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Published by T. GARY 8f CO. Upper town Market-place. PRINTED BY EASTWOOD 4; CO., TORONTO. 1844. mi 'i.':* ^^^''i2: % ^ra ■W 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 compilation, which would proijerly 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 woj'k calculated for different classes of young readers, should contain pieces suited, in point of language and matter, to their various ages aiul capacities. The com- piler, in conformity witli this idea, has endeavoured to arrange the materiids of each chapter so as to form an easy gradation, which may be adapted to the difterent progress of the learrers. 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 thf. fender mind with the love of virtue and goodness, is an especial object of the present work: and with this view, the pieces have been scrupulously selected : and, where necessary, purified from every word and sentiment that could offend the most delicate mind. ^ As a work tending to season the muuU of children wU'i piety and virtue, and to improve them in r(>ading, 'inguaj;*', and sentiment, the compiler hopes it wili j)i-ove a i:iutai)le ■ ¥i ■ V.' .'.■■.•"Oil ',''■■■ ''.'"*. i.»; {I II iv Preface. Litroduction to the '^ English Reader," and other publica- tions of that nature ; and also a proper book for those schools, in which, from their circumscribed plan of educa- tion, larger works of the kind cannot bo admitted. Advertisement to the Second English Edition. The compiler has added to this edition more than twen- ty pages of matter, which he hopes will be found useful and interesting. He has also given to many of the pieces a new arrangement, calculated to render every part of tlie work more intelligible and pleasing to young minds. I r^^ 'SI blica- those cluca- Lwen- iseful >ieces LFt of nds. RULES AND OBSERVATIONS FOR ASSISTING CHILDREN TO READ WITH PROPRIETY. THE compiler of this work havin!>, in the preface to his " English Reader," expUiined at large the principles of elo- cution, nothing on this head seems to be necessity, 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, calculated to rectify the errors which they are most apt to commit. These rules may be comprehended under the following heads. They are com- prised in few words, and a little separated from the obser- vations, that those teachers who wish their pupils to com- mit 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 ful- ness, 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 let- ters /, r, s, //^, and sh, are often very imperfectly pronounced by young persons. B undp are apt to be confounded: so are d and /, s and r, / and v. The letters v and iv are often sounded the one for the other: thus, wine is pronounced vine ; and vinegar, winegar. The diphthong o?.{\ is in some words, vulgarly sounded Yikcer: as i'oller, mcUer, winder: instead of follow, mellow, window. When several conso- nants, 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 re])eat words and sentences, in whicli those sounds occur. When the simple sounds are tho- roughly understood and acquired, the various combinations of them into syllables and words will be easily effected. II. In order to give spirit and propriety to pronuncia- A 2 i ''.'A" I tion, due attention must be paid to accent, emphasis, and cadence. When wc distinguish a syllable by a greater stress of the voice. It is called accent. ^Vllcn we thus distinguish any Avoid in a sentence, it is called I'mphasis. It is dinicult to give precise rules lor placing the accent : but the best gene ral direction, is, to consult the most approved pronoun- cmg dictionaiies, and to imitate liie practice of the mos correct speakers. There aro, in every sentence, some word or words, on which the sense of the rest depenris : and these nuist always be distinguished l)y a i'uiler and sti-orc-cr soiird of voice whether they are fjund in the beginniiK;. theiiiiddle, or at the end of the sentence. It is iughlv i;ni.roi.er to lay an emphasis on words of iittIeim|)ortunce. TVurds nut i/i oppo- sition to each other, are always omnhuticul : as, Here I am misemhk; but there I shall be linpp\j.'^ ^' Children," sav:, Beattie, '' are not often taUght to read witli proper empha- sis. When books are put bjfoie them which they do not understand, it is impossible tliev should a])ply itpro])erly. 1-et them, therefore, read nothing but what is hnel to their capacity. Let them read deliberately and with attention to every word. Let them be set rigl-.t, not only when they misapply the emphasis, but also cautioned against the opposite extremes of too forcible and too feeble an apnlica- tion ol it: for, by the former of these faults, they become ahected in their utterance; and by the latter, insipid." Ihat children may be enabled to apply the emphasis with judgment, they should carefully study the subject, and as- certam the meaning of every difiicult word and sentence, previously to their being called to read to the teacher. As emphasis consists in raising the voice, cadence signi- hes the falling of it. Towards the close of a sentence, the cadence takes place, unless the concluding words be em- phatical. It should always be easy and gradual, not ab- rupt; and should never be expressed in a feeble and lan- guid manner. Even the falling of the voice mav be ma- naged with spirit and variety. III. As the art of reading greatly depends on the ])ro- per management of the breath, it should be used with economy, i he voice ought to be relieved at every stop : Slightly at a comma, more leisurely at a semicolon, or a colon, and completely at a period. Rules, ^'C. vU 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 j 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 na- turally expresses hifi 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 semicolon ; and the period, double that of the co- Jon. A dash following a stop, shows that the pause is to be p-reater than if the stop were alone ; and when used by itself, requires a pause of such length as the sense alone can determine. A paragraph requires a pause double tliat which is proper at a period. The points of interrogation and exclamation, are uncer- tain as to theii^time. The pause which they demand is ecpial to a semicolon, a colon, or a period, as the sense may rec[uire. They should be attended with an elevation of the voice. The parenthesis, 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 readin^g, 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 atten- tion to the sