which consists in readily receiving in- 
 structions, and reducing them to practice, is properly 
 the virtue of scholars, as that of masters is to teach 
 well. As it is not sufficient for a labourer to sow the 
 seed, unless the earth, after having opened its bosom 
 to receive it, warms and moistens it ; so the whole 
 fruit of instruction depends upon a good correspond 
 dence between masters and scholars. 
 
 4. Gratitude towards those who have faithfully la. 
 boured in our education, is an essential virtue, and 
 the mark of a good heart. " Of those who have been 
 carefully instructed, who is there," says Cicero, " that 
 
Chap. 3. DIDACTIC PIECES. 43 
 
 is not delighted with the sight, and even the remem- 
 brance of his preceptors, and the very place where he 
 was educated ?" Seneca exhorts young men to pre- 
 serve always a great respect for their masters, to 
 whose care they are indebted for the amendment of 
 their faults, and for having imbibed sentiments of 
 honour and probity. 
 
 5. Their exactness and severity sometimes dis- 
 please, at an age when we are not in a condition to 
 judge of the obligations we owe them : but when years 
 have ripened our understanding and judgment, we 
 discern that admonitions, reprimands, and a severe 
 exactness in restraining the passions of an imprudent 
 and inconsiderate age, far from justifying dislike, de- 
 mand our esteem and love. Marcus Aurelius, one ot 
 the wisest and most illustrious emperors that Rome 
 ever had, thanked Heaven for two things especially; — 
 for having had excellent tutors himself; and for having 
 found the like blessing for his children, rollin. 
 SECTION ILL— On filial piety. 
 
 1. From the creatures of God let man learn wis- 
 dom, and apply to himself the instruction they give. 
 Go to the desert, my son : observe the young stork of 
 the wilderness; let him speak to thy heart. He bears 
 on his wings his aged sire : he lodges him in safety, 
 and supplies him with food. 
 
 2. The piety of a child is sweeter than the incense 
 of Persia offered to the sun ; yea, more delicious than 
 odours wafted from a field of i\.rabian spices, by the 
 western gales. 
 
 3. Be grateful to thy father, for he gave thee life; and 
 to thy mother, for she sustained thee. Hear the words 
 of their mouth, for they are spoken for thy good ; give 
 car to their admonition, for it proceeds from love. 
 
 4 Thy father has watched for thy welfare, he ha3 
 toiled for thy ease : do honour, therefore to his age, 
 and let not his gray hairs be treated with irreverence. 
 Forget not thy helpless infancy, nor the frowardnessof 
 thy youth ; and bear with the infirmities of thy aged 
 
44 introduction, &c. Part. 1. 
 
 fjarents ; assist and support them in the decline of 
 ife. So shall their hoary hairs go down to the grave 
 in peace : and thy own children, in reverence to thy 
 example, shall repay thy piety with filial love. 
 
 economy or human life, 
 SECTION IV. — Love between brothers and sisters. 
 
 1. You are the children of one father, provided for 
 by his care; and the breast of one mother gave you 
 suck. Let tne bonds of affection, therefore, unite thee 
 with thy brothers and sisters, that peace and happi- 
 ness may dwell in thy father's house. 
 
 2. And when you are separated in the world, re- 
 member the relation that binds you to love and unity ; 
 and prefer not a stranger before thy own blood. If 
 thy brother is in adversity, assist him ; if thy sister is 
 in trouble, forsake her not. So shall the fortunes of 
 thy father contribute to the support of his whole race , 
 and his care be continued to you all, in your love to 
 each other. economy of human life. 
 
 SECTION V.— Benevolence. 
 
 1. When thou consider* st thy wants, when thou 
 beholdest thy imperfections, acknowledge his good- 
 ness, O son of humanity ! who honoured thee with 
 reason ; endued thee with speech ; and placed thee in 
 society, to receive and confer reciprocal helps and 
 mutual obligations. 
 
 2. Thy foo:l, thy clothing, thy convenience of habi- 
 tation ; thy protection from the injuries, thy enjoy 
 ment of the comforts and the pleasures of life ; all these 
 thou owest to the assistance of others, and couldst not 
 enjuy but in the bands of society. It is thy duty there- 
 fore, to be a friend to mankind, as it is thy interest 
 that man should be friendlv to thee. 
 
 3. Rejoice in the happiness and prosperity of thj 
 neighbour. Open not thy ear to slander : the faults 
 and failings of men give pain to a benevolent heart. 
 Desire to do good, and search out occasions for it ; in 
 removing the oppression of another, the virtuous mind 
 relieves itself. 
 
Chap. 3. DIDACTIC PIECES. 48 
 
 4. Shut not thine ears against the cries of the poor } 
 nor harden thy heart against the calamities of the in- 
 nocent. When the fatherless call upon thee, when 
 the widow's heart is sunk and she implores thy assist- 
 ance with tears of sorrow ; pity their affliction, and ex- 
 tend thy hand to those who have none to help them. 
 When thou seest the naked wanderer of the street, 
 shivering with cold, and destitute of habitation, let 
 bounty open thy heart ; let the wings of charity shelter 
 him from death ; that thy own soul may live. 
 
 5. Whilst the poor man groans on the bed of sick- 
 ness, whijst the unfortunate languish in the horrors 7 of 
 a dungeon ; or the hoary head of age lifts up a feeble 
 eye to thee for pity ; how canst thou riot in superfluous 
 enjoyments, regardless of their wants, unfeeling of 
 their woes ? economy of human life. 
 
 SECTION VI. — Ingratitude to our Supreme Bene- 
 factor ', is highly culpable. 
 
 1. . Arta banes was distinguished with.peculiar fa- 
 vour by a wise, powerful and good prince. A mag- 
 nificent palace, surrounded with a delightful garden, 
 was provided for his residence. -He partook of all the 
 luxuries of his sovereign's table, was invested with ex- 
 tensive authority, and admitted to the honour of a free 
 intercourse with his gracious master. But Artabanes 
 was insensible of the advantages which he enjoyed; his 
 heart glowed not with gratitude and respect; he avoided 
 the society of his benefactor, and abused his bounty. 
 
 2. " I detest such a character," said Alexis, with 
 generous indignation! — " It is your own picture which 
 I have drawn," replied Euphronius. " The great Po- 
 tentate of heaven and earth has placed you in a world, 
 which displays the highest beauty, order, anil magnifi- 
 cence; and which abounds with every means of conve- 
 nience, enjoyment, and happiness. He has furnished 
 you with such powers of body and mind, as give you 
 dominion over the fishes of the sea, the fowls of the air, 
 and the beasts of the field. He has invited vou to hold 
 
46 introduction, &c. Part. 1. 
 
 communion with him, and to exalt your own nature, 
 by the love and imitation of his divine perfections. 
 
 3. " Yet have your eyes wandered, with brutal 
 gaze, over the fair creation, unconscious of the mightjr 
 hand from which it sprung. You have rioted in tho 
 profusion of nature, without suitable emotions of grati- 
 tude to the sovereign Dispenser of all good: and you 
 nave too often slighted the glorious converse, and for- 
 gotten the presence of that omnipotent Being, who fills 
 all space, and exists through all eternity." percival. 
 
 SECTION Vll. — Speculation and Practice 
 
 1. A certain astronomer was contemplating the 
 moon through his telescope, and tracing the extent of 
 her seas, the height of her mountains, and the number 
 of habitable territories which she contains. u Let him 
 spy what he pleases," said a clown to his companions 
 " he is not nearer^to the moon than we are." 
 
 2. Shall the same observation be made of you, 
 Alexis? Do you surpass others in learning, and yet in 
 goodness remain upon a level with the uninstructed 
 vulgar? Have you so long gazed at the temple of vir- 
 tue, without advancing one step towards it? Are you 
 smitten with moral beauty, yet regardless of its at- 
 tainment ? Are you a philosopher in theory, but a 
 novice in practice? The partiality of a father inclines 
 me to hope, that the reverse is true. I flatter myself, 
 that by having learned to think, you will be qualified 
 to act; and that the rectitude of your conduct will bo 
 adequate to your improvements in knowledge. 
 
 3. May that wisdom which is justified in her works 
 be your guide through life ? and may you enjoy all the 
 felicity which flows from a cultivated understanding, 
 pious anu well-regulated affections, and extensive be* 
 nevolence ! In these consists that sovereign good, 
 which ancient sages so much extol ; which reason re 
 commends, religion authorizes, and God approves. 
 
 PEKCIVAL. 
 
Chap. 4. DESCRIPTIVE PIECES. 4T 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 DESCRIPTIVE PIECES. 
 
 SECTION I.— The Eagle. 
 
 1. The Golden Eigle is the largest and the noblest 
 of all those birds tftat have received the name of Eagle. 
 It weighs above twelve pounds. Its length is three 
 feet ; the extent of its wings, seven feet four inches; 
 the bill is three inches long, and of a deep blue ; and 
 the eye of a hazle colour. In general, these birds are 
 found in mountains and thinly inhibited countries; 
 and breed among the loftiest cliffs. They choose those 
 places which are remotest from man, upon whose pos- 
 sessions they but seldom make their depredations, be- 
 ing contented rather to follow the wild game in the 
 forest, than to risk their s afety to satisfy their hunger* 
 
 2. This fierce animal may be considered among 
 birds, as the lion among quadrupeds; and, in many 
 respects, they hav« a strong similitude to each other. 
 They are both possessed of force and am empire over 
 their fellows of the forest. Equally magnanimous, they 
 disdain small plunder; and only pursue animals wor- 
 thy the conquest. It is not till after having been long 
 provoked by the cries of the rook or ihe magpie, that 
 this generous bird thinks fit to punish them with death. 
 
 3. Tne Eagle also disdains to share tile plunder of 
 another bird; and will, take up with no other prey 
 than that which he has acquired by his own pursuits. 
 How hungry soever he may he, he stoops not to car 
 rion ; and when satiated, never returns to the same 
 carcass, but leaves it for ot her an im lis, more rapacious 
 and less delicate than himself. Solitary, like the lion, 
 he keeps the desert to himself alone; it is as extraor- 
 dinary to see two pair of e-igles in the same moun- 
 tain, as two lions in the same forest. 
 
 4. They keep separate, to find a more ample sup- 
 ply ; and consider the quantity of their game as the 
 best proof of their dominion. Nor does the similitude 
 of these animals stop here : they have both sparkling 
 
 
48 introduction, &c. Part i 
 
 feyes, and nearly of the same colour ; their claws are 
 of the same form, their breath equally strong, and 
 their cry equally loud and terrifying. Bred both for 
 war, they are enemies of all society ; alike fierce, 
 proud, and incapable of being easily tamed. 
 
 5. Of all the feathered tribe, the eagle flies the 
 highest; and from thence the ancients have given him 
 the title of the bird of heaven. He possesses* also the 
 sharpest sight ; but his sense of smelling, though acute, 
 is inferior to that of a vulture. He never pursues, but 
 when his object is in view ; and having seized his prey, 
 he stoops from his height, as if to examine its weight, 
 always laying it on the ground before he carries it off. 
 He finds no difficulty in taking up geese and cranes* 
 He also carries away hares, lambs, and kids ; and often 
 destroys fawns and calves, to drink their blood ; and 
 bears a part of their flesh to his retreat. 
 
 6. Infants themselves, when left unattended, have 
 been destroyed by these rapacious creatures. An in- 
 stance is recorded in Scotland, of two children having 
 been carried off by eagles ; but fortunately they re- 
 ceived no hurt by the way ; and, the eagles being pur- 
 sued, the children were found unhurt in the nests, 
 and restored to the affrighted parents. 
 
 7. The eagle is thus at all times, a formidable neigh- 
 bour : but peculiarly so when bringing up its young. 
 It is then that the male and female exert all their 
 force and industry to supply their offspring. Smith, 
 in his history of Kerry, relates that a poor man in that 
 country got a comfortable subsistence for his family, 
 during a summer of famine, out of an eagle's nest, by 
 robbing the eaglets of food, which was plentifully 
 supplied by the old ones. 
 
 8. He protracted their assiduity beyond the usual 
 time, by clipping the wings, and retarding the flight 
 of the young; and very probably also, as I have known 
 myself, by so tying them, as to increase their cries, 
 which are always found to increase their parent's des- 
 patch to procure them provision. It was fortunate, 
 
Chap. 4. DESCRIPTIVE PIECES. 49 
 
 however, that the old eagles did not surprise the coun- 
 tryman thus employed, as their resentment might have 
 been dangerous. 
 
 9. It requires great patience and much art to tame 
 an eagle; and even though taken young, and subdued 
 hy long assiduity, yet it is a dangerous domestic, and 
 often turns its force against its master. When brought 
 Into the field for the purpose of fowling, the falconer 
 is never sure of its attachment : its innate pride, and 
 love of liberty, still prompt it to regain its native so- 
 litudes. Sometimes, however, eagles are brought to 
 
 an attachment" to their feeder ; they are then 
 highly serviceable, and liberally provide for his plea- 
 sures and support/ 
 
 10. When the falconer lets' them go from his hand, 
 I hey play about and hover round him till their game 
 presents, which they see at an immense distance, and 
 pursue with certain destruction. 
 
 11. It is said that the eagle can live many weeks 
 without food ; and that the period of its life exceeds 
 a hundred vears. goldsmith. 
 
 - SECTION IL— The Humming-bird. 
 
 1. Of all the birds that flutter in the garden, or 
 paint the landscape, the humming-bird is the most de- 
 lightful to look upon, and the most inoffensive. Of 
 this charming little animal, there are six or seven va- 
 rieties, from the size of a small wren, down to that of 
 a humble-bee. A European would not readily sup- 
 pose that there existed any birds so very small, and 
 vet so completely furnished with a bill, feathers, wings 
 and intestines, exactly resembling those of the largest 
 kind. 
 
 2. Birds not so big as the end of one's little finger, 
 would probably be supposed mere creatures of imagi- 
 nation, were they not seen in infinite numbers, and as 
 frequent as butterflies in a summer's day, sporting in 
 the fields of America, from flower to flower, and ex- 
 tracting sweets with their little bills, 
 
 3. The smallest humming-bird is about the size of 
 
 E 
 
50 INTRODUCTION, &c. Pari. U - 
 
 a hazel-nut. The feathers on its Wings and tail are 
 black ; but those on its body, and under its wings, are 
 of a greenish brown, with a fine red cast or gloss, which 
 no silk or velvet can imitate. It has a small crest on 
 its head, green at the bottom, and as it were gilded at 
 the top; and which sparkles in the sun like a little 
 star in the middle of its forehead. The bill is black, 
 straight, slender, and of the length of a small pin. 
 
 4. It is inconceivable how ntuch these birds add to 
 the high finishing and beauty of a rich luxurious west- 
 ern landscape. As soon as the sun is risen, the hum- 
 ming-birds, of different kinds, are seen-fluttering about 
 the flowers, without ever lighting upon them. Their 
 wings are in so rapid a motion, that it is Impossible 
 to discern their colours, except by their glittering. 
 
 5. They are never still, but continually in motion, 
 visiting flower after flower, and extracting its honey 
 as if with a kiss. Jor this purpose they, arf furnished 
 with a forky tongue, that enters the cup of tr 
 
 and extracts it:s nee tared tribute. Upon- this 
 they subsist. The rapid motion of their wings occa- 
 sions a humming sound, from whence they have their 
 name ; for, whatever divides the air swiftly, must pro- 
 duce a murmur. 
 
 6. The nests of these birds are also very curious. 
 They are suspended in the air, at the point of the twigs 
 of an orange, a pomegranate, or a citron tree ; some- 
 times even in houses, if a small and convenient twig 
 is found for the purpose. The female is the architect, 
 while the male goes in quest of materials ; such as cot- 
 ton, fine moss, and the fibres of vegetables. Of ihe^ 
 materials, a nest is composed, about the size of a lien's 
 egg cut in two; it is admirably contrived, and warm- 
 ly lined with cotton. 
 
 7. There are never more than two eggs found m a 
 nest; these are about the size of small peas, and as 
 white as snow, with here and there a yellow speck; 
 The male and the female sit upon the nest by turns : 
 out the female takes to herself the greatest share. 
 
t'hap.A. DESCRIPTIVE PIECES. 51 
 
 She seldom quits the nest, except a few minutes in 
 the morning and evening, when the dew is upon the 
 flowers, and their honey in perfection. 
 
 8. During the short interval, the male takes he r 
 place. The time of incubation- continues twelve 
 days ; at the end of which the young ones appear, 
 much about the size of a blue-bottle fly. They are 
 at first bare ; by degrees they are covered with down ; 
 mid, at last, feathers succeed, but less beautiful at 
 first than those of the old ones. 
 
 •9. Father Labat, in his account of the mission to 
 America, says, " that his companion found a nest of 
 a humming-bird, in a shed near the dwelling-house ; 
 and took it in, at a time when the young ones were 
 about fifteen or twenty days old. He placed them in 
 a cage at his chamber window, to be amused by their 
 sportive fiutferings : but he was much surprised to see 
 the old ones, which came and fed (^eir brood regular- 
 ly every hour in the day. By this means they them- 
 selves grew so tame, that they seldom quitted the 
 chamber; and, without any constraint, came to live 
 with their young ones. 
 
 10. "All four frequently perched upon their mas- 
 ter's hand, chirping as if they had been at liberty 
 abroad. He fed them with a very fine clear paste, 
 made of wine, biscuit, and sugar. They thrust their 
 tongues into this paste, till they were satisfied, and 
 then fluttered and chirped about the room. I never 
 beheld any thing more agreeable," continues he, "than 
 this lovely little family, which had possession of my 
 companion's chamber, and flew in and out just as they 
 thought proper ; but were ever attentive to the voice 
 of their master, when he called them. 
 
 11. "In this manner they lived with him above six 
 months : but at a time when he expected to see a new 
 colony formed, he unfortunately forgot to tie up their 
 cage to the ceiling at night, to preserve them from the 
 rats, and he found in the morning, to his great morti- 
 
 ' Scation, that they were all devoured." — goldsmith. 
 
b2 introduction, &c. Part 1 . 
 
 SECTION III.— The Horse. 
 
 1. Of all quadrupeds, the horse appears to he. the 
 most beautiful. His fine size, the glossy smopthness of 
 his skin, the graceful ease of his motions, and the exact 
 symmetry of his shape, entitle him to this distinction. 
 
 2. To have an idea of this noble animal in his na- 
 tive simplicity, we are not to look for him in the pas- 
 tures, or the stables, to which he has been consigned 
 by man ; but in those wild and extensive plains, where 
 he was originally produced, where he ranges withoul 
 control, and riots in all the variety of luxurious nature. 
 In this state of happy independence, he disdains tin? 
 assistance of man, which tends only to his servitude. 
 
 3. In those boundless tracts, whether of Africa oi 
 New Spain, where he runs at liberty, he seems no way 
 incommoded with the inconveniences to which he is 
 subject in Europe. The continual verdure of the 
 fields supplies his wants ; and the climate that never 
 knows a winter suits his constitution, which naturally 
 seems adapted to heat. 
 
 4. In those countries, the horses are often seen feed- 
 ing in droves of five or six hundred. As they do not 
 carry on war against any other* race of animals, they 
 are satisfied to remain entirely upon the defensive. 
 They have always one among their number that stands 
 as sentinel, to give notice of any approaching danger , 
 and this office they take by turns. 
 
 5. If a man approaches them while they are feeding 
 by day, their sentinel walks up boldly towards him, as 
 if to examine his strength, or to intimidate him from 
 proceeding; but as the man approaches within pistol- 
 shot, the sentinel then thinks it high time to alarm 
 his fellows. This he does by a loud kind of snorting ; 
 upon which they all take the signal, and fly off with 
 the speed of the wind ; their faithful sentinel bringing 
 up the rear. 
 
 6. But of all countries in the world, where the horse 
 runs wild, Arabia produces the most beautiful breed, 
 the most generous, swift, and persevering. They are 
 
I 
 
 Chap* 4. DESCRIPTIVE PIECES. 53 
 
 found, though not in great numbers, in the deserts of 
 that country ; and the natives use every stratagem to 
 take them. 
 
 7, The usual manner in which the Arabians try the 
 swiftness of these animals, is by hunting the ostrich. 
 The horse 'is the only animal wiiose speed is compara- 
 ble to that of this creature, which is found in the sandy 
 plains that abound in those countries. The instant the 
 ostrich perceives itself aimed at, it makes to the moun- 
 tains, while the horseman pursues with all the swift- 
 ness possible, and endeavours to cut off its retreat. 
 The chase then continues along the plain, while the 
 ostrich makes use of both legs and wings to assist its 
 motion. 
 
 "8. A horse of the first speed is able to outrun it : so 
 that the poor animal is then obliged to have recourse 
 to art to elude the hunter, by frequently turning. At 
 length, Ending all escape hopeless, it hides its head 
 wherever it can, and tamely suffers itself to be taken. 
 If the horse, in a trial of this kind, show T s great speed, 
 and is not readily tired, his character is fixed, and he 
 is held in high estimation. 
 
 9. The horses of the Arabians form the principal 
 riches of many of their tribes, who use them both in 
 the chase, and in their expeditions for plunder. They 
 never carry heavy burdens, and are seldom employed 
 on long journeys* They are so tractable and familiar, 
 that they will run from the fields to the call of their 
 masters. The Arab, his wife, and children, often lie 
 in the same tent with the mare and foal ; w r hich, in- 
 stead of injuring them, suffer the children to rest on 
 their bodies and necks, and seem afraid even to 
 move lest they should hurt them. 
 
 10. They never beat or correct their horses, but 
 treat them with kindness, and even affection. The 
 following anecdote of the compassion and attachment 
 shown by a poor Arabian to one of these animals, wilJ 
 be interesting to every reader. — The whole property 
 of this Arab consisted of a very fine beautiful mare, 
 
 e2 
 
 
&4 introduction, &e. Part 1. 
 
 This animal the French consul at Said offered to pur- 
 chase, with an intention to send her to the king, Louis 
 the Fourteenth. 
 
 11. The Arab, pressed by want, hesitated a long 
 time, but at length consented, on condition of receiv 
 ing a very considerable sum of money, which he 
 named. The consul wrote to France for permission to 
 close the bargain; and having obtained it, sent the 
 information to the Arab. The man, so poor as to pos- 
 sess only a few rags to cover his body, arrived with 
 his magnificent courser. He dismounted, but appear- 
 ed to be greatly agitated by contending emotions. 
 
 12. Looking first at the gold, and then at his mare, 
 he heaved a deep sigh, and exclaimed ; " To whom is 
 it I am going to surrender thee ? To Europeans ! who 
 will tie. thee close ; who will beat thee ; who will ren- 
 der thee miserable ! Return with me, my beauty, my 
 jewel, and rejoice the, hearts of my children !" As he 
 pronounced the last words, he sprung upon her back ; 
 and, in a few moments, was out of sight. 
 
 SECTION IV.— Tie Ouran-Outang 
 
 1. The ape called the Ouran-Outang, approaches 
 in external appearance nearer to the human form than 
 any other brute ; and from this circumstance, it has 
 sometimes obtained the appellation of " Man of the 
 Woods." This animal is of different sizes, from three 
 to seven feet. In general, its stature is less than that of 
 a man; but its strength and agility are much greater 
 
 2. Travellers who have seen various kinds of these 
 animals, in their native solitudes, give surprising rela- 
 tions of their force, their swiftness, their address, and 
 their ferocity. They are found in many parts of Africa, 
 in the East-Indies, in Madagascar, and Borneo. In the 
 last of these places, the people of quality course them 
 as we do the stag ; and this sort of hunting is one of 
 the favourite amusements of the king himself. 
 
 3. The skin of the Ouran-Outang is hairy, his eyes 
 arc sunk in his head, his countenance is stern, and all 
 
Chap. 4. DESCRIPTIVE PIECES. 55 
 
 his lineaments, though resembling those of a man, are 
 liaish and blackened by the sun. He sleeps under 
 trees, and builds a hut to protect himself against the 
 sun and the rains. When the negroes have left a fire 
 in the woods, he comes near, and warms himself by the 
 blaze. He has not, however, sense and skill sufficient 
 to keep the flame alive by feeding it with fuel. 
 
 4. These animals often go together in companies ; 
 and if they happen to meet one of the human species, 
 remote from succour, they seldom show him favour. 
 Sometimes, however, they spare those who fall into 
 their han^s. A negro boy was carried off by one of 
 them, and lived with them upwards of a year. 
 
 5. On his escape and return home, he described 
 many of them as being larger than men ; and he said 
 that they never attempted to injure him. They fre- 
 quently attack the elephant : they beat him with clubs, 
 and oblige him to leave that part of the forest which 
 they claim as their own. — When one of these animals 
 dies, the rest cover the body with leaves and branches. 
 
 6. The manners of the Ouran-Outang, when in con- 
 finement, a.re gentle, and, for the most part, harmless, 
 perfectly devoid of that disgusting ferocity so conspi- 
 cuous in some of the larger baboons-and monkeys. It 
 is mild and docile, and may be taught to perform with 
 dexterity a variety of entertaining actions. Vosa- 
 maer's account of one of these animals, which was 
 brought into Holland in the year 1776, and lodged in 
 the menagerie of the prince of Orange, is so exceed- 
 ingly curious, that we shall present the reader with 
 an extract from it. 
 
 7. " This animal showed no symptoms of fierceness 
 and malignity. It was fond of being in company, and 
 appeared to be very sensible of the kindness of those 
 who had the care of it. Often when they retired, it 
 would throw itself on the ground, as if in despair, ut- 
 tering lamentable cries, and tearing in pieces the 
 
 ' linen within its reach. Its keeper having been accus- 
 tomed to sit near it on the ground, it frequently took 
 
56 introduction, &c. Part 1 
 
 the hay off its bed, and laid it by its side, and seemed 
 by all its actions to invite him to be seated nearer. 
 
 8. " Its usual manner of walking was on all-fours, 
 but it could also walk on its two hind feet only. It 
 ate almost every thing that was given to it ; but it* 
 chief food was bread, roots, and all sorts of fruit, espe- 
 cially strawberries. When presented with strawber 
 ries on a plate, it was extremely pleasant to see the 
 animal take them up one by one, with a fork, and put 
 them into its mouth, holding at the same time the 
 plate in the other hand. 
 
 9. " Its common drink "was water ; but iUalso very 
 willingly drank all sorts of wine, and particularly Ma- 
 laga. After drinking, it wiped its lips ; and after eat- 
 ing, if presented with a toothpick, it would use it in 
 a proper manner. On shipboard, it ran freely about 
 the vessel, played with the sailors, and went, like 
 them, into the kitchen for its mess. At the approach 
 of night, it lay down to sleep, and prepared its bed, 
 by shaking well the hay on which it slept, and put- 
 ting it in proper order. It would then carefully draw 
 up the coverlet. This animal lived only seven months 
 after it had been brought into Holland." 
 
 10. The Ouran-Outang, described by BufTon, ex- 
 hibited a still greater degree of sagacity. It walked 
 upon two legs, even when it carried burdens. Its an 
 was melancholy, and its deportment grave. Unlike 
 the baboon and the monkey, whose motions are violent 
 and appetites capricious, whose fondness for mischief 
 is remarkable, and whose obedience proceeds onjy 
 from fear, this animal was slow in its motions, and a 
 look was sufficient to keep it in awe. « 
 
 11. I have seen it, says BufTon, give its hand to show 
 the company to the door : I have seen it sit at table 
 unfold its napkin, wipe its lips, make use of the spoon 
 and the fork to carry victuals to its mouth; pour out 
 its drink into a glass, and touch glasses when invited ,* 
 take a cup and saucer, lay them on the tabfe, put in su- 
 gar, pour out its tea, leave it to cool, and then drink it 
 
Chap. 4. DESCRIPTIVE PIECES. 5? 
 
 12. All this it would do without any other instiga- 
 tion than the signs or commands of its master, and 
 often of its own accord. It was gentle and inoffensive : 
 it even approached strangers with respect; and came 
 rather to peceive caresses than to offer injuries. It 
 was particularly fond of comfits, which every body was 
 ready to give it; but as it had a defiuxion upon the 
 breast, so much sugar contributed to increase the dis- 
 order, and to shorten its life. It continued at Paris 
 but one summer, and died in London. 
 
 13. We are told by Pyrard, that the Ouran-Outang3 
 are found at Sierra Leone ; where they are strong and 
 well-formed, and so industrious, that, when properly 
 trained and fed, they work like servants; that, when 
 ordered, they pound any substances in a mortar ; and 
 that they are frequently sent to fetch water, in small 
 pitchers, from the rivers. After filling the pitchers, 
 they carry them on their heads to the door of the 
 dwelling; but if they are not soon taken off, the ani- 
 mal suffers them to fall to the ground. When they 
 perceive the pitcher to be overturned and broken, 
 they utter loud lamentations. 
 
 14. The form and organs of this animal bear so near 
 a resemblance to those of men, that we are surprised 
 to find them productive of so few advantages. The 
 tongue, and all the organs of the voice, are similar, 
 and yet the animal is dumb ; the brain is formed in the 
 same manner as that of man, and yet the creature 
 wants reason ; an evident proof, as BufTon finely ob- 
 serves, that no arrangement of matter will give mind ; 
 and that the body, how nicely soever formed, is form- 
 ed to very limited ends, w T hen there is not infused a 
 soul to direct its operations. 
 
 SECTION V.— The four Seasons. 
 
 1. Who is this beautiful virgin that approaches, 
 clothed in a robe of light green ? She has a garland of 
 flowers on her head, and flowers spring up wherever 
 she sets her foot. The snow which covered the fields, 
 
58 introduction, &c. Part 1 
 
 and the ice which is in the rivers, melt away when 
 she breathes upon them. 
 
 2. The young" lambs frisk about her, and the birds 
 warble in their little throats to welcome her coming ; 
 and when they see her, they begin to <?hoose their 
 mates, and to build their nests. Youths and maidens, 
 have you seen this beautiful virgin ? If you have, tell 
 me who is she, and what is her name. 
 
 1. Who is this that comes from the south, thinly 
 clad in a light transparent garment ? Her breath u 
 hot, and sultry ; she seeks the refreshment of the cool 
 sliade ; she seeks the clear streams, the crystal brooks 
 to bathe her languid limbs. The brooks "and rivulets 
 ily from her, and are dried up at her approach. She 
 cools her parched lips with berries, and the grateful 
 acid of fruits; the seedy melon, the sharp apple, anc' 
 the red pulp of the juicy cherry, which are poured out 
 plentifully around her. 
 
 2. The tanned haymakers welcome her coming ; and 
 the sheepshearer, who clips the fleeces of his flock 
 with his sounding shears. When she comes, let me 
 lie under the thick shade of a spreading beech tree ; — 
 let me walk with her in the early morning, when the 
 dew is yet upon the grass ; — let me wander with b^n 
 in the soft twilight, when the shepherd shuts his fom 
 and the star of evening appears. Who is she that 
 comes from the south? Youths and maidens, tell me, 
 if you know, who is she, and what is her name. 
 
 1. Wno is he that comes with sober pace, stealing, 
 upon us unawares? His garments are red with tne 
 blood of the grape, and his temples are bound witn a 
 sheaf of ripe wheat. His hair is thin and begins 10 
 fall ; and the auburn is mixed with mournful gray. 
 He shakes the brown nuts from the tree. 
 
 2. He winds the horn, and calls the hunters to their 
 sport. The gun sounds. The trembling partridge and 
 the beautiful pheasant flutter, bleeding in the air, and 
 
Chap. 4. DESCRIPTIVE PIECES* 6& 
 
 fall dead at the sportsman's feet. Who is he that is 
 crowned with the wheat-sheaf? Youths and maidens 
 tell me, if you know, who is he, and what is his name ? 
 
 1. Who is he that comes from the north, clothed in 
 furs and warm wool ? He wraps his cloak close about 
 him. His head is bald ; his beard is made of sharp 
 icicles. He loves fhe blazing fire, high piled upon 
 the hearth. He binds skates to Tiis feet, and skims 
 over the frozen lakes. His breath is piercing and 
 cold, and no little flower dares to peep above the sur- 
 face of the ground, when he is by. 
 
 2. Whatever he touches turns to ice. If he were 
 to §trike you with his cold hand, you would be quite 
 stiff and dead, like a piece of marble. Youths and 
 maidens, do you see him ? He is coming fast upon 
 us, and soon he will be here. Tell me, if you know, 
 who is he, and what is his name 1 barbauld. 
 
 SECTION VI.— Divine Providence. 
 
 1. The glorious sun is set in the west; the night* 
 dews fall ; and the air, which was sultry, becomes cool. 
 The flowers fold up their coloured leaves : they i 
 themselves up, and hang their heads on the slender 
 stalk. The chickens are gathered under the wing of 
 the hen, and are at rest : the hen herself is at rest also. 
 The little birds have ceased their warbling ; they are 
 asleep on the boughs, each one with his head behind 
 his wing. There is no murmur of bees around the hive, 
 or among the honeyed woodbine? ; they have d 
 iheir work, and they lie close in their waxen cells. 
 
 2. The sheep rest upon their soft fleeces, and their 
 loud bleating is no more heard among the bills. There 
 is no sound of a number of voices, or of children at plav, 
 or the trampling of busy ^eet, and of people hurrying 
 to and fro. The smith's hammer is not heard upon- 
 the anvil ; nor the harsh saw of the carpenter. All 
 men are stretched on their quiet beds: and the child 
 sleeps upon the breast of its mother. Darkness is 
 
#0 introduction, &c. Part 1 
 
 spread over the skies, and darkness is upon the ground 
 every eye is shut, and every hand is still. 
 
 3. Who takes care of all people, when they are 
 sunk in sleep : when they cannot defend themselves, 
 nor see if danger approaches ? There is an eye that 
 never sleeps; there is an eye that sees in dark night, 
 as well as in the bright sunshine. When there is no 
 light of the sun, nor of the moon ; when there is no 
 lamp in the house, nor any little star twinkling through 
 the thick clouds ; that eye sees every where, in all 
 places, and watches continually over all the families 
 of the earth. The eye that sleeps not is God's; his 
 hand is always stretched out over us. He made sleep 
 to refresh us when we are weary : he made night that 
 we might sleep in quiet. 
 
 4. As the mother moves about the house with her 
 finger on her lips, and stills every little noise, that 
 her infant be not disturbed ; as she draws the curtain 
 around its bed, and shuts out the light from its tender 
 eyes; so God draws the curtains of darkness around 
 U3 ; so he makes all things to be hushed and still, that 
 his large family may sleep in peace. 
 
 5. Labourers spent with toil, and young children, 
 and every little humming insect, sleep quietly, for 
 God watches over you. You may sleep, for he never 
 sleeps : you may close your eyes in safety, for his eye 
 is always open to protect you. 
 
 6. When the darkness is passed away, and the beams 
 of the morning sun strike through your eye-lids, begin 
 the day with praising God, who has taken care of you 
 through the night. Flowers, when you open again, 
 spread your leaves, and smell sweet to his praise! 
 jiirds, when you awake, warble your thanks, among 
 the green boughs ! sing to him before you sing to your 
 mates ! — Let his praise be in our hearts, when we lie 
 down ; let his praise be on our lips, when we awake 
 
 BARBAULD. 
 
Chap. 4. DESCRIPTIVE PIECES. 61 
 
 SECTION VII.— Health. 
 
 1. Who is she that with graceful steps, and with a 
 lively air, trips over yonder plain ? 
 
 The rose blushes on her cheeks ; the sweetness of 
 the morning breathes from her lips ; joy, tempered 
 with innocence and modesty, sparkles in her eyes ; 
 and the cheerfulness of her heart appears in all her 
 movements. Her name is Health : she is the daughter 
 of Exercise and Temperance. Their sons inhabit the 
 mountains and the plain. They are brave, active, and 
 lively, and partake of all the beauties and virtues of 
 their sister. 
 
 2. Vigour strings their nerves, strength dwells in 
 their bones, and labour is their delight all the day long. 
 The employments of their father excite their appetites; 
 and the repasts of their mother refresh them. To 
 combat the passions is their delight; to conquer evil 
 habits, their glory. Their pleasures are moderate, 
 and therefore they endure ; their repose is short, but 
 sound and undisturbed. Their blood is pure ; their 
 minds are serene ; and the physician does not find the 
 wav to their habitations. — economy of human life. 
 
 SECTION VIIL— Charity. 
 
 1. Happy is the man who has sown in his breast the 
 seeds of charity and love ! From the fountain of his 
 heart rise rivers of goodness ; and the streams over- 
 flow for the benefit of mankind. He assists the poor 
 in their trouble; he rejoices in promoting the welfare 
 of ail nren. He does not harshly censure his neigh- 
 bour; he believes not the tales of envy and malevo- 
 lence, nor repeats their slanders. 
 
 2. He forgives the injuries of men ; he wipes them 
 from his remembrance : revenge and malice have no 
 place in his heart. For evil he returns not evil : he 
 hates not even his enemies ; but requites their injustice 
 jvith friendly admonition. The griefs and anxieties 
 of men excite his compassion ; he endeavours to alle- 
 viate the weight of their misfortunes ; and the pleav 
 
 ' sure of success rewards his labour. 
 F 
 
62 introduction, &c. Part I 
 
 3. He calms the fury, he heals the quarrels of angry 
 men ; and prevents the mischiefs of strife and ani- 
 mosity. He promotes in his neighbourhood peace arid 
 good will ; and his name is repeated with praise and 
 benedictions. economy of human life. 
 
 SECTION IX,— Gratitude. 
 
 1. As the branches of a tree return their sap to the 
 root from whence it arose ; as a river pours its streams 
 to the sea, whence its spring was supplied ; so tht" 
 heart of a grateful man delights in returning abenem 
 received. He acknowledges his obligations with cheer 
 fulness; he looks on his benefactor with love and es 
 teem. And if to return a favour be not in his power, 
 he cherishes the remembrance of it through life. 
 
 2. The hand of the generous man is like the clouds 
 of heaven, which drop upon the earth, fruits, herbage, 
 and flowers : but the heart of the ungrateful is like a 
 desert of sand, which swallows with greediness the 
 showers that fall, buries them in its bosom, and pro- 
 duces nothing. 
 
 3. The grateful mind envies not its benefactor, nor 
 strives to conceal the benefit he has conferred. Though 
 to oblige is better than to be obliged ; though the act 
 of generosity commands admiration ; yet the humility 
 of gratitude touches the heart, and is amiable in tlte 
 sight both of God and man. 
 
 ECONOMY OF HUMAN LIFE. 
 
 SECTION X.— Mortality. 
 
 1. Child of mortality, whence comest thou? why 
 is thy countenance sad, and why are thy eyes red with 
 weeping? — I have seen the rose in its beauty ; it spread 
 it3 leaves to the morningsun. I returned : it was dy- 
 ing upon its stalk ; the grace of the form of it was gone: 
 its loveliness was vanished away ; its leaves were scat- 
 tered on the ground, and no one gathered them again. 
 
 2. A stately tree grew on the plain ; its branches 
 were covered with verdure ; its boughs spread wide, 
 and made a goodly shadow ; the trunk was like a strong 
 
Chap. 4. DESCRIPTIVE PIECES. 63 
 
 pillar j the roots were like crooked fangs. I returned ; 
 the verdure was nipt by the east wind ; the branches 
 were lopt away by the axe ; the worm had made its 
 way into the trunk, and the heart thereof was decay- 
 ed ; it mouldered away and fell to the ground. 
 
 3. I have seen the insects sporting in the sunshine, 
 and darting along the streams ; their wings glittered 
 with gold and purple ; their bodies shone like the 
 green emerald; they were more numerous than I 
 <-ou Id count ; their motions were quicker than my eye 
 could glance. I returned : they were brushed into the 
 pool; they were perishing with the evening breeze; 
 the swallow had devoured them; the pike had seized 
 them ; there were none found of so great a multitude. 
 
 4. I have seen man - in the pride of his strength ; 
 his cheeks glowed with beauty; his limbs were full 
 of activity ; he leaped ; he walked ; he ran ; he re- 
 
 d in that he was more excellent than those. I re- 
 turned : he lay stiff and cold on the bare ground ; his 
 feet could no longer move, nor his hands stretch 
 themselves out; his life was departed from him ; and 
 the breath out of his nostrils. Therefore do I weep 
 because DEATH is in the world ; the spoiler is 
 among the works of God ; all that is made must be 
 destroyed ; all that is born must die : let me alone, 
 for I will weep yet longer. barbauld. 
 
 SECTION XI.— Immortality. 
 
 1. I have seen the flower withering on the stalk 
 and ks bright leaves spread on the ground. — I looked 
 again ; — it sprung forth afresh ; its stem was crown- 
 ed with new buds, and its sweetness filled the air. 
 
 2. I have seen the sun set in the west, and the 
 shades of night shut in the wide horizon : there was 
 no colour, nor shape, nor beauty, nor music; glo< m 
 
 and darkness brooded around I looked: the sun 
 
 broke forth again upon the east, and gilded the 
 mountain tops ; the lark rose to meet him from her 
 low nest, and the shades of darkness fled away. 
 
64 introduction, &c . Part. I. 
 
 3. I have seen the insect, being come to its full 
 size, languish, and refuse to eat: it spun itself a 
 tomb, and was shrouded in the silken cone : it lay 
 without feet, or shape, or power to move. — I looked 
 again : it had burst its tomb ; it was full of life, and 
 sailed on coloured wings through the soft air ; it re- 
 joiced in its new being. 
 
 4. Thus shall it be with thee, O man ! and so shall 
 thy life be renewed. Beauty shall spring up out of 
 ashes, and life out of the dust. A little while shah 
 thou lie in the ground, as the seed lies in the bosom 
 of the earth : but thou shalt be raised again ; and 
 thou shalt never die any more. 
 
 5. Who is he that comes to burst open the prison 
 doors of the tomb ; to bid the dead awake ; and to 
 gather his redeemed from the four winds of heaven ? 
 He descends on a fiery cloud ; the sound of a trumpet 
 goes before him ; thousands of angels are on his right 
 hand. — It is Jesus, the Son of God ; the Saviour of 
 men : the friend of the good. He comes in the glory 
 of his Father; he has received power from on high. 
 
 6. Mourn not, therefore, child of immortality ! for 
 the spoiler, the cruel spoiler, that laid waste the works 
 of God, is subdued. Jesus has conquered death : — 
 child of immortality ! mourn no longer. — barbatjld. 
 
 SECTION XII.— Heaven. 
 
 1. The rose is sweet, but it is surrounded with 
 thorns , the lily of the valley is fragrant, but it springs 
 up among the brambles. The spring is pleasant, but 
 it is soon past; the summer is bright, but the winter 
 destroys its beauty. The rainbow is very glorious, 
 but it soon vanishes away : life is good, but it is 
 quickly swallowed up in death. 
 
 2. There is a land, where the roses are without 
 thorns : where the flowers are not mixed with bram- 
 bles. In that land, there is eternal spring, and light 
 without any cloud. The tree of life grows in the midst 
 thereof; rivers of pleasure are there, and flowers that 
 
Chap* 4. DESCRIPTIVE PIECES. 65 
 
 never fade. Myriads of happy spirits are there, and 
 surround the throne of God with a perpetual hymn. 
 
 3. The angels with their golden harps sing praises 
 continually, and the cherubims fly on wings of fire ! — 
 This country is heaven : it is the country of those 
 that are good; and nothing that is wicked must in- 
 habit there. The toad must not spit its venom 
 among turtle-doves ; nor the poisonous henbane grow 
 among sweet flowers. Neither must any one that 
 does ill, enter into that good land. 
 
 4. This earth is pleasant, for it is God's earth ; and 
 it is filled with many delightful things. But that coun- 
 iry is far better : there we shall not grieve any more, 
 nor be sick any more, nor do wrong any more ; there 
 the cold of winter shall not wither us, nor the heats 
 of summer scorch us. In that country there are no 
 wars nor quarrels, but all dearly love one another. 
 
 5. When our parents and friends die, and are laid 
 in the cold ground, we see them here no more ; but 
 there we shall embrace them again, and live with 
 them, and be separated no more. There we shall 
 meet all good men, whom we read of in holy books. 
 There we shall see Abraham, the called of God, the 
 father of the faithful ; and Moses, after his long wan- 
 derings in the Arabian desert ; and Elijah, the pro- 
 phet of God ; and Daniel, who escaped the lion's den ; 
 and there the son of Jesse, the shepherd king, the 
 sweet singer of Israel. They loved God on earth; 
 they praised him on earth ; but in that country they 
 praise him better, and love him more. 
 
 6. There we shall see Jesus, who is gone before us 
 to that happy place ; and there we shall behold the 
 glory of the high God. We cannot see him here, but 
 we will love him here. We must be now on earth, but 
 we will often think on heaven. That happy land is our 
 home ; we are to be here but for a little while, and 
 there for ever, even for eternal ages, barbauld. 
 
 f 2 
 
INTRODUCTION, <&C. Pari 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 DIALOGUES. 
 
 SECTION I.— Flattery reproved. 
 
 CANUTE AND HIS COURTIERS. 
 
 Canute. Is it true, my friends, as you have often 
 told me, that I am the greatest of monarchs ? 
 
 Offa. It is true, my liege ; you are the most pow- 
 erful of all kings. 
 
 Oswald. We are all your slaves ; we kiss the dust 
 of your feet. 
 
 Offa. Not only we, but even the elements, are 
 your* slaves. The land obeys you from shore to shore ; 
 and the sea obeys you. 
 
 Canute. Does the • sea, with its loud boisterous 
 waves, obey me ? Will that terrible element be still 
 at my bidding ? 
 
 Offa. Yes, the sea is yours; it was made to bear 
 your ships upon its bosom, and to pour the treasures 
 of the world at your royal feet. It is boisterous to 
 your enemies, but it knows you to be its sovereign 
 
 Canute. Is not the tide coming up ? 
 
 Oswald. Yes, my liege; you may perceive the 
 swell already. 
 
 Canute. Bring me a chair then ; set it here upon 
 the sands. 
 
 Offa. Where the tide is coming up my gracious 
 lord? 
 
 Canute. Yes, set it just here. 
 
 Oswald. (Aside.) I wonder what he is going to do , 
 
 Offa. (Aside.) Surely he is not so silly as to be- 
 lieve us. 
 
 Canute. O mighty Ocean ! thou art my subject ; my 
 courtiers tell me so ; and it is thy duty to obey me. 
 Thus, then, I stretch my sceptre over thee, and com- 
 mand thee to retire. Roll back thy swelling waves, nor 
 let them presume to wet the feet of me thy royal mas- 
 ter. • 
 
Chap. 5. DIALOGUES. 07 
 
 Oswald. (Aside.) I believe the sea will pay very 
 little regard to his royal commands. 
 
 Offa. See how fast the tide rises ! 
 
 Oswald. The next wave will come up to tha chair. 
 It is folly to stay ; we shall be covered with salt water. 
 
 Canute. Well, does the sea obey my commands? If 
 it be my subject, it is a very rebellious subject. See, 
 how it swells and dashes the angry foam and salt spray 
 over my sacred person ! Vile sycophants ! did you 
 think I was the dupe of your base lies ? that 1 believed 
 your abject flatteries ? Know, there is but one Being 
 whom the sea will obey. He is soveroign of heaven 
 and earth, King of kings, and Lord of lords. It is only 
 he, who can say to the ocean, "Thus far shalt thou 
 go, but no farther, and here shall thy proud waves be 
 stayed." A king is but a man ; and a man is but a 
 worm. Shall a worm assume the power of the great 
 God, and think the elements will obey him ? May 
 k'ngs learn to he humble from my example, and cour- 
 tiers learn truth from your disgrace ! dr. aikin. 
 
 SECTION II. — We often condemn in others 
 what we practise ourselves. 
 
 THE TWO ROBBERS. 
 
 Alexander the Great in his tent. A man with a fierce counte- 
 nance, chained and fettered, brougKt before him. 
 Alexander. What, art thou the Thracian robber, 
 of whose exploits I have heard so much ? 
 Robber. I am a Thracian, and a soldier. 
 Alexander. A soldier ! — a thief, a plunderer, an as- 
 sassin ! the pest of the country ! I could honour thy 
 courage, but I must detest and punish thy crimes. 
 
 Robber. What have I done of which you can com- 
 plain ? 
 
 Alexander. Hast thou not set at defiance my au- 
 thority ; violated the public peace, and passed thy life 
 in injuring the persons and properties of thy fellow 
 subjects ? 
 
 Robber. Alexander ! I am your captive — I must hear 
 what you please to say and endure what you please 
 
68 introduction, &c. Part 1 
 
 to inflict. But my soul is unconquered ; and if 1 reply 
 at all to your reproaches, I will reply like a free man. 
 
 Alexander. Speak freely. Far be it from me to 
 take the advantage of my power v to silence those with 
 whom I deign to converse ! 
 
 Robber. I must then answer your question by an- 
 other. How have you passed your life ? 
 
 Alexander. Like a hero. Ask Fame, and she will 
 fell you. Among the brave, I have been the bravest • 
 among sovereigns, the noblest : among conquerors, 
 the mightiest. 
 
 Robber. And does not Fame speak of me too 7 
 Was there ever a bolder captain of a more valiant 
 band? Was there ever — but I scorn to boast. You 
 yourself know that I have not been easily subdued. 
 
 Alexander. Still what art you, but a robber — a 
 base, dishonest robber? 
 
 Robber. And what is a conqueror ? Have not you 
 too, gone about the earth like an evil genius, Wasting 
 the fair fruits of peace and industry ; plundering, ra 
 vaging, killing, without law, without justice, mereh 
 to gratify an insatiable lust for dominion ? All that 1 
 have done to a single district with a hundred followers, 
 you have done to whole nations with a hundred thou- 
 sand. If I have stripped individuals, you have ruined 
 kings and princes. If I have burned a few hamlets, 
 you have desolated the most flourishing kingdom* 
 and cities of the earth. What is then the difference 
 but that as you were born a king, and I a private man 
 you have been able to become a mightier robber than II 
 
 Alexander. But If I have taken like a king, I haw 
 given like a king. Jf I have subverted empires, I 
 have founded greater. I have cherished arts, com 
 merce, and philosophy. 
 
 Robber. I, too, have freely given to the poor, what 
 I took from the rich. I have established order and 
 discipline among the most ferocious of mankind ; and 
 have stretched out my protecting arm over the op- 
 pressed. I know, indeed, little of the philosophy you 
 
Chap. 5. DIALOGUES. 69 
 
 talk of; but I believe neither you nor I shall ever 
 atone to the world, for the mischiefs we have done it. 
 
 Alexander. Leave me — Take off his chains, and use 
 him well. — Are we then so much alike 1 — Alexander 
 to a robber ? — Let me reflect. dr. alkin. 
 
 SECTION III. — On the slavery of the negroes. 
 
 A FAMILY CONVERSATION. 
 
 Avgusta. My dear papa, you once informed me, 
 that in the West-Indies, all laborious operations were 
 performed by negro slaves. Are those Islands in 
 habited by negroes ? I thought these people were 
 natives of Africa. 
 
 Father. You are right, my dear ; they are, indeed, 
 natives of Africa ; but they have been snatched, by the 
 hand of violence, from their country, friends, and 
 connexions. lam ashamed to confess, that many ships 
 are annually sent from different parts of England, to 
 the coast of Guinea, to procure slaves from that un- 
 happy country, for the use of our West-India islands, 
 where they are sold to the planters of sugar-planta- 
 tions ; and afterwards employed in the hardest and 
 most servile occupations ; and pass the rest of their 
 lives in slavery and wretchedness. 
 
 Sophia. How much my heart feels for them ! How 
 agonizing must it be, to be separated from one's near 
 relations ; parents perhaps divided from their children 
 for ever ; husbands from their wives ; brothers and 
 sisters obliged to bid each other a final farewell ! — 
 But why do the kings of the African states suffer their 
 subjects to be so cruelly treated 7 
 
 Mother. Many causes have operated to induce the 
 African princes to become assistants in this infamous 
 traffic ; and instead of being the defenders of their 
 harmless people, they have frequently betrayed them 
 to their most cruel enemies. The Europeans have 
 corrupted these ignorant rulers, by presents of rum, 
 and other spirituous liquors, of which they are immo- 
 derately fond. They have fomented jealousies, and 
 excited wars, among them, merely for the sake of 
 
70 introduction, &c. Part. 1. 
 
 obtaining the prisoners of war for slaves. Frequently 
 they use no ceremony, but go on shore in the night, 
 set fire to a neighbouring village, and seize upon all 
 the unhappy victims, who run out to escape the flames. 
 
 Cecilia. What hardened hearts do the captains of 
 those ships possess ! They must have become ex- 
 tremely cruel, before they would undertake such an 
 employment. 
 
 Mother. There is reason to believe that most of 
 them, by the habits of such a life, are become deaf to 
 the voice of pity : we must, however, compassionate 
 the situation of those, whose parents have early bret! 
 them to this profession before they were of an age to 
 choose a different employment. But to resume the 
 subject of the negroes. What I have related is only 
 the beginning of their sorrows. When they are put 
 on board the ships, they are crowded together in the 
 hold, where many of them die for want of air and room. 
 There have been frequent instances of their throwing 
 themselves into the sea, when they could find an op- 
 portunity, and seeking in death a refuge from thei* 
 calamity. As soon as they arrive in the WestJndiei, 
 they are carried to a public market, where they are 
 sold to the best bidder, like horses at our fairs. Their 
 future lot depends much upon the disposition of the 
 master, into whose hands they happen to fall ; for 
 among the overseers of sugar-plantations, there are 
 some men of feeling and humanity: but too generally 
 the treatment of the poor negroes is very severe. Ac- 
 customed to an easy, indolent life, in the luxurious and 
 plentiful country of Africa, they find great hardship 
 from the transition to a life of severe labour,, without' 
 any mixture of indulgence to soften it. Deprived of 
 the hope of amending their condition by any course 
 of conduct they can pursue, they frequently abandon 
 themselves to despair, and die, in what is called the 
 seasoning; which is, becoming inured by length of 
 time to their situation. They who have less sensi 
 bility and stronger constitutions, survive their com 
 
Chap. 5. DIALOGUES. 71 
 
 plicated misery but a few years : for it is generally 
 acknowledged, that they seldom attain the full period 
 of human life. 
 
 Augusta. Humanity shudders at your account ! but 
 I have heard a gentleman who had lived many years 
 abroad, say, that negroes were not much superior to 
 the brutes ; and that they were so stupid and stub- 
 born, that nothing but stripes and severity could have 
 any influence over them. 
 
 Father. That gentleman was most probably interest 
 ed in misleading those with whom he conversed. Peo- 
 ple who reason in that manner, do not consider the dis 
 advantages which the poor negroes suffer, from want 
 of cultivation. Leading an ignorant, savage life in their 
 own country, they can have acquired no previous in- 
 formation : and when they fall into the hands of their 
 sruel oppressors, a life of laborious servitude, which 
 Fcarcely affords them sufficient time for sleep, deprives 
 them of every opportunity of improving their minds. 
 There is no reason to suppose that they differ from us 
 in any thing but colour ; which distinction arises from 
 the intense heat of their climate. There have been 
 instances of a few, whose situation has been favourable 
 to improvement, who have shown strong powers of 
 mind. Those masters who neglect the religious and 
 moral instruction of their slaves, add a heavy load of 
 guilt to that already incurred, by their share in this 
 unjust and inhuman traffic. 
 
 Charles. My indignation rises at this recital. Why 
 does not the British parliament exert its powers to 
 avenge the wrongs of these oppressed Africans? 
 What can prevent an act being passed to forbid Eng- 
 lishmen from buying and selling slaves ! 
 
 Father. persons of great talents and virtue, 
 
 have made several fruitless attempts to obtain an act 
 for the abolition of this trade. Men interested in its 
 continuance have hitherto frustrated these generous 
 designs ; but we may rely upon the goodness of that 
 Divine Providence, who cares for all creatures, that 
 
72 introduction, &c. Part. 1 
 
 the day will come when their rights will be considered* 
 and there is great reason to hope, from the light al- 
 ready cast upon the subject, that the rising generation 
 will prefer justice and mercy, to interest and policy ; 
 and will free themselves from the odium we at pre- 
 sent suffer, of treating our fellow-creatures in a man- 
 ner unworthy of them, and of ourselves 
 
 Mother. Henry, repeat that beautiful apostrophe to 
 a negro woman, which you learned the other day out 
 *f Barbauld's Hymns. 
 
 Henry. " Negro woman, who sittest pining in cap- 
 tivity, and weepest over thy sick child, though no one 
 sees thee, God sees thee ; though no one pities thee, 
 God pities thee. Raise thy voice, forlorn and aban- 
 doned one ; call upon him from amidst thy bonds, for 
 assuredly he will hear thee." 
 
 Cecilia. I think no riches could, tempt me to have 
 any share in the slave-trade. I could never enjoy 
 peace of mind, whilst I thought I contributed to the 
 woes of my fellow-creatures. 
 
 Mother. But, Cecilia, to put your compassion to 
 the proof; are you willing to debar yourself of the 
 numerous indulgences you enjoy, from the fruit of 
 their labour? 
 
 Cecilia. I would forego any indulgence to alle- 
 viate their sufferings. 
 
 The rest of the children together We are all of 
 the same mind. 
 
 Mother. I admire the sensibility of your uncorrupt- 
 ed hearts, my dear children. It is the voice of nature 
 and virtue. Listen to it on all occasions, and bring- 
 it home to your bosoms, and your daily practice. The 
 same principle of benevolence which excites your 
 just indignation at the oppression of the negroes, will 
 lead you to be gentle towards your inferiors, kind and 
 obliging to your equals, and in a particular manner 
 condescending and considerate towards your domes- 
 tics ; requiring no more of them, than you would be 
 willing to perform in their situation ; instructing them 
 
Chap. 5. DIALOGUES. 73 
 
 when you have opportunity ; sympathizing in their 
 afflictions, and promoting their best interests to the 
 utmost of your power.* 
 
 SECTION TV.— The Father redeemed from Slavery 
 by his Son. 
 
 A young man, named Robert, was sitting alone 
 la his boat in the harbour of Marseilles. A stranger 
 stepped in, and took his seat near him, but quickly 
 rose again ; observing, that since the master was not 
 present, he would take another boat. " This, sir, is 
 mine," said Robert : " would you sail without the har- 
 bour?'' — "I meant only to move about in the basin, 
 and enjoy the coolness of this evening. But I can- 
 not believe you are a sailor." — "Nor am- 1: yet on 
 Sundays and holydays, I act the bargeman, with a 
 view to make up a sum."—' 4 What ! covetous at your 
 age ! your looks had almost prepossessed me in your 
 favour." — " Alas ! sir, did you know my situation 
 you would not blame me." — "Well ; perhaps I am 
 mistaken. Let us take our little cruise of pleasure ; 
 and acquaint me with your history." 
 
 The stranger having*resumed his seat, the dialogue, 
 after a short pause, proceeded thus. "I perceive, 
 young man, you are sad. What grieves you thus ?" — 
 " My father, sir, groans in fetters, and I cannot ransom 
 him.'"* He earned a livelihood by petty brokerage ; but 
 in an evil hour, embarked for Smyrna, to superintend 
 in person the delivery of a cargo, in which he had a 
 concern. The vessel w 7 as captured by a Earbary cor- 
 sair; and my father w T as conducted to Tetuan, where 
 lie is now a slave. They refuse to release him for less 
 than two thousand crowns, a sum which far exceeds 
 our scanty means. However, we do our best. My 
 mother and sisters work day and night. I ply hard at 
 my stated occupation of a journeyman jeweller; and, 
 
 * It will, doubtless, be gratifying - to the young reader, to be inform- 
 al since this Dialogue was written, the Slave Trade has been 
 happily abolish et! by the British Parliament. This inerrable, though 
 fete triumph of justice and humanity, was effected in the year 1807 
 G 
 
74 introduction, &c. Part 1 . 
 
 as you perceive, make the most I can ot Sundays and 
 holydays. I had resolved to put myself in my father's 
 stead; but my mother, apprized of my design, and 
 dreading the double privation of a husband and an only 
 son, requested the Levant captains to refuse me a pas- 
 sage." — " Pray do you ever hear from your father 1 
 Under what name does he pass ? or what is his mas- 
 ter's address 7" — " His master is overseer of the royal 
 gardens at Fez ; and my father's name is Robert at 
 Tetuan, as at Marseilles."—" Robert, overseer of the 
 royal gardens ?" — " Yes, sir." — " I am touched with 
 your misfortunes ; but venture to predict their ter- 
 mination." 
 
 Night drew on apace. The stranger, upon landing, 
 thrust into young Robert's hand a purse, containing 
 eight double louis d'ors, with ten crowns in silver, 
 and instantly disappeared. ~- 
 
 £yx weeks passed after this adventure ; and each re- 
 turning sun bore witness to the unremitting exertions 
 of the good family. As they sat one day at their un- 
 savoury meal of bread and dried almonds, old Robert 
 entered the apartment, in a garb little suited to a fugi- 
 tive prisoner ; tenderly embraced his wife and chil- 
 dren, and thanked them, with tears of gratitude, for 
 the fifty louis they had caused to be remitted to him 
 on his sailing from Tetuan, for his free passage, and a 
 comfortable supply of wearing apparel. His astonish- 
 ed relatives eyed one another in silence. At length, 
 the mother, suspecting that her son had secretly con- 
 certed the whole plan, recounted the various instances 
 of his zeal and affection. " Six thousand livres," con- 
 tinued she, "is the sum we wanted ; and we had al- 
 ready procured somewhat more than the half, owing 
 chiefly to his industry. Some friends, no doubt, have 
 assisted him upon an emergency like the present." A 
 gloomy suggestic n crossed the father's mind. Turning 
 suddenly, to his * m, and eyeing him with the sternness 
 ar disfcraetbn* * Unfortunate boy," exclaimed he, 
 • Kig; % ysi$ y°? : done ? How can I be indebted to you 
 
 
Chap. 5. DIALOGUES. 75 
 
 tor my freedom, and not regret it ? How could you 
 effect my ransom without your mother's knowledge, 
 unless at the expense of virtue? I tremble at the 
 thought of filial affection having betrayed you into 
 guilt. Tell the truth at once, whatever may be the 
 consequence." — " Calm your apprehensions, my dear- 
 est father," cried the son, embracing him. " No, I am 
 not unworthy of such a parent, though fortune has de- 
 nied me the satisfaction of proving the full strength of 
 my attachment. I am not your deliverer : but I know 
 who is. Recollect, mother, the unknown gentleman, 
 who gave me the purse. He was particular in his in- 
 quiries. Should I pass my life in the pursuit, I must 
 endeavour to meet with him, and invite him to con- 
 template the fruits of his beneficence." He then re- 
 lated to his father all that passed in the pleasure-boat, 
 and removed every distressing suspicion. 
 
 Restored to the bosom of his family, the father 
 again partook of their joys, prospered in his dealings, 
 and saw his children comfortably established. Some 
 time afterwards, on a Sunday morning, as the son was 
 walking on the quay, he discovered his benefactor, 
 clasped his knees, and entreated him as his guardian 
 angel, as the preserver of a father and a family, to 
 share the happiness he had been the means of pro- 
 ducing. The stranger again disappeared in the 
 crowd — but, reader, this stranger was Montesquieu. 
 
 muirhead's travels. 
 
 SECTION V. — Eyes and no eyes ; or the art of seeing* 
 
 THE TUTOR AND HIS PUPILS. 
 
 Well, Robert, where have you been walking this 
 afternoon? (said a Tutor to one of his pupils at the 
 close of a holy day.)- 
 
 Robert. I have been to Broom-heath, and so round 
 by the windmill upon Camp-mount, and home through 
 the meadows by the river side. 
 
 Tutor. Well, that is a pleasant round. 
 
 Robert. I thought it very dull, sir ; I scarcely met 
 
78 introduction, &c. Part I 
 
 with a single person. I would much rather have gone 
 along the turnpike-road. 
 
 Tutor. Why, if seeing men and horses is your ob- 
 ject, you would, indeed, be better entertained on the 
 high-road. But did you see William? 
 
 Robert. We set out together, but he lagged behind 
 in the lane ; so I walked on and left him. 
 
 Tutor. That was a pity. He would have been 
 company for you. 
 
 Robert. O, he is so tedious, always stopping to look 
 at this thing and that ! I would rather walk alone 
 I dare say he is not got home yet. 
 
 Tutor. Here he comes. Well, William, where 
 have you been ? 
 
 William. O, the pleasantest walk ! I went all over 
 Broom-heath, and so up to the mill at the top of the 
 hill, and then down among the green meadows by the x 
 side of the river. 
 
 Tutor. Why, that is just the round Robert has 
 been taking, and he complains of its dulness, and 
 prefers the high-road. 
 
 William. I wonder at that. I am sure I hardly 
 took a step that did not delight me ; and I have 
 brought home my handkerchief full of curiosities. 
 
 Tutor. Suppose then, you give us an account of 
 what amused you so much. I fancy it will be as new 
 to Robert as to me. 
 
 William. I will do it readily. The lane leading to 
 the heath, you know, is close and sandy, so, I did not 
 mind it much, but made the best of my way. How- 
 ever, I spied a curious thing enough in the hedge, i! 
 was an old crab-tree, out of which grew a great bunch 
 of something green, quite different from the tree it 
 self. Here is a branch of it. 
 
 Tutor. Ah ! this is misletoe, a plant of great fame 
 for the use made of it by the Druids of old, in their 
 religious rites and incantations. It bears a very slimy 
 white berryj of which birdlime may be made, whence 
 the Latin name viscus. It is one of those plants which 
 
 
Chap. 5. DIALOGUES* Tt 
 
 do not grow in the ground by a root of their own, but 
 fix themselves upon other plants ; whence they have 
 been humorously styled parasitical, as being hangers- 
 on, or dependents. It was the misletoe of the oak 
 that the Druids particularly honoured. 
 
 William. A little further on I saw a green wood 
 pecker fly to a tree, and run up the trunk like a cat. 
 
 Tutor. That was to seek for insects in the bark, on 
 which they live. They bore holes with their strong 
 bills for that purpose, and do much damage to the 
 trees by it. 
 
 William. What beautiful birds they are ! 
 
 Tutor. Yes ; they have been called, from their co- 
 lour and size, the English parrot. 
 
 William. When I got upon the open heath, how 
 charming it was ! The air seemed so fresh, and the 
 prospect on every side so free and unbounded ! Then 
 it was all covered with gay flowers, many of which I 
 had never observed before. There were at least 
 three kinds of heath, (I have got them in my hand- 
 kerchief here,) and gorse, and broom, and bell-flower, 
 and many others of all colours, of which I will beg 
 you presently to tell me the names. 
 
 Tutor. That I will readily. 
 
 William. I saw, too, several birds that were new 
 to me. There was a pretty grayish one, of the size 
 of a lark, that was hopping about some great stones ; 
 and when he flew, he showed a great deal of white 
 above his tail. 
 
 Tutor. That was a wheat-ear. They are reckoned 
 
 • very delicious birds to eat, and frequent the open downs 
 
 in Sussex, and some other counties, in great numbers. 
 
 William. There was a flock of lapwings upon a 
 marshy part of the heath, that amused me much. As 
 I came near them, some of them kept flying round 
 and round just over my head, and crying pewit so dis- 
 tinctly, one might almost fancy they spoke. I thought 
 I should have caught one of them, for he flew as if 
 one of his wings was broken, and often tu^ 'led close 
 g2 
 
78 introduction, &rc. Part 1. 
 
 to the ground ; but as I came near, be always con- 
 trived to get away. 
 
 Tutor. Ha, ha! you were finely taken in, then. 
 This was all an artifice of the bird's, to entice you 
 away from its nest: for they build upon the bare 
 ground, and their nest would easily be observed, did 
 not they draw off the attention of intruders, by their 
 loud cries and counterfeit lameness. 
 
 William. I wish I had known that, for he led me a 
 long chase, often over shoes in water. However, it was 
 the cause of my falling in with an old man and a boy, 
 who were cutting and piling up turf for fuel; and I 
 had a good deal of talk with them, about the manner of 
 preparing the turf, and the price it sells at. They 
 gave me, too, a creature I never saw before — a young 
 viper, which they had just killed, together with its 
 dam. I have seen several common snakes, but this 
 is thicker in proportion, and of a darker colour than 
 they are. 
 
 Tutor. True. Vipers frequent those turfy, boggy 
 grounds pretty much, and I have known several tuif 
 cutters bitten by them. 
 
 William. They are very venomous, are they not? 
 
 Tutor. Enough so to make their wounds painful 
 and dangerous , though they seldom prove fatal. 
 
 William. Well, — I then took my course up to the 
 windmill on the mount. I climbed up the steps of the 
 mill in order to get abetter view of the country round. 
 What an extensive prospect! I counted fifteen church 
 steeples ; and I saw several gentlemen's houses peep- 
 ing out from the midst of green w T oods and planta- 
 tions ; and I could trace the windings of the river nil 
 along the low grounds, till it was lost behind a ridge 
 of hills. But I'll tell you what I mean to do, if you 
 will give me leave. 
 
 Tutor. What is that ? 
 
 William. I will go again and take with me Ca- 
 rey's county map, by which I shall probably be able 
 to make out most of the places, 
 
Chap. 5. dialogues. 79 
 
 Tutor. You shall have it, and I will go with you, 
 and take my pocket spying-glass. 
 
 William,. I shall be very glad of that. Well — a 
 thought struck me, that as the hill is called Camp* 
 7/iount, there might probably be some remains of 
 ditches and mounds, with which I have read that 
 camps were surrounded. And I really believe I dis- 
 covered something of that sort Tunning round one 
 side of the mount. 
 
 Tutor. Very likely you might. I know antiquaries 
 have described such remains as existing there, whici 
 some suppose to be Roman, others Danish. We wil 
 examine them further when we go. 
 
 William. From the hill I went straight down to the 
 meadows below, and walked on the side of a brook that 
 runs into the river. It wa3 all bordered with reeds, 
 and flags, and tall flowering plants, quite different 
 from those I had seen on the heath. As I was getting 
 down the bank to reach one of them, I heard some- 
 thing plunge into the water near me. It was a large 
 water-rat, and I saw it swim over to the other side, 
 and go into its hole. , There were a great many large 
 dragon flies all about the stream. I caught one of the 
 finest, and have got him here in a leaf. But how I 
 longed to catch a bird that I saw hovering over the 
 water, and every now and then darting down into it ! 
 It was all over a mixture of the most beautiful green 
 and blue, with some orange colour. Itw r as somewhat 
 less than a thrush, and had a large head and bill, and 
 a short tail. 
 
 Tutor. I can tell you what that bird was — a king- 
 fisher, the celebrated halcyon of the ancients, about 
 which so many tales are told. It lives on fish, which 
 it catches in the manner you saw. It builds in holes 
 in the banks ; and is a shy, retired bird, never to be 
 seen far from the stream where it inhabits. 
 
 William. I must try to get another sight of him, for 
 I never saw a bird that pleased me so much. Well, I 
 followed this little brook till it entered the river, and 
 
80 introduction, &c. Part 1. 
 
 then took the path that runs along the bank. On the 
 opposite side, I observed several little birds running 
 along the shore, and making a piping noise. They 
 were brown and white, and about as big as a snipe. 
 
 Tutor. I suppose they were sand-pipers, one of the 
 numerous family of birds that get their living by 
 wading among the shallows, and picking up worms 
 and insects. 
 
 William. There were a great many swallows, too, 
 sporting upon the surface of the water, that entertained 
 me with their motions. Sometimes they dashed into 
 the stream ; sometimes they pursued one another so 
 quickly that the eye could scarcely follow them. In 
 one place, where a high steep sand-bank rose directly 
 above the river, I observed many of them go in and 
 out of holes, with which the bank was bored full. 
 
 Tutor. Those were sand-martins, the smallest of our 
 four species of swallows. They are of a mouse-colour 
 above, and white beneath. They make their nests, 
 and bring up their young, in these holes, which run a 
 great depth, and by their situation are secure from a ] l 
 plunderers. 
 
 William. A little further I saw a man in a boat, 
 who was catching eels in an odd way. He had a long 
 pole, with broad iron prongs at the end, just like 
 Neptune's trident, only there were five instead of 
 three. This he pushed straight down into the mud, 
 in the deepest parts of the river, and fetched up the 
 eels sticking between the prongs. 
 
 Tutor. I have seen this method. It is called, spear 
 ing of eels. 
 
 William. While I was looking at him, a heron came 
 flying over my head, with his large flagging wings. 
 He alighted at the next turn of the river, and I crept 
 softly behind the bank to watch his motions. He 
 had waded into the water as far as his long legs would 
 carry him, and was standing with his neck drawn in, 
 looking intently on the stream. Presently he darted 
 his long bill as quick as lightning into the water,, 
 
Chap. 5. DIALOGUES. 81 
 
 and drew out a fish, which he swallowed. I saw him 
 catch another in the same manner. He then took 
 alarm at some noise I made, and flew away slowly to 
 a wood at some distance, where he settled. 
 
 Tutor. Probably his nest was there, for herons 
 build upon the loftiest tree they can find, and some- 
 times in society together, like rooks. Formerly, when 
 these birds were valued for the amusement of hawk- 
 ing-, many gentlemen had their heronries, and a few 
 are still remaining. 
 
 William. I think they are the largest wild birds 
 we have. 
 
 Tutor. They are of a great length and spread of 
 wing, but their bodies are comparatively small. 
 
 William. 1 then turned homewards across the mea- 
 dows, where I stopped a while to look at a large flock 
 of starlings, which kept flying about at no great dis- 
 tance. I could not tell at first what to make of them ; 
 for they rose all together from the ground as thick as 
 a swarm of bees, and formed themselves into a kind 
 of black cloud, hovering over the field. After taking 
 a short round they settled again, and presently rose 
 again in the same manner. I dare say there were 
 hundreds of them. 
 
 Tvtor. Perhaps so ; for in the fenny countries their 
 flocks are so numerous, as to breakdown whole acres 
 of reeds, by settling on them. This disposition of 
 starlings to fly- in close swarms, was remarked even 
 by Homer, who compares the foe flying from one of 
 his heroes to a cloud of starlings, retiring dismayed 
 at the approach of the hawk. 
 
 William. After I had left the meadows, I crossed 
 the corn-fields in the way to our house, and passed 
 close by a deep marl pit. Looking into it, I saw, on 
 one of the sides, a cluster of what I took to be shells; 
 and upon going down, I picked up a clod of marl, 
 which was quite full of them ; but how sea-shells 
 could get there, I cannot imagine. 
 
 Tutor. I do not wonder at your surprise, since many 
 
8& introduction, <fcc. Part 1. 
 
 philosophers have been much perplexed to account for 
 the same appearance. It is not uncommon to find great 
 quantities of shells and relics of marine animals,even in 
 the bowels of high mountains,veryremote from the sea. 
 
 William. I got to the high field next to our house 
 just as the sun was setting, and I stood looking at it till 
 it was quite lost. What a glorious sight ! The clouds 
 were tinged with purple and crimson, and yellow of 
 all shades and hues, and the clear sky varied from 
 blue to a- fine green at the horizon. But how large 
 the sun appears just as it sets ! I think it seems twice 
 as big as when it is over head. 
 
 Tutor. It does so ; and you may probably have ob- 
 served the same apparent enlargement of the moon at 
 its rising. 
 
 William. I have; but pray what is the reason of this? 
 
 Tutor. It is an optical deception, depending upon 
 principles which I cannot well explain to you, till you 
 know more of that branch of science. But what a 
 number of new ideas this afternoon's walk has afford- 
 ed you 1 I do not wonder that you found it amusing ; 
 it has been very instructive too. Did you see nothing 
 of all these sights, Robert? 
 
 Robert. I saw some of them, but 1 did not take 
 particular notice of them. 
 
 Tutor. Why not ? 
 
 Robert. I do not know. I did not care about them ; 
 and I made the best of my way home. 
 
 Tutor. That would have been right, if you had been 
 sent on a message; but as you only walked for amuse- 
 ment, it would have been wiser to have sought out as * 
 many sources of it as possible. But so it is — one man 
 walks through the world with his eyes open, and an- 
 other with them shut; and upon this difference depends 
 all the superiority of knowledge the one acquires above 
 the other. I have known sailors who had been in all 
 the quarters of the world, and could tell you nothing 
 but the signs of the tipling-houses they frequented 
 in different ports, and the price and quality of the 
 
Chap. 6. , PROMISCUOUS PIECES. S3 
 
 liquor. On the other hand, a Franklin could not 
 cross the channel without making some observations 
 useful to mankind. While many a vacant, thoughtless 
 youth is whirled throughout Europe, without gaining 
 a single idea worth crossing a street for, the observing 
 eye and inquiring mind, find matter of improvement 
 and delight, in every ramble in town and country. Do 
 you then William, continue to make use of your eyes; 
 and you Robert,lea.m that eyes were given you to use. 
 
 DR. AIKIN. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 PROMISCUOUS PIECES. 
 
 SECTION I. — We destroy pleasure by pursuing it 
 too eagerly. 
 
 1. A boy smitten with the colours of a butterfly, 
 pursued it from flower to flower with indefatigable 
 pains. First he aimed to surprise it among the leaves 
 of a rose ; then to cover it with his hat, as it was feed- 
 ing on a daisy. At one time, he hoped to secure it, as 
 it revelled on a sprig of myrtle ; and at another, grew 
 sure of his prize, perceiving it to loiter on a bed ef 
 violets. But the fickle fly still eluded his attempts. 
 
 2. At last observing it half buried in. the cup of a 
 tulip, he rushed forvvard,and snatching it with violence, 
 crushed it to pieces. Thus, by his eagerness to enjoy, 
 he lost the object of his pursuit. — From this instance, 
 young persons may learn, that pleasure is but a painted 
 butterfly ; which, if temperately pursued, may serve to 
 amuse ; but which, when embraced with too much 
 ardour, will perish in the grasp. lord kames. 
 
 SECTION II. — On sisterly unity and love. 
 1. " Observe those two hounds, that are coupled 
 together," said Euphronius to Lucy and Emilia, who 
 were looking through the window. " How they tor- 
 ment each other, by a disagreement in their pursuits ! 
 One is for moving slowly, and the other vainly urges 
 onward. The larger dog now sees some object that 
 
84 introduction, &c. Part I. 
 
 tempts him on this side ; and mark how he drags his 
 companion along, who is exerting all his efforts, to 
 pursue a different route ! Thus they will continue all 
 day at variance, pulling each other in opposite direc- 
 tions, when they might, by kind and mutual compli- 
 ances, pass on easily, merrily, and happily." 
 
 2. Lucy and Emilia concurred in censuring the folly 
 and ill nature of these dogs; and Euphronius express- 
 ed a tender wish, that he might never see any thing 
 similar in their behaviour to each other. " Nature." 
 said he, " has linked you together, by the near equality 
 of age ; by your common relation to the most indul- 
 gent parents ; by the endearing ties of sisterhood ; and 
 by all those generous sympathies, which have been 
 fostered in your bosoms from the earliest infancy. 
 
 3. " Let these silken cords of mutual love continue 
 to unite you in the same pursuits. Surfer no allure- 
 ments to draw you different ways ; no contradictory 
 passions to distract your friendship ; nor any selfish 
 views, or sordid jealousies, to render those bonds 
 uneasy and oppressive, which are now your ornament, 
 your strength, and your happiness." fercival. 
 
 SECTION III.— The Supreme Ruler of the World. 
 
 1. Many kingdoms, and countries full of people, 
 and islands, and large continents, and different climes, 
 makeup this whole world : God governs it. The peo- 
 ple swarm upon the face of it like ants upon a hillock. 
 Some are black with the hot sun ; some cover them- 
 selves with furs against the sharp cold ; some drink of 
 Jie fruit of the vine * r some of the pleasant milk of 
 the cocoa-nut : and others quench their thirst with the • 
 running stream. 
 
 2. All are God's family ; he knows every one of 
 them, as a shepherd knows his flock. They pray to 
 him in different languages, but he understands them 
 all ; he hears them all ; he takes care of all : none are 
 so great that he cannot punish them ; none are so 
 mean, that he will not protect them. 
 
Chap. 6. promiscuous pieces. 85 
 
 3. Negro woman, who sittest pining in captivity, 
 and weepest over thy sick child ; though no one sees 
 thee, God sees thee : though no one pities thee, God 
 pities thee. Raise thy voice, forlorn and abandoned 
 one ; call upon him from amidst thy bonds ; for as- 
 suredly he will hear thee. — Monarch, that rulest over 
 a hundred states; whose frow T n is terrible as death, 
 and whose armies cover the land, boast not thyself as 
 though there were none above thee. God is above 
 thee ; his powerful arm is always over thee ; and if 
 •oest ill, assuredly he will punish thee, 
 i. Nations of the earth fear the Lord ; families of 
 men, call upon the name of your God. Is there any 
 one whom God hath not made? let him not worship 
 him. Is there any one whom he hath not blessed ? let 
 him not praise him. barbaulb. 
 
 SECTION IV. — Abraham and Lot : a fine example 
 of wisdom and condescension. 
 
 1. Domestic altercations began to perplex families 
 in the. very childhood of time; the blood even of a 
 brother was shed at an early period. But with how 
 much tenderness and good sense does Abraham pre- 
 vent the disagreement which had nearly arisen, as is 
 but too frequently the case, from the quarrels of ser- 
 vants ! He said unto Lot, " I pray thee let there be no 
 strife betwixt me and thee, nor between my herdmen 
 kM thine."' And why ? For the tendercst reason that 
 can be : " because we are brethren." 
 
 2. The very image of the patriarch in the attitude 
 o( entreaty, the fraternal tear just starting from his 
 eye, is this moment before me : and thus, methinks, I 
 catch instruction from the lip of the venerable man, as 
 he addresses Lot. " Awavj my dear brother, away 
 with strife : we were born to be the servants of God, 
 and the companions of each other: as we sprang from 
 the same parents, so we naturally partake of the same 
 affections. We are brethren, sons of the same father : 
 
 •edship should be the 
 ree, be 
 

 86 introduction, &c. Part 1 4 
 
 cause our herd men have disagreed ; since that were to 
 encourage every idle pique and senseless animosity. 
 
 3. " Great, indeed, has been our success since our 
 migration into this fair country ; we have much sub- 
 stance, and much cattle. But what ! shall brothers 
 quarrel, because it has pleased Heaven to prosper 
 them? This would be ingratitude, impiety! But if 
 notwithstanding these persuasives, thy spirit is still 
 troubled, let us separate : rather than contend with a 
 brother, 1 would, hard as it is, even part with him 
 for a time. 
 
 4. " Perhaps the occasion of dispute, (which I have 
 already forgotten,) will soon be no more remembered 
 by thee. Is not the whole land before thee ? Take 
 then my blessing and my embrace, and separate thy- 
 self from me. To thee is submitted the advantage of 
 choice : if thou wilt take the left hand, then, that I 
 may not appear to thwart thee unbrotherly, I will take 
 the right; or, if thou art more inclined to the coun- 
 try which lies upon the right, then will I go to the 
 left. Be it as thou wilt, and whithersoever thou goest, 
 happy mayest thou be." 
 
 5. Lot listened to his brother, and departed. He 
 cast his eyes on the well-watered plains of Jordan- 
 When he separated, it appears to have been with the 
 hope of increasing his wealth : whilst Abraham, ac- 
 tuated by the kindest motives, often, no doubt, press- 
 ed his brother's hand ; and often bade him adieu ; and 
 even followed him to repeat his farewell wishes, ere 
 he could suffer him to depart. 
 
 SECTION V. — A persecuting spirit reproved, 
 1. Aram was sitting at the door of his tent, under 
 the shade of his fig-tree, when it came to pass that a 
 man, stricken with years, bearing a staff in his hand, 
 journeyed that way. And it was noon-day. And 
 Aram said unto the stranger ; u Pass not by, I pray 
 thee, but come in, and wash thy feet, and tarry here 
 until the evening; for thou art stricken with years, 
 and the heat overcometh thee." 
 
Chap. 6. promiscuous pieces. 87 
 
 2. And the stranger left his staff at the door, and 
 entered into the tent of Aram. And he rested him- 
 self. And Aram set before him bread, and cakes of 
 fine meal, baked upon the hearth. And Aram blessed 
 the bread, calling upon the name of the Lord. But 
 the stranger did eat, and refused to pray unto the Most 
 High ; saying, " Thy Lord is not the God of my fathers ; 
 why therefore should I present my vows unto him?" 
 
 3. And Aram's wrath was kindled; and he called 
 his servants, and they beat the stranger, and drove him 
 into the wilderness. Now in the evening, Aram lifted 
 up his voice unto the Lord and prayed unto him. And 
 the Lord said, " Aram, where is the stranger that so- 
 journed this day with thee V And Aram answered 
 and said, " Behold, O Lord ! he eat of thy bread, and 
 would not offer unto thee his prayers and thanksgiv- 
 ings. Therefore did I chastise him, and drive him 
 from belbre me into the wilderness." 
 
 4. ^And the Lord said unto Aram, " Who hath made 
 thee a judge between me and him ? Have not I borne 
 with thine iniquities, and winked at thy backslidings ; 
 and shalt thou be severe with thy brotiier, to mark his 
 errors, and to punish his perverseness ? Arise and fol- 
 low the stranger ; and carry with thee oil and wine, 
 and anoint his bruises, and speak kindly unto him. 
 For I, the Lord thy God, am a jealous God, and judg- 
 ment belongeth only unto me. Vain is thine oblation 
 of thanksgiving, without a lowly heart. 
 
 5. " As a bulrush thou mayest bow down thine head, 
 and lift up thy voice like a trumpet ; but thou obeyest 
 not the ordinance of thy God if thy worship be for 
 strife and debate. Behold the sacrifice that I have 
 chosen : is it not to undo the heavy burdens ; to let 
 the oppressed go free ; and to break every yoke ? to 
 deal thy bread to the hungry ; and to bring the poor, 
 that are cast out, to thy house ?" And Aram trembled 
 before the presence of God. And he arose, and put on 
 
 , sackcloth and ashes, and went out into the wilderness, 
 to do as the Lord had commanded him. — febctval. 
 
88 iNTEODucTfON, . &c. Part 1. 
 
 SECTION -VI.— The folly of pride. 
 
 1. If there be any thing which makes human nature 
 appear ridiculous to beings of superior faculties,it must 
 be pride. They know so well the vanity of those ima- 
 ginary perfections that swell the heart of man, and of 
 those little supernumerary advantages of birth,fortune, 
 or title, which one man enjoys above another, that it 
 must certainly very much astonish, if it does not very 
 much divert them, when they see a mortal puffed up, 
 and valuing himself above his neighbours, on any of 
 these accounts, at the same time that he is liable to 
 all the common calamities of the species. 
 
 2. To set this thought in its true light, we shall 
 fancy, if you please, that yonder molehill is inhabited 
 by reasonable creatures ; and that every pismire (his 
 shape and way of life only excepted) is endowed with 
 human passions. How should we smile to hear one 
 give an account of the pedigrees, distinctions, and 
 titles, that reign among them ! 
 
 3. Observe how the whole swarm divide, and make 
 way for the pismire that passes along ! You must un- 
 derstand he is*an emmet of quality, and has better 
 blood in his veins than any pismire in the molehill. 
 Do not you see how sensible he is of it, how slowly 
 he marches forward, how the whole rabble of anty 
 keep their distance? 
 
 4. Here you may observe one placed upon a little 
 eminence, and looking down on a long row of labour- 
 ers. He is the richest insect on this side the hillock ; 
 he has a walk of half a yard in length, and a quarter 
 of an inch in breadth ; he keeps a hundred menial ser- 
 vants, and has at least fifteen barley-corns in his gra- 
 nary. He is now chiding and enslaving the emmet 
 that stands before him ; one who, for all that w T e can 
 discover, is as good an emmet as himself. 
 
 5. But here comes an insect of rank ! Do not you 
 perceive the little white straw that he carries in hi& 
 mouth? That straw, you must understand, he wouU 
 not part with for the longest tract about the molehill* 
 
Cliap. 6. promiscuous pieces. 89 
 
 you cannot conceive what he has undergone to pur- 
 chase it ! See how the ants of all qualities and condi- 
 tions swarm about him ! Should this straw drop out of 
 his mouth, you would see all this numerous circle of 
 attendants follow the next that took it up, and leave 
 the discarded insect, or run over his back to come to 
 his successor. 
 
 6. If now you have a mind to see the ladies of the 
 molehill, observe first the pismire that listens to the 
 emmet on her left-hand, at the same jtime that she 
 seems to turn away her head from him. He tells this 
 poor insect that she is a superior being; that her eyes 
 are brighter than the sun ; that life and death are at 
 her disposal. She believes him, and gives herself a 
 thousand little airs upon it. 
 
 7. Mark the vanity of the pismire on her right hand. 
 She can scarcely crawl with age ; but you must know 
 she values herself upon her birth; and, if you mind, 
 spurns at every one that comes within her reach. The 
 little nimble coquette that is running by the side of her, 
 is a wit. She has broken many a pismire's heart. Do but 
 observe what a drove of admirers are running after her. 
 
 8. We shall here finish this imaginary scene. But 
 first of all, to draw the parallel closer, we shall sup- 
 pose, if you please, that death comes down upon the 
 molehill, in the shape of a cock-sparrow, and picks 
 up, without distinction, the pismire of quality and his 
 flatterers, the pismire of substance and his day-labour- 
 ers, the white straw officer and his sycophants, with 
 all the ladies of rank, the wits, and the beauties of 
 the molehill. 
 
 9. May we not imagine, that beings of superior na- 
 tures and perfections, regard all the instances of pride 
 and vanity among our own species, in the same kind 
 of view, when they take a survey of those who inhabit 
 this earth; or, (in the language of an ingenious 
 French poet,) of those pismires that people this heap 
 -of dirt, which human vanity has divided into climates 
 and regions ? addison. 
 
 h2 
 
90 intboduction, &c. Part 1 
 
 SECTION VII.— The Whistle. 
 
 1. When I was a child about seven years of age 
 my friends, on a holyday, filled my pockets with half- 
 pence. I went directly towards a shop where 4&j& 
 were sold for children ; and being charmed with the 
 sound of a ivhistle that I met by the way, in the handa 
 of another boy, I voluntarily offered him all my mo- 
 ney for it. 
 
 2. I then came home, and went whistling over the 
 house, much pleased with my whistle, but disturbing 
 all the family. My brothers, and sisters, and co?; 
 understanding the bargain I had made, told me I had 
 given four times as much for it as it was worth. This 
 put me in mind what good things I inight have bought 
 with the rest of the money : and they laughed at me 
 so much for my folly, that I cried with vexation. 
 
 3. My reflections on the subject gave me more 
 chagrin, than the whistle gave me pleasure. This 
 little event, however, was, afterwards of use to me, 
 the impression continuing on my mind : so that often, 
 when I was tempted to buy some unnecessary thing, 
 I said to myself, Do not give too much for the whistle , 
 and so I saved my money. 
 
 4. As I grew up, came into the world, and observ- 
 ed the actions of men, I thought I met with many* 
 very many, who gave too much for the whistle. 
 
 5. When I saw any one too ambitious of court, 
 favour, sacrificing his time in attendance on levees, 
 his repose, his liberty, his virtue, and perhaps \\\\ 
 friends, to attain it, I said to myself, This man givt.t 
 too much for his whistle. 
 
 6. When I saw another fond of popularity, con 
 stantly employing himself in political bustles, neglect- 
 ing his own affairs, and ruining them by that neglect , 
 He pays, indeed , said I, too much for his whistle. 
 
 7. If I knew a miser, who gave up every kind of 
 eomfortable living, all the pleasures of doing good to 
 
 hers, all the esteem of his fellow-citizens, and the 
 
Chap. 6. promiscuous pieces. 91 
 
 joys of benevolent friendship, for the sake of accu- 
 mulating wealth ; Poor man, said I, you indeed pay 
 too much for your whistle* 
 
 8. When I met a man of pleasure, sacrificing every 
 i.ible improvement of mind, or of fortune, to mere 
 
 ual gratifications ; Mistaken man ! saidI,t/o*z are 
 providing pain for yourself instead of pleasure ; yon 
 give too much for your whistle. 
 
 9. If I saw one fond of line clothes, fine furniture, 
 fine equipage, all above his fortune, for which he con- 
 tracted debts, and ended his career in prison; Alas! 
 said I, he has paid dear, very dear for his whistle. 
 
 10. In short, I conceived that great part of the mise- 
 ries of mankind, are. brought upon them by the false 
 estimate they make of -the value of things, and by their 
 giving too much for their ivhistles. — dr. franklin. 
 
 SECTION VIII. — A generous mind does not repine 
 
 at the ad others enjoy. 
 
 1. Ever charmi 
 
 When will e the view: 
 
 The fountain's fall, the river's flow, 
 
 The woody valleys, warm and low : 
 
 The windy summit, wild and high, 
 
 Roughly rushing on the sky ; 
 
 The'pleasant seat, the ruirf'd tower, 
 
 The naked rock, the shady bower ; 
 
 The town and village, dome and farm, 
 
 Each gives each a double charm, dyer. 
 
 Alexis was repeating these lines to Euphronius, who 
 was reclining upon a seat in one of his fields, enjoying 
 the real beauties of nature which the poet describes. 
 
 2. The evening was serene, and the landscape ap- 
 peared in all the gay attire of light and shade. " A 
 man of lively imagination," said Euphronius, " has a 
 property in every thing which he sees : and you may 
 now conceive yourself to be the proprietor of the vast 
 expanse around us ; and exult in the happiness of 
 myriads of living creatures, that inhabit the woods, the 
 lawns, and the mountains, which present themselves to 
 our view." The house, garden, and pleasure grounds 
 of Eugenio, formed a part of the prospect ; and Alexis 
 
92 introduction, &c. Part 1, 
 
 expressed a jocular wish, that he had more than an 
 imaginary property in those possessions. 
 
 3. " Banish the ungenerous desire," said Euphro- 
 nius ; " for if you indulge such emotions as these, your 
 heart will soon become a prey to envy and discontent. 
 Enjoy,, with gratitude, the blessings which you have 
 received from the liberal hand of Providence ; in- 
 crease them, if you can, with honour and credit, by a 
 diligent attention to the business for which you are 
 designed ; and though your own cup may not be fili- 
 ed, rejoice that your neighbour's overflows with plenty 
 Honour the abilities, and emulate the virtues, of En- 
 genio : but repine not that he is wiser, richer, or 
 more powerful, than yourself. 
 
 4. " His fortune is expended in acts of humanity, 
 generosity, and hospitality. His superior talents are 
 applied to the instruction of his children ; to the as- 
 sistance of his friends ; to .the encouragement of agri- 
 culture, and of every useful art ; and to support the 
 cause of liberty and the rights of mankind. And his 
 power is exerted to punish the guilty, to protect the 
 innocent, to reward the good, and to distribute jus- 
 tice, with an equal hand, to all. I feel the afFection 
 of a brother for Eugenio : and esteem myself singu 
 larly happy in his friendship." percival. 
 
 SECTION IX. — Insole fit deportment towards 
 inferiors reproved. 
 1. Saccharissa was about fifteen years of age. Na 
 ture had given her a high spirit, and education had 
 fostered it into pride and haughtiness. This temper 
 was displayed in every little competition which she had * 
 with her companions. She could not brook the least 
 opposition from those whom she regarded as her infe- 
 riors ; and if they did not instantly submit to her incli- 
 nation, she assumed all her airs of dignity, and treated 
 them with the most supercilious contempt. She domi- 
 neered over her father's servants ; always command 
 ing their good offices with the voice of authority, and 
 disdaining the gentle language of request. 
 
Cltap. 6. promiscuous pieces. 93 
 
 2. Euphronius was one day walking with her, when 
 the gardener brought her a nosegay, which she had 
 ordered him to collect. "Blockhead !" she cried, as 
 he delivered it to her; "what strange flowers you 
 have chosen: and how awkwardly you have put them 
 together J" " Blame not the man with so much harsh- 
 ness," said Euphronius, "because his taste is different 
 from yours ! he meant to please you, and his good in- 
 tention merits your thanks, and not your censure." 
 "Thanks !" replied Saccharissa,scornfully. " He is paid 
 lor his services, and it is his duty to perforin them." 
 
 3. " And if he does perform them, he acquits him- 
 self of his duty," returned Euphronius. "The obli- 
 gation is fulfilled on his side ; and you have no more 
 right to upbraid him for executing your orders accord- 
 ing to his best ability, than he has to claim, from your 
 father, more wages than were covenanted to be given 
 him." "But he is a poor dependant," said Saccha- 
 rissa, "and earns a livelihood by his daily labour." 
 
 4. '-'That livelihood," answered Euphronius, "is 
 the just price of his labour ; and if he receives nothing 
 farther from your hands, the account is balanced be- 
 tween you, But a generous person compassionates the 
 lot of those who are obliged to toil for his benefit or 
 gratification. He lightens their burdens; treats them 
 with kindness and affection ; studies to promote their 
 interest and happiness ; and, as much as possible, con- 
 ceals from them their servitude, and his superiority. 
 
 5 " On the distinctions of rank and fortune, he does 
 not set too high a value : and though the circumstances 
 of life require, that there should be hewers of wood, 
 and drawers of water, yet he forgets not that mankind 
 are by nature equal ; all being the offspring of God, the 
 subjects of his moral government, and joint heirs of 
 immortality. A conduct directed by such principles, 
 gives a master claims, which no money can purchase, 
 no labour can repay. His affection can only be com- 
 pensated by love ; his kindness, by gratitude ; and his 
 cordiality, by the service of the heart." — fercivai» 
 
94 INTRODUCTION, &C. Part 1* 
 
 SECTION X.—Arachne and Melissa ; or, the hap 
 piness of cultivating a good temper. 
 
 1. A Good temper is one of the principal ingredi- 
 ents of happiness. This, it will he said, is the work 
 of nature, and must be born with us : and so, in a 
 good measure, it is ; yet it may be acquired by art, and 
 improved by culture. Almost every object that at- 
 tracts our notice, has a bright and a dark side. 
 
 2. He that habituates himself to look at the dis 
 pleasing side, will sour his disposition, and conse 
 quently impair his happiness ; while he who beholds 
 it on the bright side, insensibly meliorates his tem- 
 per ; and, by this means, improves his own happiness, 
 and the happiness of all about him. 
 
 3. Arachneand Melissa are two friends. They ait 
 alike in birth, fortune, education, and accomplish- 
 ments. They were originally alike in temper too ; but 
 by different management, are grown the reverse of 
 each other. Arachne has accustomed hersel£to look 
 only on the dark side of every object. 
 
 4. If a new literary work makes its appearance, 
 with a thousand beauties, and but one or two blem- 
 ishes, she slightly skims over the passages that should 
 give her pleasure, and dwells upon those only that 
 fill her with dislike. If you show her an excellent 
 portrait, she looks at some part of the drapery, that 
 has been neglected, or to a hand or ringer which has 
 been left unfinished. 
 
 5. Ilei garden is a very beautiful one, and kept 
 with great neatness and elegance ; but if you take a 
 walk with her into it, she talks to you of nothing but 
 blights and storms, of snails and caterpillars, and how 
 impossible it is to keep it from the litter of falling 
 leaves and worm-casts. 
 
 6. If you sit down in one of her temples, to enjoy 
 a delightful prospect, she observes to you, that there 
 is too much wood, or too little water ; that the day is 
 too sunny, or too gloomy ; that it is sultry, or windy : 
 
Chap. 6. promiscuous pieces. 95 
 
 and finishes with a long harangue upon the wretched- 
 ness of our climate. 
 
 7. When you return with her to the company, in 
 hopes of a little cheerful conversation, she casts a 
 gloom over all, by giving you the history of her own 
 bad healthy or of «ome melancholy accident that has 
 befallen one of her children. Thus she insensibly 
 sinks her own spirits and the spirits of all around her ; 
 and at last discovers, she knows not why, that her 
 friends are grave. 
 
 8. Melissa is the reverse of all this. By habituat- 
 ing herself to look on the bright side of objects, she 
 preserves a perpetual cheerfulness in herself, which 
 by a kind of happy contagion, she communicates to all 
 about her. If any misfortune has befallen her, she 
 considers that it might have been worse, and is thank- 
 ful to Providence for an ese^^e. 
 
 9. She rejoices in so i: ' ^, as it gives her an op- 
 portunity of knowi^r ^iself ; and in society, because 
 she communicatt tne happiness she enjoys. She op- 
 posed" every man's virtues to his failings, and can 
 rind out something to cherish and applaud, in the 
 very worst of her acquaintance. 
 
 10. She opens every book with a desire to be en- 
 tertained or instructed ; and therefore seldom misses 
 what she looks for. — Walk with her, though i,t be but 
 on a heath or a common, and she will discover num- 
 berless beauties, unobserved before, in the hills, the 
 dales, the brooms, brakes and variegated flowers of 
 weeds and poppies. She enjoys every change of 
 weather, and of season, as bringing with it some ad- 
 vantages of health or convenience. 
 
 11. In conversation, you never hear her repeating 
 her own grievances, or those of her neighbours, or 
 (what is worst of all) their faults and imperfections. 
 If any thing of the latter kind is mentioned in her hear- 
 ing, she has the address to turn it into entertainment, 
 by changing the most odious railing into a pleasant 
 raillery. 
 
 
96 introduction, &c. Part 1. 
 
 12. Thus Melissa, like the bee, gathers honey from 
 every weed ; while Arachne, like the spider, sucks 
 poison from the fairest flowers. The consequence is, 
 that of two tempers, once very neary allied, the one is 
 for ever sour and dissatisfied, the other always pleased 
 and cheerful : the one spreads a universal gloom ; the # 
 other a continual sunshine. world. 
 
 SECTION XI. — Disrespect to parents, is in no 
 case allowable. 
 
 SOCRATES AND LEANDER. 
 
 1. Leander, the eldest son of Socrates, fell into a 
 violent passion with his mother. Socrates was witness 
 to this shameful misbehaviour, and attempted the cor- 
 rection of it, in the following gentle and rational 
 manner. 
 
 2. " Come hither, son," said he ; " have you never 
 heard of men, who are called ungrateful ?" " Yes, 
 frequently," answered the youth. "And what is in- 
 gratitude V* demanded Socrates. " It is to receive a 
 kindness," said Leander, " without making a upper 
 return, when there is a favourable opportunity. 
 
 3. " Ingratitude is therefore a species of injustice," 
 said Socrates. " I sjiould think so," answered Lean- 
 der. " If then," pursued Socrates, " ingratitude be 
 injustice, does it not follow, that the degree of it must 
 be proportionate to the magnitude of the favours which 
 have been received!" Leander admitted the inference; 
 and Socrates thus pursued his interrogations. 
 
 4. " Can there subsist higher obligations than those 
 which children owe to their parents ; from whom life 
 is derived and supported, and by whose good offices it 
 is rendered honourable, useful and happy?" " I ac- 
 knowledge the truth of what you say," replied Lean- 
 der ; " but who could suffer, without resentment, the 
 ill humours of such a mother as I have?" "What 
 strange thing has she done to you ?" said Socrates. 
 
 5. " She has a tongue," replied Leander, " that no, 
 mortal can bear." " How much more," said Socrates, 
 " has she endured from your wrangling, fretfulness, 
 
 . 
 
Chap, 6. INTRODUCTION, &c. 97 
 
 and incessant cries, in the period of infancy ! What 
 anxieties has she suffered from the levities, capricious- 
 ness, and follies, of your childhood and youth ! What 
 affliction has she felt, what toil and watching has she 
 sustained, in your illnesses !" These, and various other 
 powerful motives to filial duty and gratitude, have 
 been recognized by the legislators of our republic. 
 For if any one be disrespectful to his parents, he is 
 not, permitted to enjoy any post of trust or honour. 
 
 6. " it is believed that a sacrifice, offered by an im- 
 pious hand, can neither be acceptable to Heaven, nor 
 profitable to the state ; and that an undutiful son can- 
 not be capable of performing any great action, or of 
 executing justice with impartiality. Therefore, my 
 gofl, if you be wise, you will pray to Heaven to par- 
 don the offences committed against your mother. 
 
 7. " Let no one discover the contempt with which 
 ?ou have treated her ; for the world will condemn, and 
 abandon you for such behaviour. And if it be even 
 suspectedf^that you repay with ingratitude the good 
 ollices of your parents, you will inevitably forego the 
 kindness of -others ; because no man will suppose, 
 that you have a heart to requite either his favours or 
 his friendship.'' percival. 
 
 SECTION* XII.— Brethren should dwell together 
 in harmony, 
 
 SOCRATES AND DEMETRIUS. 
 
 1. Two brothers, named Timon and Demetrius, 
 having quarrelled with each other, Socrates, their 
 common friend,was solicitous to restore amity between 
 them. Meeting, therefore, with Demetrius, he thus 
 accosted him : " Is not friendship the sweetest solace 
 in adversity, and the greatest enchantment of the 
 
 i blessings of prosperity 1" " Certainly it is," replied 
 Demetrius ; " because our sorrows are diminished, 
 and our joys increased by sympathetic participation." 
 
 2. "Among whom, then, must we look for a friend ?" 
 laid Socrates. "Would you search anions strangers ? 
 r They cannot be interested about you. Among your 
 
 I 
 
98 iistroduction, &c. Part 1 
 
 rivals? They have an interest in opposition to yours. 
 Among those who are much older, or younger than 
 yourself? Their feelings and pursuits will be widely 
 different from yours. Are there not, then, some k\i 
 cumstances favourable, and others essential, to the 
 formation of friendship ?" 
 
 3. " Undoubtedly there are," answered Demetrius, 
 "May we not enumerate," continued Socrates, " among 
 the circumstances favourable to friendship, long ac- 
 quaintance, common connexions, similitude of age, 
 and union of interest?" " I acknowledge," said De- 
 metrius, " the powerful influence of these circum- 
 stances : but they may subsist, and yet others be 
 wanting, that are essential to mutual amity." 
 
 4. "And what," said Socrates, " are those essentials 
 which are wanting in Timon ?" " He has forfeited my 
 esteem and attachment," answered Demetrius. "And 
 has he also forfeited the esteem and attachment of 
 the rest of mankind?" continued Socrates. "Is he 
 devoid of benevolence, generosity, gratitude, and 
 other social affections ?" " Far be it from me," cried 
 Demetrius, "to lay so heavy a charge upon him? His 
 conduct to others is, I believe, irreproachable ; and 
 it wounds me the more that he should single me out 
 as the object of his unkindness." 
 
 5. " Suppose you have a very valuable horse," re- 
 sumed Socrates, " gentle under the treatment of others, 
 but ungovernable when you attempt to use him ; would 
 you not endeavour by all means, to conciliate his af- 
 fection, and to treat him in the way most likely to 
 render him tractable ? Or, if you have a dog, highly 
 prized for his fidelity, watchfulness, and care of your 
 flocks, who is fond of your shepherds, and playful with 
 them, and yet snarls whenever you come in his way ; 
 would you attempt to cure him of this fault by angry 
 looks or words, or by any other marks of resentment ? 
 You would surely pursue an opposite course with him. 
 
 6. " And is not the friendship of a brother of far 
 more worth, than the services of a horse, or the attach- 
 
 i 
 
Chap. 6. promiscuous pieces. 99 
 
 ment of a dog? Why then do you delay to put*¥h 
 practice those means, which may reconcile you to 
 Timon ?" "Acquaint me with those means," answered 
 Demetrius, '' for I am a stranger to them." "Answer 
 me a few questions," said Socrates. 
 
 7. " If you desire that one of your neighbours should 
 invite you to his feast, when he offers a sacrifice, what 
 course would you take ?"— " I would first invite him 
 to mine." — "And how would you induce him to take 
 the charge of your affairs, when you are on a jour- 
 ney ?" — " I should be forward to do the same good 
 office to him, in his absence." 
 
 8. " If you be solicitous to remove a prejudice, 
 which he may have received against you, how w r ould 
 you then behave towards him ?" — " I should endea- 
 vour to convince him, by my looks, words, and actions, 
 that such prejudice was ill-founded." — " And if he 
 appeared inclined to reconciliation, would you re- 
 proach him with the injustice he had done you ?" — 
 " No," answ r ered Demetrius ; " I would repeat no 
 grievances." 
 
 9. " Go," said Socrates, " and pursue that conduct 
 unvards your brother, which you would practice to a 
 neighbour. His friendship is of inestimable worth ; 
 and nothing is more lovely in the sight of Heaven, than 
 for brethren to dwell together in unity." 
 
 PERCIVAL. 
 
 SECTION XIII.— On good hreeding. 
 
 1. As learning, honour, and virtue, are absolutely 
 necessary to gain you the esteem and admiration of 
 mankind, politeness and good breeding are equally 
 necessary to make you agreeable in conversation and 
 common life. 
 
 2. Great talents are above the generality of the 
 world, who neither possess them themselves, nor judge 
 of them rightly in others : but all people are judges 
 
 r of the smaller talents, such as civility, affability, and 
 an obliging, agreeable address and manner ; because 
 
1,4)0 introduction, &c. Part 1. 
 
 they feel the effects of them, as making society easy 
 and pleasing. 
 
 3. Good sense must, in many cases, determine good 
 breeding : but there are some general rules of it, tha* 
 always hold true. For example, it is extremely rude* 
 not to give proper attention, and a civil answer, wher? 
 people speak to you : or to go away, or be doing some- 
 thing else, while they are speaking to you ; for that 
 convinces them that you despise them, and do not 
 think it worth your while to hear, or answer, what 
 they say. 
 
 4. It is also very rude to fake the best place in a 
 room ; or to seize immediately upon what you like at 
 table, without offering first to help others ; as if you 
 considered nobody but yourself. On the contrary, you 
 should always endeavour to procure all the conve- 
 niences you can, to the people you are with. 
 
 5. Besides being civil, which is absolutely neces- 
 sary, the perfection of good breeding is, to be civil 
 with ease, and in a becoming manner. — Awkward 
 ness can proceed but from two causes ,* either from 
 not having kept good company, or from not having 
 attended to it. Attention is absolutely necessary for 
 improving in behaviour, as indeed it is for every thing 
 else. 
 
 6. If an awkward person drinks tea or coffee, he 
 often scalds his mouth, and lets either the cup or the 
 saucer fall, and spills the tea or coffee on his' clothes 
 At dinner his awkwardness distinguishes itself par- 
 ticularly, as he has more to do. 
 
 7. There, he holds his knife, fork, and spoon, dif- 
 ferently from other people ; eats with his knife, to the 
 great danger of his lips ; picks his teeth with his fork 
 and puts his spoon, which has been in his mouth 
 twenty times, into the dishes again. 
 
 8. If he is to carve, he can never hit the joint ; but 
 in his vain efforts to cut through the bone, scatters 
 the sauce in every body's face. He generally daubs 
 himself with soup and grease, though his napkin is 
 
Chap. 6. promiscuous pieces. 101 
 
 commonly stuck through a button-hole, and tickles 
 his chin. 
 
 9. When he drinks, he coughs in his glass, and 
 besprinkles the company. Besides all this, he has 
 strange tricks and gestures ; such as snuffing up his 
 nose, making faces, putting his fingers in his nose, 
 or blowing it, and looking afterwards in his handker- 
 chief, so as greatly to disgust the company. 
 
 10. His hands are troublesome to him, when he has 
 not something in them ; and he does not know where 
 to put them, but keeps them in perpetual motion. All 
 this, I own, is not in any degree criminal ; but it is 
 highly disagreeable and ridiculous in company ; and 
 ought most carefully to be guarded against, by every 
 one that desires to please. 
 
 11. There is, likewise, an awkwardness of expres- 
 sion and words, which ought to be avoided ; such as 
 false English, bad pronunciation, old sayings, and vul- 
 gar proverbs ; which are so many proofs of a poor 
 education. 
 
 12. For example, if, instead of saying that tastes 
 are different, and that every man has his own pecu- 
 liar one, you should let oil a vulgar proverb, and say, 
 " That what is one man's meat is another man's poi- 
 son ;" or else, " Every man to his liking, as the good 
 man said when he kissed his cow ;" the company 
 would be persuaded that you had never associated 
 with any but low persons. 
 
 13. To mistake or forget names; to speak of 
 14 What-d'ye-call-him," or, " Thingum," or, " How- 
 d'ye-call-her," is excessively awkward and vulgar. 
 To begin a story or narration, when you are not per- 
 fect in it, and cannot go through with it, but are forced, 
 possibly, to say in the middle of it, " I have forgotten 
 the rest," is very unpleasant and bungling. 
 
 14. One must be extremely exact, clear, and per- 
 spicuous, in every thing one says ,- otherwise, instead 
 of entertaining or informing others, one only tires and 
 puzzles them. The voice and manner of speaking* 
 
 i2 
 
102 introduction, &c. Part I 
 
 too, are not to be neglected. Some people almost 
 shut their mouths when they speak ; and mutter so, 
 that they are not to be understood ! others speak st- 
 fast, and sputter, that they are equally unintelligible 
 15. Some always speak as loud as if they were talk 
 ing to deaf people ; and others so low, that one canno 
 hear them. All these, and many other habits, are 
 awkward and disagreeable, and are to be avoided b> 
 attention. You cannot imagine how necessary it is to 
 mind all these little things. I have seen many people, 
 with great talents, ill received, for want of having 
 these talents too; and others well received, only from 
 their little talents, and who had no great ones. 
 SECTION XIV.-- -The ungrateful guest. 
 
 1. Philip, king of Macedon, is celebrated for an 
 act of private justice, which does great honour to his 
 memory. A certain soldier, in the Macedonian army, 
 had, in various instances, distinguished himself by ex- 
 traordinary acts of valour; and had received many 
 marks of Philip's approbation and favour. 
 
 2. On a particular occasion, this soldier embarked 
 on board a vessel, which was wrecked by a violent 
 storm ; and he was cast on the shore, nelpless and 
 naked, with scarce any appearance of life. A Mace, 
 donian, whose lands were contiguous to the sea, came 
 opportunely to be witness of his distress ; and, with 
 the most humane and charitable Jenderness, flew to 
 the relief of the unhappy stranger. 
 
 3. He bore him to his house, laid him on his own 
 bed, revived, cherished, and comforted him ; and, for 
 forty days, supplied him freely with all the necessaries 
 and conveniences which his languishing condition 
 could require. 
 
 4. The soldier, thus happily rescued from death, 
 was incessant in the warmest expressions of gratitude 
 to his benefactor ; assured him of his interest with the 
 king ; and of his determination to obtain for him, from 
 the royal bounty, the noble returns which such extra- 
 ordinary benevolence had merited. He was at length 
 
Chap. 6. promiscuous pieces. 103 
 
 completely recovered ; and was supplied by his kind 
 host with money to pursue Ins journey. 
 
 5. After some time, the soldier presented himself 
 before the king ; he recounted his misfortunes ; he 
 magnified his services, and this inhumarrwretch, who 
 had looked with an eye of envy on the possessions of 
 the man by whom his life had been preserved, was so 
 devoid of gratitude, and of every humane sentiment, 
 as to request that the king would bestow upon him 
 the house and lands, where lie had been so tenderly 
 and kindly entertained. 
 
 6. Unhappily, Philip, without examination, precipi- 
 tately granted his infamous request. The soldier then 
 returned to hi-s preserver, and repaid his goodness by 
 driving him from his settlement, and taking immediate 
 possession of all the fruits of his honest industry. 
 
 7. The poor man, stung with such an instance of 
 unparalleled ingratitude and insensibility, boldly de- 
 termined, instead of submitting to his wrongs, to seek 
 relief: and in a letter addressed to Philip, represented 
 his own and the soldier's conduct, in a lively and af- 
 fecting manner. 
 
 8. The king was instantly fired with indignation. 
 He ordered that ample justice should be done without 
 delay ; that the possessions should be immediately re- 
 stored to the man whose charitable offices had been 
 thus horribly repaid ; and, to show his abhorrence of 
 the deed, he caused the soldier to be seized, and to 
 have these words branded on his forehead — " The 
 Ungrateful Guest." goldsmith. 
 
 SECTION XV. — The hospitable negro woman. 
 
 1. The enterprising traveller, Mungo Park, was 
 employed, by the African Association, to explore the 
 interior regions of Africa. In this hazardous under- 
 taking, he encountered many dangers and difficulties. 
 His wants were often supplied, and his distresses al- 
 leviated, by the kindness and compassion of the ne* 
 groes. He gives the following lively and interesting 
 
104 introduction, &c. Pari 1. 
 
 account of the hospitable treatment he received from 
 a poor negro woman. 
 
 2. "Being arrived at Sego, the capital of the king- 
 dom of Bambarra, situated on the banks of the Niger, 
 I wished to pass over to that part of the town in which 
 the king resides : but, from the number of persons 
 eager to obtain a passage, I was under the necessity 
 of waiting two hours. 
 
 3. " During this time, the people who had crossed 
 the river, carried information to Mansong, the king, 
 that a white man was waiting for a passage, and was 
 coming to see him. 
 
 4. " He immediately sent over one of his chief men, 
 who informed me that the king could not possibly see 
 me, until he knew what had brought me into his 
 country ; and that I must not presume to cross the 
 river without the king's permission. 
 
 5. " He therefore advised me to lodge, for tha' 
 night, at a distant village to which he pointed ; and 
 said, that in the morning, he would give me further 
 instructions how to conduct myself. 
 
 6. " This was very discouraging. However, a^ 
 there was no remedy, I set off for the village ; where 
 I found, to my great mortification, that no person 
 would admit me into his house. From the prejudices 
 infused into their minds, I was regarded with aston- 
 ishment and fear, and was obliged to sit the whole 
 day without victuals, in the shade of a tree. 
 
 7. " The night threatened to be very uncomforta 
 ble ; for the wind rose, and there was great appear 
 ance of a heavy rain : the wild beasts too were sr' 
 numerous in the neighbourhood, that I should hava 
 been under the necessity of climbing up a tree, and 
 resting among the branches. 
 
 8. " About sunset, however, as I was preparing to 
 pass the night in this manner, and had turned my horse 
 loose, that he might graze at liberty, a negro woman t 
 returning from the labours of the field, stopped to ob 
 
Chap. 6. promiscuous pieces* 105 
 
 serve me ; and perceiving that I was weary and de- 
 jected, inquired into my situation. 
 
 9. " I briefly explained it to her ; after which, with 
 looks of great compassion, she took np my saddle and 
 bridle, and told me to follow her. Having conducted 
 me into her hut, she lighted a lamp, spread a mat on 
 the floor, and told me I might remain there for the 
 night. 
 
 10. Finding that I was very hungry, she went out 
 to procure me something to eat ; and returned in a 
 short time with a very fine fish ; which, having caused 
 it to be half broiled upon some embers, she gave me 
 
 • for supper. 
 
 11. " The rites of hospitality being thus perform- 
 ed towards a stranger in distress, my worthy benefac- 
 tress (pointing to the mat, and telling me I might 
 sleep there without apprehension) called to the female 
 part of her family, who had stood gazing on me all the 
 while in fixed astonishment, to resume their task of 
 spinning cotton ; in which they continued to employ 
 themselves great part of the night. 
 
 12. " They lightened their labour by "songs, one 
 of which was composecLextempore ; for I was myself 
 the subject of it. It was sung by one of the young 
 women, the rest joining in a sort of chorus. The air 
 was sweet and plaintive, and the words, literally 
 translated, were these : '* 
 
 13. " 'The winds roared and the rains fell. — The 
 poor white mSn, faint and weary, came and sat under 
 our tree. — He has no mother to bring him milk ; no 
 wife to grind his corn. Chorus. Let us pity the white 
 man : no mother has he to bring him milk ; no wife 
 to grind his corn.'* 
 
 * These simple and pathetic sentiments have been very beautifully 
 versified and expanded, by the Dutchess of Devonshire. The foi 
 lowing is a copy of this little interesting piece of poetry. 
 
 1. The loud wind roared, the rain fell fast ,• 
 The white man yielded to the blast. 
 He sat him down beneath the tree, 
 For weary, sad, and faint was he 
 
 
106 introduction, &c. Part 1 
 
 14. " Trifling as these events may appear to the 
 reader, they were to me affecting in the highest degree. 
 I was oppressed by such unexpected kjndness ; and 
 sleep fled from my eyes. In the morning I presented 
 to my compassionate, landlady two of the four brass 
 buttons which remained on my waistcoat ; the only 
 recompense it was in my power to make her." 
 
 park's travels. 
 SECTION XVI. — Catharina, empress of Russia. 
 
 1. Catharina Alexowna, born near Derpat, a 
 little city in Livonia, was heir to no other inheritance 
 than the virtues and frugality of her parents. Her 
 father being dead, she lived with her aged mother, in 
 their cottage covered with straw ; and both, though, 
 very poor, were very contented. 
 
 2. Here, retired from the gaze of the world, by the 
 labours of her hands she supported her parent, who 
 was now incapable of supporting herself. While Ca- 
 tharina spun, the old woman would sit by and read 
 some, book of devotion. When the fatigues of the 
 day were over, both would* sit down contentedly by 
 the fire-si(J.e, and enjoy their frugal meal. 
 
 3. Though Catharina's face and person were models 
 of perfection, yet her whole attention seemed bestow- 
 ed upon her mind. Her mother taught her to read, 
 and an old Lutheran miniMer instructed her in the 
 
 And ah ! no wife or mother's care, 
 For him the milk or corn prepare. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 The white man shall our pity share : 
 . Alas ! no wife, or mother's care, 
 For him the milk or corn prepare. 
 
 2. The storm is o'er, the tempest past, 
 And mercy's voice has hushed the blast; 
 The wand is heard in whispers low, 
 The white man far away must go ; 
 But ever in his heart will bear 
 Remembrance of the negro's care 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Go, white man, go ; but with thee bear 
 The negro's wish, the negro's prayer 
 Remembrance of the negro's care. 
 
Chap. 6. promiscuous pieces. 107 
 
 maxims and duties of religion. Nature bad furnished 
 her not only with a ready, but a solid turn of thought ; 
 "not only with a strong, but a right understanding. 
 
 4. Her virtues and accomplishments procured her 
 several solicitations of marriage, from the peasants of 
 the country ; but their offers were refused ; for she 
 loved her mother too tenderly to think of a separation. 
 
 5. Catharina was fifteen years old when her mother 
 died. She then left her cottage, and went to live with 
 the Lutheran minister, by whom she had been in- 
 structed from her childhood. In his house she re- 
 sided, in quality of governess to his children : at once 
 reconciling in her character unerring prudence with 
 surprising vivacity. 
 
 6. The old man, who regarded her as one of his 
 own children, had her instructed in the elegant parts 
 of female education, by the masters who attended the 
 rest of his family. Thus she continued to improve, 
 till he died ; by which accident she was reduced to 
 her former poverty. 
 
 7. The country of Livonia was at that time wasted 
 by war, and lay in a miserable state of desolation. 
 Those calamities are ever most heavy upon the poor ; 
 wherefore Catharina, though possessed of so many ac- 
 complishments, experienced all the miseries of hope- 
 less indigence. Provisions becoming every day more 
 scarce, and her private stock being entirely exhausted, 
 she resolved at last to travel to Marienburg, a city of 
 greater plenty. 
 
 8. With her scanty wardrobe, packed up in a wal- 
 let, she set out on her journey, on foot.. She was to 
 walk through a region miserable by nature, but ren- 
 dered still more hideous by the Swedes and Russians, 
 who, as each happened to become masters, plundered 
 it at discretion ; but hunger had taught her to despise 
 the dangers and fatigues of the way. 
 
 9. One evening, upon her journey, as she had en- 
 tered a cottage by the way-side, to take up her lodging 
 for the night, she was insulted by two Swedish sol- 
 
108 introduction, &c Part I. 
 
 diers. They might probably have carried their in- 
 sults into violence, had not a subaltern officer, acci- 
 dently passing by, come in to her Assistance. 
 
 10. Upon his appearing, the soldiers immediately 
 desisted ; but her thankfulness was hardly greater 
 than her surprise, when she instantly recollected in 
 her deliverer, the son of the Lutheran minister, her 
 former instructor, benefactor, and friend. This was a 
 happy interview for Catharina. 
 
 11. The little stock of money she had brought from 
 home was by this time quite exhausted ; her clothes 
 were gone, piece by piece, in order to satisfy those who 
 had entertained her in their houses ; her generous coun- 
 tryman, therefore, parted with what he could spare, 
 to buy her clothes : furnished her with a horse ; and 
 gave her letters of recommendation to a faithful friend 
 ofhrs father's, the superintendent of Marienburgh. 
 
 SECTION XVII. — The same subject continued. 
 
 1. The beautiful stranger was well received at Ma 
 rienburgh. She was immediately admitted into the 
 superintendent's family, as governess to his two daugh- 
 ters ; and, though but seventeen, showed herself ca- 
 pable of instructing her sex, not only in virtue, but in 
 politeness. 
 
 2. Such were her good sense and beauty, that her 
 master himself in a short time offered her his hand ; 
 which, to his great surprise, she thought proper to re- 
 fuse. Actuated by a principle of gratitude, she was 
 resolved to marry her deliverer only, though he had 
 lost an arm, and was otherwise disfigured by wounds, 
 received in the service. 
 
 3. In order, therefore, to prevent further solicitations 
 from others, as soon as the officer came to town upon 
 duty, she offered him her hand, which he accepted with 
 joy, and their nuptials were accordingly solemnized. 
 
 4. But all the lines of her fortune were to be strik- 
 ing. The very day on which they were married, the 
 Russians laid siege to Marienburgh. The unhappy 
 
Chap. 6. promiscuous pieces. 109 
 
 soldier was immediately ordered to an attack, from 
 which he never returned. 
 
 6. In the mean time, the siege went on with fury, 
 aggravated on one side by obstinacy, on the other by 
 revenge. The war between the two northern powers 
 at that time was truly barbarous: the innocent pea- 
 sant, and the harmless virgin, often shared the fate of 
 the soldier in arms. 
 
 6. Marienburgh was taken by assault ; and such 
 was the fury of the assailants, that not only the garri- 
 son, but almost all the inhabitants, men, women, and 
 children, were put to the sword. 
 
 7. At length, when the carnage was pretty well 
 over, Catharina was found hid in an oven. She had 
 hitherto been poor, but free. She was now to con- 
 form to her hard fate, and learn what it was to be a 
 slave. In this situation, however, she behaved with 
 piety and humility ; and though misfortunes had 
 abated her vivacity, yet she was cheerful. 
 
 8. The fame of her merit and resignation reached 
 even princ-e MenzicotT, the Russian general. He de- 
 sired to see her ; was pleased with her appearance, 
 bought her from the soldier, her master ; and placed 
 her under the direction of his own sister. Here she 
 was treated with all the respect which her merit de- 
 
 grved, while her beauty every day improved with 
 *r good fortune. 
 
 9. She had not been long in this situation, when 
 Peter the Grea*t paying the prince a visit, Catharina 
 happened to come in with some dried fruits, which 
 she served round with peculiar modesty. The mighty 
 monarch saw her, and was struck with her beauty. 
 
 10. He returned the next day ; called for the beau- 
 tiful slave, asked her several questions, and found the 
 charms of her mind superior even to those of her per- 
 son. He had been forced, when young, to man/ from 
 motives of interest; he was now resolved to marrv 
 pursuant to his own inclinations. He immediately 
 
 K 
 
110 introduction, &c. Part I* 
 
 inquired into the history of the fair Livonian, who 
 was not yet eighteen. 
 
 11. He traced her through the vale of obscurity, 
 through the vicissitudes of her fortune ; and found her 
 truly great in them all. The meanness of her birth was 
 no obstruction to his design. The nuptials were 
 solemnized in private ; the prince declaring to his cour- 
 tiers, that virtue was the properest ladder to a throne. 
 
 12. We now see Catharina raised from the low, 
 mud-walled cottage, to be empress of the greatest 
 kingdom upon earth. The poor solitary wanderer is 
 now surrounded by thousands, who find happiness in 
 her smile. She who formerly wanted a meal, is now 
 capable of diffusing plenty upon whole nations. To 
 her good fortune she owed a part of this pre-eminence, 
 but to her virtues more. 
 
 13. She ever after retained those great qualities 
 which first placed her on a throne : and while the ex- 
 traordinary prince, her husband, laboured for the re- 
 formation of his male subjects, she studied in her turn, 
 the improvement of her own sex. She altered their 
 dresses; introduced mixed assemblies; instituted an 
 order of female knighthood ; promoted piety and vir- 
 tue ; and, at length, when she had greatly filled all the 
 stations of empress, friend, wife, and mother, bravely 
 died without regret, — regretted by all. goldsmith. 
 
 SECTION XVIIL — Virtue a?id happiness equally t 
 attainable for the rich and the poor, 
 
 1. The man to whom God- has given riches, and 
 blessed with a mind to employ them aright, is pecu- 
 liar}' favoured, and highly distinguished. He looks. 
 b« his wealth with pleasure, because it affords him- the 
 mea'js to do good. He protects the poor that are in- 
 jure I : he suffers not the mighty to oppress the weak. 
 
 2, He seeks out objects of compassion ; he inquires 
 into their wants ; he relieves them with judgment, and 
 vithout ostentation. He assists and rewards merit; 
 ne f ^courages ingenuity, and liberally promotes every 
 
Chap. 6. promiscuous pieces. Ill 
 
 useful design. He carries on great works, his country 
 is enriched, and the labourer is employed ; he forms 
 new schemes, and the arts receive improvement. 
 
 3. He considers the superfluities of his table as be- 
 longing to the poor of his neighbourhood : and he de- 
 frauds them not. The benevolence of his mind is not 
 checked by his fortune ; he rejoices therefore in riches, 
 
 • and his joy is blameless. 
 
 4. The virtuous poor man also may rejoice ; for he 
 has many reasons. He sits down to his morsel in 
 peace ; his table is not crowded with flatterers and 
 devourers. He is not embarrassed with a-train of de- 
 pendents, nor teased with the clamours of solicitation. 
 Debarred from the dainties of the rich, he escapes 
 also their diseases. 
 
 5. The bread that he eats, is it not sweet to his 
 toot©? The water he drinks, is it not pleasant to his 
 thirst? yea, far more deliciuus than the richest 
 draughts .of the luxurious. His labour preserves hi* 
 health, and procures him a repose to which the downy 
 bed of sloth is a stranger. 
 
 6. He limits his desires with humility; and the 
 calm of contentment is sweeter to his soul than all the 
 acquisitions of wealth and grandeur. — Let not the 
 rich, therefore, presume on his riches ; nor the poor 
 in his poverty yield to despondence ; for the provi- 
 dence of God dispenses happiness to them both.. 
 
 ECONOMY OF HUMAN LIFE. 
 
 SECTION XIX.— The character of Christ 
 
 1. Whoever considers, with attention, the charao 
 ter of our blessed Lord, as it may be collected from 
 the various incidents and actions of his life, (for there 
 are no laboured descriptions of it, no encomiums upon 
 it, by his own disciples,) will soon discover that it 
 was, in every respect, the most excellent that ever 
 was made known to mar kind. 
 
 2. If we only Sc*y of him what even Pilate said of 
 him, and what his bitterest enemies cannot and do not 
 
11% introduction. &c. Part I. 
 
 deny, that we can find no fault in him, and that the 
 whole tenour of his life was blameless, this is more 
 than can be said of any other person that ever came 
 into the world. 
 
 3. But this is going a very little way indeed, in the 
 excellence of his character. He was not only free 
 from every failing, but he possessed and practised 
 every imaginable virtue. Towards his heavenly Far- 
 ther he expressed the most ardent love, the most fer- 
 vent yet rational devotion; and displayed, m his 
 whole conduct, the most absolute resignation to his 
 will, and obedience to his commands. 
 
 4. His manners were gentle, mild, condescending, 
 and gracious: his heart overflowed with kindness, 
 compassion, and tenderness to the whole human race. 
 The great employment of his life, was to do good to 
 the bodies and souls of men. In this, all his thought?, 
 and oil hio time, were constantly, and almost inces- 
 santly occupied. 
 
 5. He went about dispensing his blessings to 
 around him, in a thousand different ways ; healing 
 diseases, relieving infirmities, correcting errors, re* 
 moving prejudices ; promoting piety ^ justice, charity, 
 peace and harmony ; and crowding into the narrow 
 compass of his ministry more acts of mercy and com- 
 passion, than the longest life of the most benevolenJ 
 man upon earth ever yet produced. 
 
 6. Over his own passions he had obtained the mos/ 
 complete command : and though his patience was con- 
 tinually put to the severest trials, yet he was never 
 overcome, never betrayed into any intemperance oi 
 excess, in word or deed ; " never' once spake unad 
 visedly with his lips." 
 
 7. He endured the cruellest insults from his ene- 
 mies, with the utmost composure, meekness, patience, 
 and resignation ; displayed astonishing fortitude under 
 a most painful and ignominious death: and, to crown 
 all, in the very midst of his torments on the cross, im- 
 plored forgiveness for his murderers, in that divinely 
 
Chap* 6. promiscuous pieces. llfl 
 
 charitable prayer, "Father, forgive them, for the/ 
 know not what they do." 
 
 8. Nor was his wisdom inferior to his virtues. The 
 doctrines he taught were the most sublime, and the 
 most important, that were ever before delivered to 
 mankind ; and every way worthy of that God, from 
 whom he professed to derive them, and whose Son he 
 declared himself to be. 
 
 9. His precepts inculcated the purest and most 
 perfect morality ; his discourses were full of dignity 
 and wisdom, yet intelligible and clear ; his parables 
 conveyed instruction in the most pleasing, familiar, 
 and impressive manner ; and his answers to the many 
 insidious questions that were put to him, showed un- 
 common quickness of conception, soundness of judg- 
 ment, and presence of mind ; completely baffled all 
 the artifices and malice of his enemies ; and enabled 
 him to elude all the snares that were laid for him. 
 
 10. From this short and imperfect sketch of our 
 Saviour's character, it is evident that he was beyond 
 comparison, the wisest and most virtuous person that 
 ever appeared in the world. 
 
 BIELBY, BISHOP OF LONDON. 
 
PART II. 
 PIECES IN POETRY. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 SELECT SENTENCES AND PARAGRAPHS. 
 
 SECTION I. 
 
 Improvement of time. 
 Defer not till to-morrow to be wise; 
 To-morrow's sun to thee may never rise. 
 
 Moral culture. 
 If good we plant not, vice will fill the place 
 And rankest weeds the richest soils deface. 
 
 The noblest art'. 
 Indulge the true amibition to excel 
 In that best art, — the art of living well. 
 
 Life a state of trial. 
 In its true light, this transient life regard: 
 This is a state of trial, not reward. 
 Happiness domestic. 
 For genuine happiness we need not roam; 
 'Tis doubtless found with little, and at home. 
 
 Virtue and -vice progressive. 
 The human heart ne'er knows a state or rest; 
 Bad leads to worse, and better tends to best. 
 
 Humility. 
 Be humble; learn thyself to scan: 
 Know, pride was never made for man. 
 
 Contentment is happiness. 
 Could wealth our happiness augment! 
 What can she give beyond content? 
 Virtue altogether lovely. 
 Virtue is amiable, mild, serene: 
 Without, all beauty: and all peace within. 
 
 Self partiality. 
 The faults of our neighbours with freedom we blame. 
 But tax not ourselves, though we practise the same. 
 
 Candour and forgiveness. 
 —How noble 'tis to own a fault! 
 How gen'rous and divine to forgive it! 
 
 m 
 
Chafl. 1. SELECT SENTENCES, &C. 11* 
 
 Troubles from ourselves. 
 'Tis to ourselves, indeed we chiefly owe 
 The multitude of poignant griefs we feel. 
 Resignation* 
 r love thy life, nor hate; but while thou livest, 
 Live well; how long or short, permit to Heaven, 
 SECTION II. 
 Integrity. 
 The man of pure and simple heart, 
 Through life disdains a double part. 
 He never needs the screen of lies, 
 His inward bosom to disguise. 
 
 Best use of riches. 
 When wealth to virtuous hands is given, 
 It blesses like the dews of heaven : 
 Like heav'n it hears the orphan's cries; 
 And wipes the tear from widows' eyes. 
 
 Ch o ice offrien ds. 
 Who friendship with a knave has made, 
 Is judg'd a partner in the trade. 
 'Tis thus, that on the choice of friends 
 Our good or evil name depends. 
 
 Christian morality* 
 
 'Tis our part, 
 
 As Christians, to forget the wrongs we feel; 
 To pardon trespasses; our very foes 
 To love and cherish; to do good to all; 
 Live peaceably; and be, in all our acts, 
 Wise as the serpent, gentle as the dove. 
 Hope in affliction. 
 S hall we pine, 
 And be dishearten'd with a day of grief, 
 When the same hand which brought affliction on, 
 Retains its pow'r, and can, with equal ease, 
 Remove it? 
 
 Folly of envy. 
 Can you discern another's mind? 
 Why is't you envy? Envy's blind. 
 Tell Envy, when she would annoy, 
 That thousands want what you enjoy. 
 
 The wish. 
 I sigh not for beauty, nor languish for wealth; 
 But grant me, kind Providence! virtue and health; 
 Then, richer than kings, and more happy than they, 
 My days shall pass sweetly and swiftly away. 
 
116 INTRODUCTION, 8CC. Part %* 
 
 Censorlousness reproved. 
 In other men we faults can spy, 
 And blame the mote that dims their eye; 
 Each little speck and blemish find, 
 To our own stronger errors blind. — 
 Ere we remark another's sin, 
 Let our own conscience look within. 
 
 Self command. 
 Ungovem'd wrath, and fell resentment fly; 
 They rend the soul, as tempests rend the sky. 
 Shun peevish humours: they corrode the breast, 
 And cloud the brow; are childish at the best. 
 Learn to control your tongue, that restless thing! 
 Of mischief oft and shame the fatal spring 
 
 Inscription on a sun-dial. 
 Mark well my shade, and seriously attend 
 The silent lesson of a common friend: — 
 Since time and life speed hastily away, 
 And no one can recall the former day, 
 Improve each fleeting hour before 'tis past; 
 And know, each fleeting hour may be thy last. 
 
 SECTION III. 
 
 Source of true happiness* 
 The happiness of human kind 
 Consists in rectitude of mind, 
 A will subdued to reason's sway, 
 And passions practised to obey; 
 An open and a generous heart, 
 Refined from selfishness and art; 
 Patience which mocks at fortune's power, 
 And wisdom neither sad nor sour. 
 
 Love to God produces love to men. 
 Let gratitude in acts of goodness flow; 
 Our love to God, in love to man below. 
 Be this our joy — to calm the troubled breast, 
 Support the weak, and succour the distrest; 
 Direct the wand'rer, dry the widow's tear; 
 The orphan guard, the sinking spirits cheer. 
 Though small our power to act, though mean our skill, 
 God sees the heart; he judges by the will. 
 
 Men mutually helpful. 
 Nature expects mankind should share 
 The duties of the public care. 
 
 m 
 
Vhttfl. 2. NARRATIVE PIECES. llf 
 
 Who's born for sloth? To some we find 
 The ploughshare's annual toil assign'd. 
 Some at the sounding anvil glow; 
 Some the swift-sliding shuttle throw: 
 Some, studious of the wind and tide, 
 From pole to pole, our commerce guide; 
 While seme with genius more refin'd, 
 With head and tongue assist mankind. 
 Thus, aiming at one common end, 
 Each proves to all a needful friend. 
 
 To bless, is to be blest. 
 When ydune, what honest triumph flush 'd my breast, 
 This truth once known, — To bless, is to be blest! 
 I led the bending beggar en his way; 
 (Bare were his feet, his tresses silver-gray;) 
 Sooth'd the keen pangs his aged spirit felt, 
 And on his tale with mute attention dwelt. 
 As in his scrip I dropp'd my little store, 
 And wept to think that little was no more, [live!" 
 
 breath'd his pray'r, — "Long may such goodness 
 'Twas all he gave, 'twas all he had to give. 
 Efiitafih on a young woman. 
 :Iawn of life she wisely sought her God; 
 A.nd the strait path of thorny virtue trod. 
 Fond to Oblige, too gentle to'ofFend; 
 Belov'd by all, to all the good a friend : 
 The bad she censur'd by her life alone; 
 Blind to .their faults, severe upon her own: 
 In others' griefs a tender part she bore; 
 And with the needy shared her little store; 
 At distance view'd'the world with pious dread, 
 And to God's temple for protection fled: 
 There sought that peace which Heav'n alone can give, 
 And learn'd to die ere others learn to live. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 NARRATIVE PIECES. 
 
 SECTION I. 
 
 The looking-glass; or, ill-humour corrected. 
 . There was a little stubborn dame, 
 Whom no authority could tame: 
 Restive by long indulgence grown, 
 No will she minded but her own: 
 
118 Introduction, &a Pari, 2. 
 
 At trifles ott she'd scold and fret; 
 Then in a corner take a seat, 
 And sourly moping all the day, 
 Disdain alike to work or play. 
 
 2. Papa all softer arts had tried. 
 And sharper remedies applied; 
 
 But both were vain; for every course 
 He took still made her worse and worse. 
 
 3. Mamma observed the rising lass, 
 By stealth retiring to the glass, 
 To practise little airs, unseen, 
 In the true genius of thirteen: 
 On this a deep design she laid, 
 To tame the humour of the maid; 
 Contriving, like a prudent mother, 
 To make one folly cure another. 
 
 4. Upon the wall, against the seat 
 Which Jessy used for her retreat, 
 Whene'er by accident offended, 
 
 A looking-glass was straight suspended, 
 That it might show her how deformed 
 She looked, and frightful, when she stormed; 
 And warn her, as she prized her beauty, 
 To bend her humour to her duty. 
 
 5. All this the looking-idass achieved: 
 Its threats were minded, and believed 
 The maid, who spurned at all advice, 
 Grew tame ana gentle in a trice: 
 
 So, when all other means had failed. 
 
 The silent monitor prevailed. a^ilkie. 
 
 SECTION II. 
 
 The Butterjly and the Snail; or, elevation yvWrrs littk 
 
 minds fir oud and insolent, 
 
 1. All upstarts, insolent in place, 
 Remind us of their vulgar race. 
 As in the sunshine of the morn, 
 A Butterfly (but newly born) 
 Sat proudly perking on a rose, 
 With pert conceit his bosom glows: 
 His wings (all glorious to behold) 
 Bedropt with azure, jet, and gold, 
 Wide he displays; the spangled dew 
 Reflects his eyes, and various hue. 
 
 2. His now forgotten friend, a Snail, 
 Beneath his house, with slimy trail. 
 
Chafl. % NARRATIVE PIECES. 119 
 
 Crawls o'er the grass; whom when he spies, 
 • In wrath he to the gard'ner cries: 
 "What means yon peasant's daily toil, 
 From choking weeds *o rid the soil? 
 Whv wake you to tue morning's care? 
 Why with new arts correct the year? 
 Why grows the peach with crimson hue? 
 And why the plum's inviting blue? 
 Were they to feast his taste designed, 
 That vermin of voracious kind? 
 Crush then the slow, the pilfering race; 
 So purge thy garden from disgrace." 
 
 3. "What arrogance! 5 ' the Snail replied; 
 " How insolent is upstart pride! 
 Hadst thou not thus with insult vain 
 Provoked my patience to complain, 
 
 I had concealed thy meaner birth, 
 
 Nor traced thee to the scum of earth. 
 
 For scarce nine suns have waked the hours, 
 
 To swell the fruit, and paint the flowers, 
 
 Since I thy humbler life surveyed, 
 
 In base and sordid guise arrayed: 
 
 A hideous insect, vile, unclean, 
 
 You dragged a slow and noisome train; 
 
 And from your spider bowels drew 
 
 Foul film, and spun the dirty clue. 
 
 4. I own my humble life, good friend; 
 Snail was I born, and Snail shall end. 
 And what 's a Butterfly ? At best, 
 He 's but a caterpillar drest: 
 
 And all thy race (a numerous seed) 
 Shall prove of caterpillar breed."— gay, 
 
 SECTION III. 
 
 The Brother and Sister; or, mental excellence superior to 
 personal beauty. 
 
 1. Warned by our counsel oft, beware, 
 And look into yourselves with care. 
 There was a certain father had 
 
 A homely girl and comely lad. 
 These being at their childish play- 
 Within their mother's room one day, 
 A looking-glass was on the chair, 
 And they beheld their faces there. 
 
 2. The boy grows prouder, as he looks; 
 The girl is in a rage, nor brooks 
 
 
120 introduction, &c. Pan fL 
 
 Her boasting brother's jests and sneers 
 Affronted at each word she hears. 
 Then to her father down she flies, 
 And urges all she can devise 
 Against the boy, who could presume 
 To meddle in a lady's room. 
 3. At which, embracing each in turn 
 With most affectionate concern, 
 " My dears," said he, " you must not pass 
 A day without this useful glass: 
 You, lest you spoil a pretty face, 
 By doing things to your disgrace — 
 You, by good conduct to correct 
 Your form, and beautify defect." — smart. 
 
 SECTION IV. 
 
 The Lamb and the Pig; or, nature and education* 
 
 1. Consult the moralist, you'll find 
 That education forms the mind. 
 But education ne'er supplied, 
 What ruling nature has denied. 
 
 If you'll the following page pursue, 
 My tale shall prove this doctrine true. 
 
 2. Since to the muse all brutes belong, 
 The lamb shall usher in my song; 
 Whose snowy fleece adorned her skin, 
 Emblem of native white within. 
 Meekness and love possessed her soul, 
 And innocence had crowned the whole. 
 
 3. It chanced upon a luckless day 
 The little wanton, full of play, 
 Rejoiced a thimy bank to gain; 
 But short the triumphs of her reign! 
 The treacherous slopes her fate foretell, 
 And soon the pretty trifler fell. 
 
 4. Beneath, a dirty ditch impressed 
 Its mire upon her spotless vest. 
 What greater ill could lamb betide 
 The butcher's barbarous knife beside? 
 
 5. The shepherd, wounded with her cries, 
 Straight to the bleating sufferer flies. 
 The lambkin in his arms he took, 
 
 And bore her to a neighb'ring brook. 
 The silver streams her wool refined; 
 Her fleece in virgin whiteness shined. 
 
Chafl* 2. NARRATIVE PIECES. 121 
 
 6. Cleansed from pollution's every stain, 
 She join'd her fellows on the plain; 
 And saw afar the stinking shore, 
 
 But ne'er approached those dangers more. 
 The shepherd blessed the kind event, 
 And view'd his flock with sweet content. 
 
 7. To market next he shaped his way, 
 And bought provisions for the day : 
 But made, for winter's rich supply, 
 A purchase from a farmer's sty. 
 
 The children round their parent crowd, 
 And testify their mirth aloud. 
 
 8. They saw the stranger with surprise, 
 And all admired his little eyes. 
 Familiar grown he shared their joys; 
 Shared too the porridge with the boys. 
 The females o'er his dress preside; 
 They wash his face and scour his hide: 
 But daily more a swine he grew, 
 
 For all these housewives e'er could do. — cotton. 
 
 SECTION V. 
 
 The Bee and the Ant; or, the advantages of afifilication 
 and diligence in early years, 
 
 1. On a bright dewy summer's morn 
 A Bee ranged o'er the verdant lawn; 
 Studious to husband every hour, 
 And make the most of every flower. 
 
 2. Nimble from stalk to stalk she flies, 
 And loads with yellow wax her thighs; 
 With which the artist builds her comb, 
 And keeps all tight and warm at home ; 
 Or from the cowslip's golden bells 
 Sucks honey to enrich her cells: 
 
 Or every tempting rose pursues, 
 Or sips the lily's fragrant dews; 
 Yet never robs the shining bloom, 
 Or of its beauty, or perfume. 
 Thus she discharged in every way 
 The various duties of the day. 
 
 3. It chanced a frugal Ant was near, 
 Whose brow was furrowed o'er by care* 
 A great economist was she, 
 Nor less laborious than the Bee: 
 By pensive parents often taught 
 What ills arise from want of thought ; 
 
l$2 introduction, &c. Port %. 
 
 That poverty on sloth depends, 
 On poverty the loss of friends. 
 
 4, Hence every day the Ant is found 
 With anxious steps to tread the .ground; 
 With curious search to trace the grain, 
 And drag the heavy load with pain, 
 
 5, The active Bee with pleasure saw 
 The Ant fulfil her parents' law. 
 
 s Ah ! sister-labourer, says she, 
 
 How very fortunate are we? 
 Who, taught in infancy to know 
 The comforts which from labour flow, 
 Are independant of the great, 
 Nor know the wants of pride and state, 
 
 6. Why is our food so very sweet? 
 Because we earn before we eat. 
 Why are our wants so very few? 
 Because we nature's calls pursue. 
 Whence our complacency of mind? 
 Because we act our parts assign'd, 
 
 7. Have we incessant tasks to do? 
 Is not all nature busy too? 
 
 Does not the sun with constant pace 
 
 Persist to run his annual race? 
 
 Do not the stars which shine so bright, 
 
 Renew their courses every night? 
 
 Does not the ox obedient bow 
 
 His patient neck, and draw the plow? 
 
 Or when did e'er the gen'rous steed 
 
 Withhold his labour or his speed? — cottoj*. 
 
 SECTION VI. 
 
 The Doves, 
 
 1. Reasoning at every step he treads, 
 
 Man yet mistakes his way, 
 While meaner things, whom instincts leads, 
 Are rarely known to stray. 
 
 2. One silent eve I wandered late, 
 
 And heard the voice of love; 
 The turtle thus addressed her mate, 
 And soothed the listening dove; 
 
 3. "Our mutual bond of faith and truth, 
 
 No time shall disengage; 
 Those blessings of our early youth, 
 Shall cheer our latest age. 
 
Chap. 2. NARRATIVE PIECES. v 23 
 
 4. While innocence without disguise, 
 
 And constancy sincere, 
 Shall fill the circles of those eyes, 
 And mine can read them there; 
 
 5. Those ills that wait on all below 
 
 Shall ne'er be felt by me; t 
 Or, gently felt, and only so, 
 As being shared with thee. 
 
 6. When lightnings flash among the trees, 
 
 Or kites are hovering near, 
 I fear lest thee alone they seize, 
 And know no other fear. 
 
 7. 'Tis then I feel myself a wife, 
 
 And press thy wedded side, 
 Resolved a union formed for life 
 Death never shall divide. 
 8". But, oh ! if, fickle and unchaste, 
 (Forgive a transient thought,) 
 Thou couldst become unkind at last, 
 And scorn thy present lot, 
 
 9. No need of lightnings from on high, 
 
 Or kites with cruel beak; 
 Denied th* endearments of thine eye, 
 This widowed heart would break." 
 
 10. Thus sang the sweet sequestered bird, 
 Soft as the passing wind; 
 
 And I recorded what I heard — 
 A lesson for mankind. — cowper. 
 SECTION VII. 
 The Goldfinches. 
 All in a garden, on a currant bush, 
 
 Two goldfinches had built their airy seat; 
 In the next orchard lived a friendly thrush, 
 Nor distant far, a woodlark's soft retreat. 
 Here, blest with ease, and in each other blest, 
 
 With early songs they waked the neighb'ring groves? 
 Till time matured their joy, and crowned their nest 
 
 With infant pledges of their faithful loves. 
 And now, what transport glowed in either's eye ! 
 
 What equal fondness dealt th* allotted food! 
 What joy each other's likeness to descry, 
 
 And future sonnets in the chirping brood ! 
 But ah! what earthly happiness can last? 
 . How does the fairest purpose often fail? 
 
1%'t INTRODUCTION, &C. m Part % 
 
 A truant school-boy's wantonness could blast 
 Their nattering hopes, and leave them both to waii 
 
 5. The most ungentle of his tribe was he; 
 
 No gen'rous precept ever touched his heart; 
 With concord false, and hideous prosody, 
 He scrawled his task, and blundered o'er his part. 
 
 6. On mischief bent, he marked with ravenous eyes, 
 
 Where, wrapt in down, the callow songsters* lay; 
 Then, rushing, rudely seized £he glittering prize, 
 And bore it in his impious hands away! 
 
 7. But how shall I describe, in numbers rude, 
 
 The pangs for poor Chrysomitris decreed, 
 When, from her secret stand, aghast, §he viewed 
 
 The cruel spoiler perpetrate the deed? 
 3. "O grief of griefs ?" with shrieking voice she cn»ed, 
 
 "What sight is this that I have liv'd to see! 
 O ! that I had in youth's fair season died, 
 
 From all false joys, and bitter sorrows free. 
 
 9. Was it for this, alas! with weary bill, 
 
 Was it for this I poised th' unwieldy straw; 
 For this I bore the moss from yonder hill, 
 Nor shun'd the pond'rous stick along to draw? 
 
 10. Was it for this I picked the wool with care, 
 Intent with nicer skill our work to crown; 
 
 For this, with pain, I bent the stubborn hair, 
 And lined our cradle with the thistle's down? 
 
 11. Was it for this my freedom I resigned, 
 
 And ceased to rove at large from plain to plain; 
 For this I sat at home whole days confined, 
 To bear the scorching heat, and pealing rain? 
 
 12. Was it for this my watchful eyes grew dim? 
 
 For this the roses on my cheek turn pale? 
 Pale is my golden plumage, once so trim ! 
 And all my wonted mirth and spirits fail!" 
 
 13. Thus sung the mournful bird her piteous tale; 
 
 The piteous tale her mournful mate returned:* 
 Then side by side they sought the distant vale; 
 And there in secret sadness inly mourned. — JAC&. 
 SECTION VIII. 
 The fiet Lamb. 
 1. The dew was falling fast, the stars began to blink; 
 I heard a voice; it said, "Drink, pretty creature, drink !^ 
 And, looking o'er the hedge, before me I espied, 
 A snow-white mountain Lamb, with a maiden at its side 
 
Chafl. 2. * NARRATIVE PIECES. 125 
 
 2. No other sheep were near, the Lamb was all alone, 
 And by a slender cord was tethered to a stone; 
 With one knee on the grass did the little maiden kneel, 
 While to the mountain Lamb she gave its evening meal. 
 
 3. 'Twas little Barbara Lethwaite, a child of beauty rare, 
 I watch'd them with delight; they were a lovely pair. 
 And now with empty can, the maiden turn'd away, 
 But ere ten yards were gone her footsteps did she stay, 
 
 4. Toward the Lamb she looked; and from that shady place. 
 I, unobserved, could see the workings of her face: 
 
 If Nature to her tongue could measured numbers bring, 
 Thus, thought I, to her Lamb that little maid would sing: 
 
 5. "What ails thee, young one? what? why pull so at thy 
 
 COIvL? 
 
 Is it not well with thee? well both for bed and board? 
 Thy plot of grass is soft, and green as grass can be: 
 Rest, little young one, rest; what is't that aileth thee? 
 
 6. What is it thou wouldst seek? What's wanting to thy 
 heart? 
 Thy limbs are they not strong? and beautiful thou art: 
 This grass is tender grass; these flowers they have ne 
 
 peers; 
 And that green corn all day is rustling in thy ears. 
 7. If the sun is shining hot, do but stretch thy woollen chain, 
 This beech is standing by, its covert thou canst gain : 
 For rain and mountain storms the like thou need'st not 
 fear; [here. 
 
 The rain and storm are things which scarcely can come 
 8. Rest, little young one, rest; thou has forgot the day 
 When my father found thee first in places far away; 
 Many flocks were on the hills, but thou wert owned by 
 
 none, 
 And thy mother from thy side for evermore was gone. 
 
 9. He took thee in his arms, and in pity brought thee home; 
 A blessed day for thee ! then whither wouldst thou roam? 
 A faithful nurse thou hast; the dam that did thee yean 
 Upon the mountain top, no kinder could have been. 
 
 10. Thou know'st that, twice a day, I brought thee in this 
 
 can 
 Fresh water from the brook, as clear as ever ran: 
 And twice in the day, when the ground is wet with dew; 
 I bring thee draughts of milk, warm milk it is and new 
 11. It will not, will not rest! — poor creature! can it be 
 That 'tis thy mother's- heart, which is working so in thee * 
 h 2 ' 
 
126 introduction, &c. Part 2 
 
 Things that I know not of perhaps to thee are dear, 
 And dreams of things which thou canst neither see nor 
 hear. 
 
 12. Alas! the mountain tops, that look so green and fair — 
 I've heard of fearful winds and darkness that come there; 
 The little brooks, that seem all pastime and all play, 
 When they are angry, roar like lions for their prey - . 
 
 13. Here thou need'st not dread the raven in the sky; 
 He will not come to thee; our cottage is hard by.* 
 Night and day thou art safe as living thing canbe: 
 Be happy then and rest; what is't that aileth thee?"' 
 
 WORDSWORTH 
 
 SECTION IX. 
 
 The Farmer, the Sfianiel, and the Cat, 
 
 1. As at his board a Farmer sat, 
 Replenished by his homely treat, 
 His fav'rite Spaniel near him stood, 
 And with his master shared the food; 
 The crackling bones his jaws devoured, 
 His lapping tongue the trenchers scoured, 
 Till, sated, now, supine he lay, 
 
 And snored the rising fumes away. 
 
 2. The hungry Cat, in turn drew near, 
 And humbly craved a servant's share: 
 Her modest worth the master knew, 
 And straight the fattening morsel threw. 
 
 3. Enraged, the snarling cur awoke, 
 And thus with spiteful envy spoke: 
 " They only claim a right to eat, 
 Who earn by services their meat; 
 Me, zeal and industry inflame 
 
 To scour the fields, and spring the game; 
 Or, plunged in the wintery wave, 
 For man the wounded bird to save. 
 
 4. With watchful diligence I keep 
 From prowling wolves his fleecy sheep; 
 At home his midnight hours secure, 
 And drive the robber from the door. 
 For this his breast with kindness glows, 
 For this his hand the food bestows, 
 
 $. And shall thy indolence impart 
 A warmer friendship to his heart, 
 That thus he robs me of my due, 
 To pamper such vile things as you?" 
 
Chafu 2. NARRATIVE pieces. 127 
 
 6. " I own," with meekness, Puss replied, 
 " Superior merit on your side; 
 
 Nor does my heart with envy swell, 
 To find it recompensed so well: 
 Yet I, in what my nature can, 
 Contribute to the good of man ! 
 
 7. Whose claws destroy the pilfering mouse? 
 Who drives the vermin from the house? 
 Or, watchful for the lab'ring swain, 
 From lurking rats secure the grain? 
 From hence, if he rewards bestow, 
 Why should your heart with gall o'erflow 
 Why pine my happiness to see, 
 
 Since there 's enough for you and me?" 
 "Thy words are just," the Farmer cried, 
 And spurned the snarler from his side. — gay 
 SECTION X. 
 The Wheat and the Weeds. 
 1. 'Twas in a pleasant month of spring, 
 When flowerets bloom and warblers sing, 
 A field of wheat began to rise, 
 The farmer's hope, his country's prize. 
 When lo! amid the opening ears, 
 A various crop of weeds appears. 
 The poppy, soldier-like arrayed, 
 Its flimsy scarlet flowers displayed. 
 Some, like the lofty sky, were blue: 
 And some were tinged with golden hue 
 But every where the wheat was seen 
 Clad in one robe of modest green. 
 
 2. It chanced three youths, in city bred, 
 That knew to eat — not rUse their bread, 
 For pleasure's sake, had rambled there, 
 To see the sun, and breathe fresh air. 
 Of herbs and grain they little knew 
 What Linnxus wrote, or Sinclair grew: 
 But each, as o'er the field they gazed, 
 What fancy led to, plucked and praised. 
 
 3. " See," said the first, "this flower so red, 
 That gently bows its blushing head: 
 Can the whole field a plant display, 
 
 So rich, so noble, and so gay?" 
 " Yes," said the next, "the flower I show, 
 With star-like rays and sky-like blue, 
 So much does your dull plant outshine, 
 That the best choice is surely mine." 
 
128 introduction, &c. Part % 
 
 4. "Stop," said the third, "the flower I hold, 
 With clustered leaves of burnished gold, 
 Than yours or his, is richer drest; 
 
 The choice I've made, is doubtless best. " 
 In this, however, each agreed, 
 That nothing could his own exceed; 
 And that the rising blades of green 
 Did not deserve to grow between. 
 
 5. A Farmer chanced behind the gate 
 To overhear the youths' debate; 
 Knowing from ignorance error springs, 
 He strove to teach them better things, 
 
 6. "My lads," he said, "now understand, 
 These are but weeds that spoil our land; 
 But the green blades you trample down, 
 Are wheat, man's food, and nature's crown, 
 With art and pains the crop is sown. 
 And thus your daily bread is grown. 
 Alas! your judgment was not right, 
 Because you judg'd from outward sight," 
 
 SECTION XL 
 
 Economy the source of Charity. 
 l.By generous goodness taught, my early youth 
 Soon learned humanity. — My parents died — 
 Orphans have claims on charitable souls; 
 The pious Edgar thought so; moved perhaps 
 By the soft eloquence of infant tears, 
 Perchance by nature prompted, to his roof 
 He led the fatherless. — 
 
 2. It was the seat 
 Of nuptial happiness: a rustic cot^ 
 
 Small, yet convenient, for their wants were few: 
 And Edgar, knowing what all men should learn, 
 Was with his lot contented. — Happy state! 
 Labour he plied for exercise, not gam. 
 At early dawn, he led me to the field; 
 And, drawing morals from each task he took, 
 Told me, "That every seed, well sown on earth* 
 Would yield full harvest in that awful day, 
 When all arrears of labour shall be paid;" 
 Each well-meant toil rewarded." 
 
 3. Once, perchance, 
 I found him busied near a murm'ring rill: 
 
 To various little streams he turned its source. 
 
rh«» 2 NARRATIVE PIECES. 
 
 ^e, Wandering devious trough his neat-dres^d 
 It dSBfee green crops^ Rearing corn?» 
 
 ?Ser fctw to «f:£g-2SW heart. 
 Bv that soft stream, the journal { h heart 
 
 "na flowing softly, like this little nil, 
 
 Cheer all that droop. - The good man did not err; 
 
 And, when U*g « t ^ 
 And, having lavished all my rf 
 
 Tn gewgaw toys, and ehTO 
 KmXndSured b>> the hand of war, 
 Implored my chanty. ^^ 
 
 And shall want cloud t ^«^B then j wept ._ 
 i^r^tSne^ari ere Knew want; 
 I was indeed a bankrupt^ ^ 
 
 7 'I wept, but spoke not; for my heart ggggv ^ 
 ..What wilt thou gwe, m^ wy • d felt; 
 I sobbed out trath in^S oved my tears;) 
 Pardoned my folly , C* or ff * man's misery. 
 SSf roui W e b venfn?wa1 k ?^^ the stream 
 wtdry. I asked the cause- ^ ^ ^ ^ 
 
 f f h v°f thouta t" o SS|at the blessed source 
 8^*^^£Sffi»m too fast: 
 This morn, ^V^^b^ants its watery aid, 
 
 Vow— when the P^ 11 ™^ » 
 
 ThVsource is a), exhausted. 
 
130 introduction, 8cc. Part, % 
 
 / 
 
 p> CHAPTER III. 
 
 ^ DIDACTIC PIECES. 
 
 SECTION I. 
 
 To some children listening to a lark. • 
 1 See, the lark prunes his active wings, 
 Rises to heaven, and soars, and sings! 
 His morning hymns, his mid-day lays, 
 Are one continued song of praise. 
 He speaks his Maker all he can, 
 And shames the silent tongue of man. 
 
 2. When the declining orb of light 
 Reminds him of approaching night, 
 His warbling vespers swell his breast; 
 And, as he sings, he sinks to rest. 
 
 3. Shall birds instructive lessons teach, 
 And we be deaf to what they preach? — 
 No, ye dear nestlings of my heart; 
 Go, act the wiser songster's part: 
 Spurn your warm couch at early dawn, 
 And with your God begin the morn. 
 
 4. To him your grateful tribute pay, 
 Through every period of the day. 
 To him your evening songs direct; 
 His eye shall watch, his arm protect: 
 Though darkness reigns, he's with you still, 
 Then sleep, my babes, and fear no ill, — cotton 
 
 SECTION II. 
 
 The advantages of early religion. 
 
 1. Happy the child, whose tender years, 
 
 Receive instruction well; 
 Who hates the sinner's path, and fears 
 The road that leads to hell, 
 
 2. When we give up our youth to God, 
 
 'Tis pleasing in his eyes: 
 A flower that 's offered in the bud, 
 Is no vain sacrifice, 
 
 3. 'Tis easy work, if we begin 
 
 To fear the Lord betimes; 
 While sinners, who grow old in sin, 
 Are hardened in their crimes. 
 
 4. 'Twill save us from a thousand snares, 
 
 To mind religion young; 
 
Chafl, 3. DIDACTIC PIECES. 13; 
 
 It will preserve our following years, 
 And make our virtue strong. 
 
 5. To thee, Almighty God! to thee 
 
 Our childhood we resign; 
 'Twill please us to look back and sec 
 That our whole lives were thine. 
 
 6. ^.et the sweet work of prayer and praisr 
 
 Employ our youngest breath; 
 Thus we're prepared for longer days, 
 Or fit for early'death. — watts. 
 
 SECTION III. 
 
 Peace and love recommended, 
 
 1. Let dogs delight to bark and bite; 
 
 For God has made them so: 
 Let bears and lions growl and fight; 
 For 'tis their nature too. 
 
 2. But, children, you should never let 
 
 Such angry passions rise; 
 Your little hands were never made 
 To tear each other's eyes. 
 
 3. Let love through all your actions run* 
 
 And all your words be mild; 
 
 Live like God's well beloved Son, 
 
 That sweet and lovely child, 
 
 4. His soul was gentle as a lamb; 
 
 And as in age he grew, 
 He grew in favour both with man, 
 And God his Father too. 
 
 5. The Lord of all who reigns above, 
 Does from his heavenly throne, 
 Behold what children dwell in love, 
 And marks them for his own, — watts» 
 
 SECTION IV. 
 
 To a young rvoman, with a watch. 
 1. While this gay toy attracts thy sight, 
 Thy reason let it warn; 
 And seize, my dear, that rapid time, 
 That never must return. 
 % If idly lost, no art or care 
 
 The blessing can restore ; 
 And Heaven requires a strict account 
 For every misspent hour. 
 
132 introduction, &c Part % 
 
 3. Short is our longest day of life, 
 
 And soon its prospect ends; 
 Yet on that day's uncertain date, 
 Eternity depends. 
 
 4. But equal to our being's aim, 
 
 The space to virtue given; 
 And every minute, well improved, 
 Secures an age in heaven. — carter. 
 
 SECTION V. 
 
 Verses accompanying a Nosegay, 
 1, Thou canst not steal the rose's bloom, 
 To decorate thy face; 
 But the sweet blush of modesty, 
 Will lend an equal grace. 
 
 % These violets scent the distant gale; 
 (They grew in lowly bed;) 
 So real worth new merit gains, 
 By diffidence o'erspread. 
 
 5. Nor wilt thou e'er that lily's white 
 
 In thy complexion find; 
 Yet innocence may shine as fair, 
 Within thy spotless mind, 
 
 4, Now, in the opening spring of life, 
 
 Let every floweret bloom: 
 The budding virtues in thy breast 
 Shall yield the best perfume, 
 
 5, This nosegay, in thy bosom placed, 
 
 A moral may convey: 
 For soon its brightest tints shall fade, 
 And all its sweets decay. 
 
 6, So short-lived are the lovely tribes 
 
 Of Flora's transient reign: 
 They bud, blow, wither, fall, and die; 
 Then turn to earth again. 
 
 7, And thus, my dear, must every charm, 
 
 Which youth is proud to share, 
 Alike this quick succession prove, 
 And the same truth declare. 
 
 8, Sickness will change the roseate hue, 
 
 Which glowing health bespeaks; 
 And age will wrinkle with its cares 
 The smile on beauty's cheeks. 
 
fl, 3. DIDACTIC PIECES. 133 
 
 9. But as that fragrant myrtle wreath, 
 Will all the rest survive; 
 So shall the mental graces still, 
 Through endless ages live. 
 SECTION VI v 
 Duties of the Morning. 
 
 1. See, the time for sleep has run; 
 
 Rise before or with the sun 
 
 Lift thy hands and humbly pray 
 
 The fountain of eternal day, 
 
 That, as the light serenely fair, 
 
 Illumines all the tracts of air, 
 
 The sacred spirit so may rest, 
 
 With quickening beams upon thy breast; 
 
 And kindly clean it all within, 
 
 From darker blemishes of sin; 
 
 And shine with grace until we view 
 
 The realm it gilds with glory too. 
 
 2. See the day that dawns in air, 
 Brings along its toil and care. 
 From the lap of night in springs, 
 With heaps of business on its wings: 
 Prepare to meet them, in a mind, 
 That bows submissively resigned: 
 That would to works appointed fall; 
 That knows that God has ordered all, 
 
 3. And whether, with a small repast, 
 We break the sober morning fast; 
 Or in our thoughts and houses lay 
 The future methods of the day; 
 Or early walk abroad to meet 
 Our business with industrious feet: 
 Whate'er we think, whate'er we do, 
 His glory still be kept in view. 
 
 4. O, Giver of eternal bliss, 
 Heavenly Father, grant me this! 
 Grant it all, as well as me, 
 
 All whose hearts are fixed on thee; 
 Who revere the Son above; 
 Who thy sacred Spirit love! — parnel. 
 SECTION VII. 
 The mind to be cultivated. 
 1. Hear, ye fair mothers of our isle, 
 Nor scorn your poet's homely style. 
 What though my thoughts be quaint or new, 
 I'll warrant that my doctrine's true. 
 
134 introduction, &c. Part % 
 
 Or if my sentiments be old, 
 Remember, truth is sterling gold. 
 
 2. You judge it of important weight, 
 
 To keep your rising offspring straight; 
 For this such anxious moments feel, 
 And ask the friendly aid of steel; 
 For this import the distant cane, 
 Or slay the monarch of the main. 
 
 3. And shall the soul be warped aside, 
 By passion, prejudice, and pride? 
 Deformity of heart I call 
 
 The worst deformity of alh 
 
 4. Your cares to body are confined; 
 Few fear obliquity of mind. 
 Why not adorn the better part? 
 This is a nobler theme for art. 
 For what is form, or what is face, 
 But the soul's index, or its case? 
 
 5. Now take a simile at hand; 
 Compare the mental soil to land. 
 Shall fields be tilled with annual care, 
 And minds lie fallow every year? 
 
 O, since the crop depends on you, 
 Give them the culture which is due: 
 Hoe every weed, and dress the soil; 
 So harvest shall repay your toil. 
 
 6. If human minds resemble trees, 
 (As every moralist agrees,) 
 
 Prune all the stragglers of your vine; 
 Then shall the purple clusters shine. 
 The gardener knows, that fruitful life 
 Demands his salutary knife : 
 For every wild luxuriant shoot, 
 Or robs the bloom, or starves the fruit. — cotton. 
 SECTION VIII. 
 Dependence on Providence. 
 
 1. Regard the world with cautious eye, 
 Nor raise your expectation high. 
 See that the balanced scales be such, 
 You neither fear nor hope too much. 
 For disappointment 's not the thing; 
 'Tis pride and passion point the sting. 
 
 2. Life is a sea where storms must rise; 
 Tis folly talks of cloudless skies: 
 He who contracts his swelling sail, 
 Eludes the fury of the gale. 
 
Cha/i. f?. DIDACTIC PIECES. 135 
 
 3. Be still, nor anxious thoughts employ; 
 Distrust embitters present joy: 
 On God for all events depend; 
 You cannot 'want when God's your friend. 
 Weigh well your part, and do your best; 
 Leave to your Maker all the rest. 
 The hand" which formed thee in the womb, 
 Guides from the cradle to the tomb. 
 Can the fond mother slight her boy? 
 Can she forget her prattling joy? 
 Say then, shall sovereign Love desert 
 The humble and the honest heart? 
 
 5. Heaven may not grant thee all thy mind; 
 Yet say not thou that Heaven 's unkind. 
 God is alike both good and wise, 
 
 In what he grants, and what denies: 
 Perhaps, what Goodness gives to-day, 
 To-morrow, Goodness takes away. 
 
 6. You say, that troubles intervene; 
 That sorrows darken half the scene. 
 True — and this consequence you see, 
 The world was ne'er designed for thee: 
 You're like a passenger below, 
 
 That stays perhaps a night or so; 
 But still his native country lies 
 Beyond the boundaries of the skies. 
 
 7. Of Heaven ask virtue, wisdom, health; 
 But never let thy prayer be wealth. 
 
 If food be thine, (though little gold,) 
 And raiment to repel the cold; 
 Such as may nature's wants suffice, 
 Not what from pride and folly rise; 
 If soft the motions of thy soul, 
 And a calm conscience crowns the whole: 
 Add but a friend to all this store, 
 .You can't in reason wish for more: 
 And if kind Heaven this comfort brings, 
 'Tis more than Heaven bestows on kings, 
 
 COTTOK. 
 
136 introduction, &c f Part 2, 
 
 CHAPTER IV, 
 DESCRIPTIVE PIECES. 
 
 SECTION I. & yx 
 
 The pleasures of retirement. 
 
 1. Happy the man, whose wish and care &*' 
 
 A few paternal acres bound; "* tm 
 
 Content to breathe the native air, 
 In his own ground. 
 
 2. Whose herds with milk, whose fields with bread, " 
 
 Whose flocks supply him with attire; 
 
 Whose trees in summer yield him shade, 
 
 In winter, fire. 
 
 3. Blest who can unconcernedly find 
 
 Hours, days, and years, slide soft away, 
 In health of body, peace of mind, 
 Quiet by day, 
 
 4. Sound sleep by night; study and ease, 
 
 Together mixed; sweet recreation, 
 And innocence, which most does please, 
 With meditation. 
 
 5. Thus let me live, unseen, unknown; 
 
 Thus unlamented let me die, 
 Steal from the world, and not a stone 
 Tell where I lie. — pope. 
 
 SECTION II. 
 
 The Sluggard. * 
 
 1,'Tis the voice of the sluggard — I heard him complain.. 
 " You have waked me too soon, I must slumber again." 
 As the door on its hinges, so he on his bed 
 Trims his sides, and his shoulders, and his heavy head. 
 
 2. " A little more sleep and a little more slumber;" 
 Thus he wastes half his days, and his hours without num 
 And when he gets up, he sits folding his hands, [ber: 
 Or walks about sauntering, or trifling he stands. 
 
 3.1 passed by his garden, I saw the wild brier, 
 The thorn, and the thistle, grow broader and higher. 
 The clothes that hang on him are turning to rags; 
 And his money still wastes, till he starves or he begs. 
 
 4.1 made him a visit, still hoping to find, 
 He had taken better care for improving his mind: 
 
m 
 
 DESCRIPTIVE PIECES. 13T 
 
 f tbld me his dreams, talked of eating and drinking; 
 : he scarce reads the Bible, and never loves thinking, 
 aid I then to my heart, " Here 's a lesson for me; 
 ,-Phat man's but a picture of what I might be: 
 But thanks to my friends for their care in my breeding. 
 Who taught me betimes to love working and reading !*• 
 
 SECTION III. 
 
 Creation and Providence. 
 
 1. I sing th' almighty power of God, 
 
 That made the mountains rise; 
 „ That spread the flowing seas abroad. 
 And built the lofty skies. 
 
 2. I sing the wisdom, that ordained 
 
 The sun to rule the day: 
 The moon shines full at his command, 
 And all the stars obey. 
 
 3. I sing the goodness of the Lord, 
 
 That filled the earth with food: 
 He formed the creatures with his word, 
 And then pronounced them good. 
 
 4. Lord ! how thy wonders are displayed, 
 
 Where'er I turn mine eye; 
 If I survey the ground I tread, 
 Or gaze upon the sky! 
 
 5. There 's not a plant or flower below 
 
 But makes thy glories known; 
 And clouds arise, and tempests blow, 
 By order from thy throne. 
 
 6. Creatures (as numerous as they be) f 
 
 Are subject to thy care; 
 There 's not a place where we can flee, 
 But God is present there, 
 
 7. In heaven he shines with beams of love; 
 
 With wrath in hell beneath! 
 *Tis on his earth I stand or move, 
 And 'tis his air I breathe. 
 
 8. His hand is my perpetual guard; 
 
 He keeps me with his eye; 
 Why should I then forget the Lord, 
 Who is for ever nigh? — watts, 
 SECTION IV. 
 A morning in Sfiring. 
 1. Lo! the bright, the rosy mornings 
 Calls me forth to take the airs 
 J* 2 
 
138 INTRODUCTION, &C, P§Tt 2. 
 
 Cheerful spring, with smiles returning, 
 Ushers in the new-born year, 
 
 2. Nature now in all her beauty, 
 
 With her gentle-moving tongue, 
 Prompts me to the pleasing duty, 
 Of a grateful morning song. 
 
 3. See the early blossoms springing! 
 
 See the jocund lambkins play! 
 Hear the lark and linnet singing, 
 Welcome to the new-born day ! 
 
 4. Vernal music, softly sounding, 
 
 Echoes through the verdant grove: 
 Nature now with life abounding, 
 Swells with harmony and love. 
 
 5. Now the kind refreshing showers 
 
 Water all the plains around: 
 Springing grass, and painted flowers, 
 In the smiling meads abound. 
 
 6. Now their vernal dress assuming, 
 
 Leafy robes adorn the trees: 
 Odours now, the air perfuming, 
 Sweetly swell the gentle breeze. 
 
 7. Praise to thee, thou great Creator! 
 
 Praise be thine from every tongue: 
 Join, my soul, with every creature; 
 Join the universal song ! 
 
 8. For ten thousand blessings given; 
 
 For the richest gifts bestowed; 
 Sound his praise through earth and heaven; 
 Sound Jehovah's praise aloud! — fawcett 
 SECTION V. 
 Heavenly wisdom, 
 
 1. How happy is the man who hears 
 
 Instruction's warning voice; 
 And who celestial Wisdom makes 
 His early, only choice. 
 
 2. For she has treasures greater far 
 
 Than east or west unfold; 
 And her reward is more secure 
 Than is the gain of gold. 
 
 3. In her right hand she holds to view 
 
 A length of happy years; 
 And in her left, the prize of fame 
 And honour bright appears. 
 
DESCRIPTIVE PIECES. 139 
 
 4 She guides the young, with innocence, 
 In pleasure's path to tread: 
 A crown of glory she bestows 
 Upon the hoary head. 
 5. According as her labours rise, 
 So her rewards increase. 
 Her ways are ways of pleasantness, 
 And all her paths are peace. — log an. 
 
 SECTION VI. 
 
 The Man of Ross. 
 
 1. Rise, honest muse! and sing the Man of Ross. — 
 Who hung with woods yon mountain's sultry brow* 
 From the dry rock who bade the waters flow? 
 Not to the sties in useless columns tost, 
 
 Or in proud falls magnificently lost; 
 
 But clear and artless, pouring through the plain, 
 
 Health to the sick, and solace to the swain. 
 
 2. Whose causeway parts the vale with shady rows? 
 Whose seats the weary traveller repose ! 
 
 Who taught that heaven-directed spire to rise ! 
 " The Man of Ross," each lisping babe replies. 
 
 3. Behold the market-place with poor o'erspread! 
 The Man of Ross divides the weekly bread. 
 
 He feeds yon alms-house, neat, but void of state, 
 Where Age and Want sit smiling at the gate. 
 Him portioned maids, apprenticed orphans blest; 
 The young who labour, and the old who rest, 
 
 4. Is any sick? The Man of Ross relieves, 
 Prescribes, attends, the med'cine makes, and gives. 
 Is there a variance? Enter but his door, 
 
 Balked are the courts, and contest is no more. 
 
 Thrice happy man ! enabled to pursue 
 
 What numbers wish, but want the power to do.— pope. 
 
 SECTION VII. 
 
 Resignation. 
 
 1. While some in folly's pleasures roll, 
 And seek the joys that hurt the soul; 
 Be mine, that silent calm repast, 
 
 A peaceful conscience to the last: 
 
 2. That tree which bears immortal fruit, 
 Without a canker at the root; 
 
 That friend, which never fails the iust 
 When other friends must quit their tr us^ 
 
140 introduction, Sec. Part. 1 
 
 3. Come then, my soul, be this thy guest, 
 And leave to folly's sons the rest: 
 With this thou ever mayest be gay, 
 And night shall brighten into day. 
 
 4. With this companion in the shade, 
 My soul no more shall be dismayed: 
 But fearless meet the midnight gloom, 
 And the pale monarch of the tomb. 
 
 5. Though tempests drive me from the shore. 
 And floods descend, and billows roar; 
 Though death appear in every form, 
 
 My little bark shall brave the storm. 
 
 6. Amid the various scene of ills, 
 Each stroke some kind design fulfils; 
 And shall I murmur at my God, 
 When sovereign love directs the rod? 
 
 7. Peace, rebel thoughts — I'll not complain; 
 My Father's smiles suspend my pain: 
 Smiles, that a thousand joys impart, 
 And pour the balm that heals the smart. 
 
 8. Though Heaven afflict, I'll not repine; 
 Each heart -felt comfort still is mine; 
 Comforts that shall o'er death prevail, 
 And journey with me through the vale. 
 
 9. Blest Saviour! cheer that darksome way, 
 And lead me to the realms of day; 
 
 To milder skies and brighter plains, 
 
 Where everlasting sunshine reigns. — cottow- 
 
 SECTION VIII. 
 
 Character of Christ. 
 
 1. Behold, where, in a mortal form, 
 
 Appears each grace divine: 
 The virtues, all in Jesus met, 
 With mildest radiance shine. 
 
 2. The noblest love of human kind 
 
 Inspired his holy breast; 
 In deeds of mercy, words of peace, 
 His kindness was exprest. 
 
 3. To spread the rays of heavenly light, 
 
 To give the mourner joy, 
 To preach glad tidings to the poor. 
 Was his divine employ. 
 
Chafi. 5. promiscuous pieces. 141 
 
 4. Lowly in heart; by all his friends ^ 
 
 A friend and servant found; 
 He washed their feet, he wiped their tears, 
 And healed each bleeding wound, 
 
 5. Midst keen reproach, and cruel scorn, * 
 
 Patient and meek he stood: 
 His foes, ungrateful, sought his life; 
 He laboured for their good. 
 
 6. In the last hour of deep distress, 
 
 Before his Father's throne, 
 With soul resigned, he bowed and said, 
 "Thy will, not mine, be done!" 
 
 7. Be Christ my pattern, and my guide! 
 
 His image may I bear! 
 O may I tread his sacred steps, 
 And his bright glories share! — enfield. 
 
 chapter v. 
 Promiscuous pieces. 
 
 section I. 
 
 Gratitude to the Sufireme Being, 
 
 1. How cheerful along the gay mead, 
 
 The daisy and cowslip appear! 
 The flocks, as they carelessly feed, 
 Rejoice in the spring of the year, 
 
 2. The myrtles that shade the gay bowers, 
 
 The herbage that springs from the sod, 
 Trees, plants, cooling fruits, and sweet flowers, 
 All rise to the praise of my God, 
 
 3. Shall man, the great master of all, 
 
 The only insensible prove? 
 Forbid it, fair Gratitude's call ! 
 Forbid it, devotion and love ! 
 
 4. The Lord, who such wonders could raise, 
 
 And still can destroy with a nod, 
 My lips shall incessantly praise; 
 My heart shall rejoice in my God. 
 
 SECTION II. 
 
 Acknowledgment of Divine favours, 
 - 1. Whene'er I take my walks abroad, 
 How many poor I see! 
 
142 introduction, &c. Part *L 
 
 What shall I render to my God, 
 For all his.gifts to me ! 
 
 2. Not more than others I deserve, 
 
 Yet God has given me more; 
 For I have food, while others starve, 
 Or beg from door to door. 
 
 3. How many children in the street, 
 
 Half naked, I behold! 
 While I am clothed from head to feet, 
 And covered from the cold ! 
 
 4. While some poor creatures scarce can tell, 
 
 Where they may lay their head, 
 I have a home wherein to dwell, 
 And rest upon my bed. 
 
 5. While others early learn to swear, 
 
 And curse, and lie, and steal, 
 Lord ! I am taught thy name to fear, 
 And do thy holy will. 
 
 6. Are these thy favours, day by day, 
 
 To me above the rest? 
 Then let me love thee more than they, 
 And try to serve thee best, — watts. 
 SECTION III. 
 The excellence of the Bible. 
 
 1. Great God ! with wonder and with praise 
 
 On all thy works I look; 
 But still thy wisdom, power, and grace, 
 Shine brightest in thy book. 
 
 2. The stars, which in their courses roll, 
 
 Have much instruction given; 
 But thy good word informs my soul 
 How I may get to heaven. 
 
 3. The fields provide me food, and show 
 
 The goodness of the Lord; 
 But fruits of life and glory grow 
 . In thy most holy word. 
 
 4. Here are my choicest treasures hid, 
 
 Here my best comfort lies; 
 
 Here my desires are satisfied, 
 
 And hence my hopes arise. 
 
 5. Lord, make me understand thy law; 
 
 Show what my faults have been; 
 Ahd from thy gospel let me draw 
 Pardon for all my sin. 
 
Chap. 5. promiscuous pieces. 143 
 
 6. For h';re I learn how Jesus died, 
 
 To save my soul from hell; 
 Not all the books on earth beside, 
 Such heavenly wonders tell. 
 
 7, Then let me love my Bible more, 
 
 And take a fresh delight, 
 By day to read these wonders-o'er, 
 'And meditate by night. — watts. 
 
 SECTION IV. 
 
 1. How does the little busy bee * 
 
 Improve each shining hour; 
 
 And gather honey all the day 
 
 From every opening flower: 
 
 2. How skilfully she builds her cell ! 
 
 How neat she spreads the wax! 
 And labours hard to store it well 
 With the sweet food she makes. 
 
 3. In works of labour, or of skill, 
 
 I would be busy too; 
 For Satan finds some mischief still 
 For idle hands to do. 
 
 4. In books, or work, or healthful play, 
 
 Let my first years be past; 
 That I may give for every day 
 Some good account at last. — watts. 
 
 SECTION V. 
 
 On early rising. 
 
 1. How foolish they who lengthen night, 
 And slumber in the morning light ! 
 How sweet at early morning's rise, 
 To view the glories of the skies, 
 And mark with curious eye the sun 
 Prepare his radiant course to run! 
 Its fairest form then nature wears, 
 And clad in brightest green appears. 
 The sprightly lark, with artless lay, 
 Proclaims the entrance of the day." 
 
 2. How sweet to breathe the gale's perfume 
 And feast the eye with nature's bloom! 
 Along the dewy lawn to rove, 
 
 And hear the music of the grove! 
 Nor you, ye delicate and fair, 
 Neglect to taste the morning air; 
 
144 introduction, &c Part % 
 
 This will your nerves with vigour brace, 
 Improve and heighten every grace; 
 Add to your breath a rich perfume: 
 , Add to your cheeks a fairer bloom: 
 With lustre teach your eyes to glow; 
 And health and cheerfulness bestow. 
 
 ARMSTRONG* 
 
 SECTION VI. 
 
 The drowning Jly, 
 
 1. In yonfler glass, behold a drowning fly! 
 Its little feet, how vainly does it ply ! 
 Poor helpless insect! and will no one save? 
 
 Will no one snatch thee from the threatening grave. 
 My finger's top shall prove a friendly shore. — 
 There, trembler, all thy dangers now are o'er. 
 Wipe thy wet wings, and banish all thy fear; 
 Go, join thy numerous kindred in the air. 
 Away it flies; resumes its harmless play, 
 And lightly gambols in the golden ray. 
 
 2. Smile not, spectators, at this humble deed: 
 For you, perhaps, a nobler task's decreed: 
 A young and sinking family to save; 
 
 To raise the thoughtless from destruction's wave! 
 To you, for help, the wretched lift their eyes: 
 Oh! hear, for pity's sake, their plaintive cries. 
 Ere long, unless some guardian interpose, 
 O'er their devoted heads, the floods may close. 
 
 SECTION VII. 
 
 To a Redbreast, 
 
 Little bird, with bosom red, 
 
 Welcome to my humble shed! 
 
 Daily near my table steal, 
 
 While I pick my scanty meal. 
 
 Doubt not, little though there be, 
 
 But I'll cast a crumb to thee; 
 
 Well rewarded, if I spy 
 
 Pleasure in thy glancing eye; 
 
 See thee, when thou'st eat thy fill, 
 
 Plume thy breast and wipe thy bill. 
 
 Come, -my feathered friend, again! 
 
 Well tftou knowest the broken pane. 
 
 Ask of me thy daily store; 
 
 Ever welcome to my door! — langhorne. 
 

 Cha/u 5. promiscuous pieces. 145 
 
 SECTION VIII. 
 
 To a child five years old, 
 
 1. Fairest flower all flowers excelling, 
 
 Which in Milton's page we see: 
 Flowers of Eve's embowered dwelling, 
 Are, my fair one, types of thee, 
 
 2. Mark, my Poily, how the roses 
 
 Emulate thy damask cheek; 
 How the bud its sweets discloses — 
 Buds thy opening bloom bespeak. 
 
 3. Lilies are by plain direction 
 
 Emblems of a double kind; 
 Emblems of thy fair complexion, 
 Emblems of thy fairer mind. 
 
 4. But, dear girl, both flowers and beauty 
 
 Blossom, fade, and die away, 
 Then pursue good sense and duty, 
 Evergreens, which ne'er decay. — cotton, 
 
 SECTION IX. 
 
 The Rose, 
 
 1. How fair is the rose! what a beautiful flower! 
 
 In summer so fragrant and gay! 
 But the leaves are beginning to fade in an hour, 
 And they wither and die in a day. 
 
 2. Yet the rose has one powerful virtue to boast, 
 
 Above all the flowers of the field : 
 When its leaves are all dead, and fine colours lost, 
 Still how sweet a perfume it will yield! 
 
 3. So frail is the youth and the beauty of men, 
 
 Though they bloom and look gay like the rose: 
 For all our fond care to preserve them is vain; 
 Time kills them as fast as he goes. 
 
 4. Then I'll not be proud of my youth or my beauty, 
 
 Since both of them wither and fade: 
 But gain a good name by performing my duty; 
 This will scent like a rose, when I'm dead. 
 
 WATTS, 
 
 SECTION X, 
 
 The anU 
 1. These emmets, how little they are in our eyes! 
 We tread them to dust, and a troop of them dies, 
 Without our regard or concern; 
 
 N 
 
146 introduction, 8cc. Part 2 
 
 Yet as wise as we are, if we went to their school, 
 There's ma^y a sluggard, and many a fool, 
 Some lessons of wisdom might learn. 
 
 2. They don't wear their time out in sleeping or play, 
 But gather up corn in a sun-shiny day, 
 
 And for winter they lay up their stores: 
 They manage their work in such regular forms, 
 One would think they foresaw all the frosts and the 
 storms; 
 
 And so brought their food within doors. 
 
 3. But I have less sense than a poor creeping ant, 
 If I take not due care for the things I shall want, 
 
 Nor provide against dangers in time. 
 When death or old age shall stare in my face, 
 What a wretch shall I be in the end of my days, 
 
 If I trifle away all their prime! 
 
 4. Now, now, while my strength and my youth are in bloom, 
 Let me think what will serve me when sickness shall 
 
 And pray that my sins be forgiven: [come, 
 
 Let me read in good books, and believe and obey; 
 That, when death turns me out of this cottage of clay, 
 
 I may dwell in a palace in Heaven. — watts. 
 
 SECTION XL 
 A morning hymn, 
 
 1. My God, who makes the sun to know 
 
 His proper hour to rise, 
 And to give light to all below, 
 Does send him round the skies. 
 
 2. When from the chambers of the east 
 
 His morning race begins, 
 He never tires, nor stops to rest; 
 But round the world he shines, 
 
 3. So, like the sun, would I fulfil 
 
 The bus'ness of the day: 
 Begin my work betimes, and still 
 March on my heavenly way, 
 
 4. Give me, O Lord, thy early grace; 
 
 Nor let my soul complain, 
 That the young morning of my days 
 Has all been spent in vain. — watts* 
 
 SECTION XII. 
 
 An evening hymn. 
 1, And now another day is gone, 
 I'll sing my Maker's praise; 
 
Chap, 5. promiscuous pieces. 147 
 
 My comforts every hour make known 
 His providence and grace, 
 
 2. But how my childhood runs to waste! 
 
 My sins, how great their sum ! 
 
 Lord! give me pardon for the past, 
 
 And strength for days to come. 
 
 3. I lay my body down to sleep; 
 
 Let angels guard my head, 
 And through the hours of darkness keep 
 Their watch around my bed. 
 
 4. With cheerful heart I close my eyes, 
 
 Since God will not remove; 
 And in the morning let me rise, 
 Rejoicing in his love. — watts. 
 SECTION XIII. 
 The winter's day. 
 
 1. When raging storms deform the air, 
 
 And clouds of snow descend; 
 And the wide landscape, bright and fair, 
 » No deepened colours blend; 
 
 2. When biting frost rides on the wind, 
 
 Bleak from the north and east, 
 And wealth is at its ease reclined, 
 Prepared to laugh and feast; 
 
 3. When the poor traveller treads the plain, 
 
 All dubious of his way, 
 And crawls with night-increasing pain, 
 And dreads the parting day; 
 
 4. When poverty in vile attire, 
 
 Shrinks from the biting blast, 
 Or hovers o'er the pigmy fire, 
 And fears it will not last; 
 
 5. When the fond mother hugs her child 
 
 Still closer to her breast; 
 And the poor infant, frost-beguiled, 
 Scarce feels that it is prest; 
 
 6. Then let your bounteous hand extend 
 
 Its blessings to the poor; 
 Nor spurn the wretched, while they bend 
 All suppliant at your door. 
 
 SECTION XIV. 
 
 Comfiassion and forgiveness, 
 1. I hear the voice of wo; 
 
 A brother monai mourns; 
 
148 introduction, Sec. Pari 2» 
 
 My eyes with tears, for tears o'erflow; 
 My heart his sighs returns, 
 
 2. I hear the thirsty cry; 
 
 The famished beg for bread: 
 O let my spring its streams supply; 
 My hand its bounty shed. — 
 
 3. And shall not wrath relent* 
 
 Touched by that humble strain, 
 My brother crying, " I repent ^ 
 
 Nor will offend again?" 
 
 4. How else on sprightly wing, 
 
 Can hope bear high my prayer, 
 Up to thy throne, my God, my King, 
 To plead for pardon there? — scott. 
 SECTION XV. 
 The ignorance of man. 
 
 1. Behold yon new-born infant grieved 
 
 With hunger, thirst, and pain; 
 That asks to have the wants relieved 
 It knows not to complain. 
 
 2. Aloud the speechless suppliant cries, 
 
 And utters, as it can, 
 The woes that in its bosom rise, 
 And speak its nature — man. 
 
 3. That infant, whose advancing hour 
 
 Life's various sorrows try, 
 (Sad proof of sin's transmissive power!) 
 That infant, Lord, am I. 
 
 4. A childhood yet my thoughts confess, 
 
 Though long in years mature 
 
 Unknov/ing whence I feel distress, 
 
 And where, or what, its cure. 
 
 5. Author of good! to thee I turn: 
 
 Thy ever-wakeful eye 
 Alone can all my wants discern; 
 Thy hand alone supply. 
 
 6. O let thy fear within me dwell; 
 
 Thy love my footsteps guide: 
 That love shall all vain loves expel; 
 That fear all fears beside. 
 
 7. And oh ! by error's force subdued, 
 
 Since oft my stubborn will 
 Preposterous shuns the latent good, 
 And grasps the specious ill; 
 
Cftaft. 5. promiscuous pieces. 140 
 
 8. Not to my wish, but to my want, 
 Do thou thy gifts supply; 
 Unasked, what good thou knowest, grant; 
 What ill, though asked, deny. — merrick, 
 
 SECTION XVI. 
 
 The hafifiy choice, 
 i. Beset with snares on every hand, 
 In life's uncertain path I stand: 
 Father Divine ! diffuse thy light, 
 To guide my doubtful footsteps right. 
 
 2. Engage this frail and wavering heart, 
 Wisely to choose the better part 
 
 To scorn the trifles of a day, 
 For joys that never fade away. 
 ^3. Then let the wildest storms arise; 
 Let tempests mingle earth and skies: 
 No fatal shipwreck shall I fear; 
 But all my treasures with me bear, 
 4. If thou, my Father! still art nigh, 
 Cheerful I live, and peaceful die: 
 Secure, when mortal comforts flee, 
 To find ten thousand worlds in thee. 
 
 DODDRIDGE, 
 SECTION XVII. 
 
 The fall of the leaf 
 1. See the leaves around us falling, 
 Dry and withered to the ground; 
 Thus to thoughtless mortals calling, 
 In a sad and solemn sound: 
 % "Sons of Adam, (once in Eden, 
 When, like us, he blighted fell,) 
 Hear the lecture we are reading; 
 'Tis, alasl the truth we tell. 
 
 3. Virgins, much, too much presuming, 
 
 On your boasted white and red; 
 View us, late in beauty blooming, 
 Numbered now among the dead. 
 
 4. Youths, though yet no losses grieve you. 
 
 Gay in health, and many a grace; 
 Let not cloudless skies deceive you; 
 Summer gi/es to autumn place. 
 
 5. Yearly in our course returning, 
 
 Messengers of shortest stay; 
 
 N $ 
 
250 introduction, &c. Part 2. 
 
 Thus we preach this truth concerning, 
 Heaven and earth shall pass away, 
 6, Gn the tree of life eternal, 
 
 Man, let all thy hopes be staid; 
 Which alone, for ever vernal, 
 Bears a leaf that shall not fade, " — dr, HORNE* 
 
 SECTION XVIII, 
 
 Trust to the goodness of God. 
 
 1. Why, O my soul, why thus deprest, 
 
 And whence this anxious fear? 
 Let former favours fix thy trust, 
 And check the rising tear. 
 
 2. When darkness and when sorrows rose, 
 
 And pressed on every side, 
 Did not the Lord sustain thy steps, 
 And was not God thy guide? 
 
 3. Affliction is a stormy deep, 
 
 Where wave resounds to wave: 
 Though o'er my head the billows roll, 
 I know the Lord can save. 
 
 4. Perhaps before the morning dawns, 
 
 He'll reinstate my peace; 
 For he who bade the tempest roar, 
 Can bid the tempest cease. 
 
 5. In the dark watches of the night, 
 
 I'll count his mercies o'er; 
 I'll praise him for ten thousand past, 
 And humbly sue for more. 
 
 6. Then, O my soul, why thus deprest, 
 
 And whence this anxious fear? 
 Let former favours fix thy trust, 
 And check the rising tear. 
 
 7. Here will I rest, and build my hopes, 
 
 Nor murmur at his rod; 
 He 's more than all the world to me, 
 My health, my life, my God!— COTTON. 
 
 SECTION XIX, 
 
 The Christian race. 
 1. Awake, my soul, stretch every nerve, 
 And press with vigour on: 
 A heavenly race demands thy zeal, 
 And an immortal crown. 
 
Chaft. 5. promiscuous pieces. 151 
 
 2. A cloud of witnesses around, 
 Hold thee in full survey: 
 Forget the steps already trod, 
 And onward urge thy way. 
 S. 'Tis God's all- animating voice, 
 That calls thee from on high; 
 'Tis his own hand presents the prize 
 To thine aspiring eye: 
 
 4. That prize with peerless glories bright, 
 
 Which shall new lustre boast, 
 When victors' wreaths, and monarchs' gems. 
 Shall blend in common dust. 
 
 5. My soul, with sacred ardour fired, 
 
 The glorious prize pursue; 
 And meet with joy the high command, 
 To bid this earth adieu. — doddridge. 
 
 SECTION XX. 
 
 The dying Christian to his soul. 
 
 1. Vital spark of heavenly flame ! 
 
 Quit, oh quit this mortal frame: 
 Trembling, hoping, lingering, flying, 
 Oh the pain, the bliss of dying ! 
 Cease, fond nature, cease thy strife, 
 And let me languish into life. 
 
 2. Hark! they whisper; angels say, 
 "Sister spirit, come away." — 
 What is this absorbs me quite, 
 Steals my senses, shuts my sight, 
 Drowns my spirits, draws my breath? 
 Tell me, my soul, can this be death? 
 
 3. The world recedes; it disappears! 
 Heaven opens on my eyes! my ears 
 
 With sounds seraphic ring: 
 Lend, lend your wings! I mount! I fly! 
 O Grave! where is thy vict'ry? 
 
 O Death! where is thy sting? — pope. 
 
 SECTION XXI. 
 
 Efiitafih on a floor and virtuous man* 
 
 1. Stop, reader, here, and deign to look 
 
 On one without a name; 
 Ne'er entered in the ample book 
 Of fortune, or of fame. 
 
 2. Studious of peace, he hated strife; 
 
 Meek virtues filled his breast: 
 »3 
 
152 introduction, 8cc. Part % 
 
 His coat of arms, " a spotless life; 
 " An honest heart," his crest. 
 
 3. Quartered therewith was innocence; 
 
 And thus his motto ran: 
 " A conscience void of all offence 
 Before both God and man." " 
 
 4. In the great day of wrath, though pride 
 
 Now scorns his pedigree, 
 Thousands shall wish they'd been allied 
 To this great family. 
 
 SECTION XXII. 
 
 Love to ene?nies, 
 
 1. When Christ, among the sons of men, 
 
 In humble form was found, 
 With cruel slanders, false and vain, 
 He was encompassed round. 
 
 2. The woes of men, his pity moved; 
 
 Their peace, he still pursued; 
 They rendered hatred for his love, 
 And evil for his good. 
 
 3. Their malice raged without a cause, 
 
 Yet, with his dying breath, 
 He prayed for murderers on his cross, 
 And blessed his foes in death, 
 
 4. From the rich fountain of his love, 
 
 What streams of mercy flow! 
 "Father, forgive them," Jesus cries, 
 "They know not what they do." 
 
 5. Let not this bright example shine, 
 
 In vain before our eyes! 
 Give us, great God, a soul like his, 
 To love our enemies. — watts. 
 
 SECTION XXIII. 
 
 The dangers and snares of life. 
 
 1. Awake, my soul! lift up thine eyes; 
 See where thy foes against thee rise, 
 In long array, a numerous host! 
 Awake, my soul, or thou art lost, 
 
 2, Here giant danger threatening stands, 
 Mustering his pale terrific bands; 
 There pleasure's silken banners spread, 
 And willing souls are captive led. 
 
Chafi. 5. promiscuous pieces. 153 
 
 3. See where rebellious passions rage, 
 And fierce desires and lusts engage; 
 The meanest foe of all the train 
 
 Has thousands and ten thousands slain. 
 
 4. Thou tread'st upon enchanted ground; 
 Perils and snares beset thee round: 
 Beware of all, guard every part, 
 
 But most the traitor in thy heart. 
 
 5. Come then, my soul, now learn to wield 
 The weight of thine immortal shield: 
 Put on the armour from above 
 
 Of heavenly truth and heavenly love. 
 
 6. The terror and the charm repel, 
 
 And powers of earth, and powers of hell: 
 The Man of Calvary triumphed here; 
 Why should his faithful followers fear? 
 
 BARBAULD # 
 
 SECTION XXIV. 
 
 The Divine Being knows and sees every thing. 
 
 1. Lord, thou hast searched and seen me through, 
 Thine eye beholds, with piercing view, 
 
 My rising and my resting hours, 
 
 My heart and flesh, with all their powers. 
 
 2. My thoughts, before they are my own, 
 Are to my God distinctly known; 
 
 He knows the words I mean to speak, 
 Ere from my opening lips they break. 
 
 3. Within thy circling power I stand; 
 On every "side I find thy hand: 
 Awake, asleep, at home, abroad, 
 I am surrounded still with God. 
 
 4. Amazing knowledge, vast and great! 
 What large extent! what loftv height! 
 My soul, with all the powers I boast, 
 Is in the boundless prospect lost. 
 
 5. O may these thoughts possess my breast, 
 Where'er I rove, where'er I rest! 
 
 Nor let my w r eaker passions dare 
 Consent to sin, for God is there. — 
 
 6. Could I so false, so faithless pr@ve, 
 To quit thy service and thy love, 
 
 n 4 
 
154 introduction, 8cc. Part % 
 
 Where, Lord, could I thy presense shun ; 
 Or from thy dreadful giory run? 
 
 7. If up to heaven I take my flight, 
 
 'Tis there thou dwellest enthroned in light; 
 Or dive to hell, there vengeance reigns, 
 And Satan groans beneath thy chains. 
 
 8. If, mounted on a morning rr*y 
 I fly beyond the western sea, 
 
 Thy swifter hand would first arrive, 
 And there arrest thy fugitive, 
 
 9. Or should I try to shun thy sight 
 Beneath the spreading vail of night; 
 One glance of thine, one piercing ray, 
 Would kindle darkness into day. 
 
 10. Oh! may these thoughts possess my breast, 
 Where'er I rove, where'er I rest; 
 Nor let my weaker passions dare 
 Consent to sin, for God is there. — watts. 
 
 SECTION XXV. 
 
 All nature attests the great Creator, 
 
 1. Hast thou beheld the glorious sun, 
 Through all the sky his circuit run, 
 At rising morn, at closing day, 
 
 And when he beamed his noontide ray? 
 
 2. Say, didst thou e'er attentive view 
 The evening cloud, or morning dew > 
 Or, after rain, the watery bow 
 Rise in the east, a beauteous show? 
 
 3. When darkness overspread the skies, 
 Hast thou e'er seen the moon arise; 
 And with a mild and placid light, 
 Shed lustre o'er the face of night? 
 
 4. Hast thou e'er wandered o'er the plain, 
 And viewed the fields, and waving grain; 
 The flowery mead, the leafy grove, 
 Where all is melody and love? 
 
 5. Hast thou e'er trod the sandy shore, 
 And heard the restless ocean roar, 
 When, roused by some tremendous storm, 
 Its billows roll in dreadful form? 
 
 6. Hast thou beheld the lightning stream, 
 Through night's dark gloom, with sudden gleam; 
 
Chafi, 5. promiscuous pieces. ^ 155 
 
 While the bellowing thunder's sound 
 
 Rolled rattling through the heavens profound 1 
 
 7. Hast thou e'er felt the cutting gale, 
 The sleety shower, the biting hail: 
 Beheld bright snow o'erspread the plains; 
 The water, bound in icy chains? 
 
 8. Hast thou the various beings seen, 
 That sport along the valley green; 
 That sweetly warble on the spray, 
 Or wanton in the sunny ray; 
 
 9. That shoot along the briny deep, 
 
 Or under ground their dwellings keep, 
 That through the gloomy forest range, 
 Or frightful wilds and deserts strange? 
 
 10, Hast thou the wondrous scenes surveyed 
 That all around thee are displayed? 
 And hast th^u never raised thine eyes 
 To him who caused these scenes to rise? 
 
 11, Twas GOD who formed the concave sky, 
 And all the shining orbs on high: 
 
 Who gave the various beings birth, 
 That people all the spacious earth. 
 
 12. 'Tis he that bids the tempest rise, 
 
 And rolls the thunder through the skies; 
 
 His voice the elements obey: 
 
 Through all the earth extends his sway. 
 
 13. His goodness all his creatures share, 
 But man is his peculiar care. — 
 
 Then, while they all proclaim his praise, 
 Let man his voice the loudest raise. 
 
 SECTION XXVI. 
 
 Praise due to God for his wonderful works* 
 
 1. My God! all nature owns thy sway, 
 Thou givest the night, and thou the day; 
 When all thy loved creation wakes, 
 When Morning:, rich in lustre, breaks, 
 And bathes in dew the opening flower, 
 To thee we owe her fragrant hour, 
 And when she pours her choral song, 
 Her melodies to thee belong! 
 
 2. Or when, in paler tints arrayed, 
 
 The Evening slowly spreads her shade ; 
 
156 INTRODUCTION, &C. Part 2. 
 
 That soothing shade, that grateful gloom, 
 Can, more than day's enlivening bloom, 
 Still every fond and vain desire, 
 And calmer, purer thoughts inspire; 
 From earth the pensive spirit free, 
 And lead the softened heart to thee. 
 
 3. In every scene thy hands have dressed, 
 In every form by thee impressed, 
 Upon the mountain's awful head, 
 
 Or where the sheltering woods are spread; 
 In every note that swells the gale, 
 Or tuneful stream that cheers the vale, 
 The cavern's depth, or echoing grove, 
 A voice is heard of praise and love. 
 
 4. As o'er thy work the seasons roll, 
 
 And soothe, with change of bliss, the soul, 
 
 O never may their smiling train 
 
 Pass o'er the human scene in vain! 
 
 But oft, as on the charm we gaze, 
 
 Attune the wondering soul to praise; 
 
 And be the joys that most we prize, 
 
 The joys that from thy favour rise. — Williams. 
 
 SECTION XXVII. 
 
 The hafifty end. 
 
 1. When life's tempestuous storms are o'er, 
 How calm he meets the friendly shore, 
 
 Who lived averse to sin! 
 Such peace on virtue's path attends, 
 That, where the sinner's pleasure ends, 
 
 The good man's joys begin, 
 
 2. See smiling patience smooth his brow! 
 See the kind angels waiting now, 
 
 To lift his soul on high ! 
 While eager for the blest abode, 
 He joins with them to praise the God, 
 
 Who taught him how to die. 
 
 3. The horrors of the grave and hell, 
 Those sorrows which the wicked feel, 
 
 In vain their gloom display; 
 For he who bids yon comet burn, 
 Or makes the night descend, can turn 
 
 Their darkness into day. 
 
 4. No sorrow drowns his lifted eyes; 
 
 No horror wrests the struggling sighs; 
 
Chap, 5. promiscuous pieces. 157 
 
 As from the sinner's breast: 
 His God, the God of peace and love, 
 Pours sweetest comforts from above, 
 
 And soothes his heart to rest! 
 
 SECTION XXVIII. 
 
 A kind and gentle temper of great importance to the hap 
 piness of life, 
 
 1. Since trifles make the sum of human things, 
 And half our misery from our foibles springs; 
 Since life's best joys consist in peace and ease, 
 And few can save or serve, but all can please; 
 Oh ! let th' ungentle spirit learn from hence, 
 A small unkindness is a great offence. 
 
 2. Large bounties to bestow, we wish in vahv 
 But all may shun the guilt of giving pain. 
 
 To bless mankind with tides of flowing wealth, 
 With power to grace them, or to crown with health, 
 Our little lot denies; but Heaven decrees 
 To all the gift of ministering to ease. 
 
 3. The gentle offices of patient love, 
 Beyond all flattery, and all price above; 
 The mild forbearance of another's fault; 
 
 The taunting word suppressed as soon as thought; 
 On these Heaven bade the sweets of life depend; 
 And crushed ill fortune when it made a friend. 
 
 4. A solitary blessing few can find; 
 
 Our joys with those we love are intertwined: 
 
 And he whose wakeful tenderness removes 
 
 Th' obstructing thorn which wounds the friend he loves, 
 
 Smooths not another's rugged path alone, 
 
 But scatters roses to adorn his own. 
 
 5. Small slights, contempt, neglect, unmixed with hate, 
 Make up in number what they want in weight: 
 These, and a thousand griefs, minute as these, 
 Corrode our comforts, and destroy our peace.— more. 
 
 SECTION XXIX. 
 
 Simplicity, 
 
 1. Hail, artless Simplicity, beautiful maid, 
 In the genuine attractions of nature arrayed: 
 Let the rich and the proud, and the gay and the vain, 
 Still laugh at the graces that move in thy train. 
 
158 introduction, &c. Part 2. 
 
 2. No charm in thy modest allurements they find; 
 The pleasures they follow a sting leave behind; 
 Can criminal passion enrapture the breast. 
 Like virtue, with peace and serenity blest? 
 
 3. O would you Simplicity's precepts attend, 
 Like us, with delight at her altar you'd bend, 
 
 The pleasures she yields would with joy be embraced; 
 You'd practise from virtue, and love them from taste. 
 
 4. The linnet enchants us the bushes among: 
 Though cheap the musician, yet sweet is the song. 
 We catch the soft warbling in air as it floats, 
 And with ecstasy hang on the ravishing notes. 
 
 5. Our water is drawn from the clearest of springs, 
 And our food, nor disease nor satiety brings: 
 Our mornings are cheerful, our labours are blest, 
 Our evenings are pleasant, our nights crown'd with rest 
 
 6. From our culture yon garden its ornament finds; 
 And we catch at the hint of improving our minds: 
 To live to some purpose we constantly try; 
 
 And we mark by our actions the days as they fly. 
 
 7. Since such are the joys that Simplicity yields, 
 
 We may well be content with our woods and our fields. 
 How useless to us then, ye great, were your wealth, 
 When without it we purchase both pleasure and health! 
 
 MORE. 
 
 SECTION XXX. 
 
 Care and Generosity, 
 
 1. Old Care, with industry and art, 
 
 At length so well had played his part, 
 He heaped up such an ample store, 
 That avarice could not sigh for more. 
 
 2. Ten thousand flocks his shepherd told, 
 His coffers overflowed with gold; 
 The land all round him was his own, 
 With corn his crowded granaries groan. 
 
 3. In short, so vast his charge and gain, 
 That to possess them was a pain: 
 With happiness oppressed he lies, 
 And much too prudent to be wise. 
 
 4. Near him there lived a beauteous maid, 
 With all the charms of youth arrayed, 
 Good, amiable, sincere, and free; 
 
 Her name was Generosity. 
 
Chafi* 5. promiscuous pieces. 159 
 
 5. 'Twas her's the largess to bestow 
 On rich and poor, on friend and foe. 
 Her doors to all were opened wide; 
 The pilgrim there might safe abide, 
 
 6. For th' hungry and the thirsty crew, 
 The bread she broke, the drink she drew; 
 There sickness laid her aching head, 
 And there distress could find a bed, 
 
 7. Each hour, with an all-bounteous hand, 
 Diffused the blessings round the land. 
 Her gifts and glory lasted long, 
 
 And numerous was th' accepting throng, 
 
 8. At length pale penury seized the dame, 
 And fortune fled, and ruin came; 
 
 She found her riches at an end, 
 
 And that she had not made one friend, 
 
 9. All blamed her for not giving more, 
 Nor thought on what she'd done before. 
 She wept, she raved, she tore her hair, 
 When lo! to comfort her, came Care; 
 
 10. And cried, "My dear, if you will join 
 Your hand in nuptial bonds with mine, 
 All will be well-— you shall have store, 
 And I be plagued with wealth no more. 
 
 11. Though I restrain your bounteous heart, 
 You shall act the generous part." — 
 The bridal came, great was the feast, 
 And good the pudding and the priest. 
 
 12. The bride in nine moons brought him forth 
 A little maid of matchless worth; 
 
 Her face was mixed with care and glee; 
 And she was named Economy, 
 
 13. They styled her fair discretion's queen, 
 The mistress of the golden mean. 
 Now Generosity confined, 
 
 Perfectly easy in her mind, 
 
 Still loves to give, yet knows to spare, 
 
 Nor wishes to be free from Care. — SMART* 
 
 SECTION XXXI. 
 
 The Slave. 
 
 I. Wide over the tremulous sea, 
 
 The moon spread her mantle of light; 
 
*60 INTRODUCTION, &C. Part 2* 
 
 And the gale, gently dying away, 
 Breathed soft on the bosom of night. 
 
 2. On the forecastle Maratan stood, 
 
 And poured forth his sorrowful tale; 
 His tears fell unseen in the flood; 
 His sighs passed unheard in the gale. 
 
 3. "Ah, wretch!" in wild anguish, he cried, 
 
 "From country and liberty torn! 
 Ah, Maratan, would thou hadst died, 
 Ere o'er the salt waves thou wert born! 
 
 4. Through the groves of Angola kstrayed, 
 
 Love and Hope made my bosom their home; 
 There I talked with my favourite maid, 
 Nor dreamt of the sorrow to come. 
 
 5. From the thicket the man-hunter sprung, 
 
 My cries echoed loud through the air; 
 There were fury and wrath on his tongue; 
 He was deaf to the voice of despair. 
 
 6. Flow, ye tears, down my cheeks ever flow; 
 
 Still let sleep from my eyelids depart; 
 And still may the sorrows of wo, 
 Drink deep of the stream of my heart 
 
 7. But hark ! o'er the silence of night 
 
 My Adila's accents I hear; 
 And mournful beneath the wan light, 
 I see her loved image appear. 
 
 8. Slow o'er the smooth ocean she glides, 
 
 As the mist that hangs light on the wave; 
 And fondly her partner she chides, 
 Who lingers so long from his grave. 
 
 9. " Oh, Maratan! haste thee," she cries, 
 
 " Here the reign of oppression is o'er; 
 The tyrant is robbed of his prize, 
 And Adila sorrows no more." 
 
 10. Now sinking amidst the dim ray, 
 
 Her form seems to fade on my view; 
 O! stay thee, my Adila stay! — 
 She beckons — and I must pursue. 
 
 lh To-morrow the white man, in vain, 
 Shall proudly account me his slave: 
 
Chap. 5. ■ promiscuous pieces. 161 
 
 My shackles I plunge in the main, 
 And rush to the realms of the brave!"* 
 
 SECTION XXXII. 
 
 The Swallows. 
 
 1. Ere yellow autumn from our plains retired, 
 And gave to wintery storms the varied year, 
 The swallow race, with foresight clear inspired, 
 To southern climes prepared their course to steer. 
 
 2. On Damon's roof a grave assembly sat, 
 His roof, a refuge to the feathered kind: 
 With serious look he marked the nice debate, 
 And to his Delia thus addressed his mind: 
 
 3. "Observe yon twittering flock, my gentle maid; 
 Observe, and read the wondrous ways of Heaven! 
 With us, through summer's genial reign they stayed, 
 And food and lodgings to their wants were given." 
 
 4. But now, tRrough sacred prescience, well they know 
 The near approach of elemental strife; 
 The blustering tempest and the chilly snow, 
 With every want and scourge of tender life. 
 
 5. Thus taught, they meditate a speedy flight; 
 For this, e'en now they prune their vigorous wing; 
 For this, consult^ advise, prepare, excite, 
 And prove their strength in many an airy ring. 
 
 6. They feel a power, an impulse all divine! 
 That warns them hence; they feel it and obey: 
 To this direction all their cares resign, 
 Unknown their destined stage, unmarked their way. 
 
 7. And does no power its friendly aid dispense, 
 Nor give us tidings of some happier clime? 
 Find we no guide in gracious providence, 
 Beyond the stroke of death, the verge of time.' 
 
 8. Yes, yes, the sacred oracles we hear, 
 
 That point the path to realms of endless day; 
 That bid our hearts nor death, nor anguish fear: 
 This, future transport: that, to life the way. 
 
 * It may not be improper to remind the young reader, that the 
 anguish of the unhappy negroes, on being separated for ever from 
 their country and dearest connexions, with the dreadful prospect of 
 perpetual slavery, frequently becomes so exquisite, as to produce do 
 rangement of mind, and suicide. 
 
162 INTRODUCTION, &C. Part 2, 
 
 f .Then let us timely for our flight prepare, 
 And form the soul for her divine abode; 
 Obey the call, and trust the leader's care, 
 To bring us safe through virtue's paths to God. 
 
 10. Let no fond love for earth exact a sigh; 
 No doubts divert our steady steps aside; 
 Nor let us long to live, nor dread to die: 
 Heaven is our hope, and Providence our guide."— JAGO, 
 
 THE END. 
 
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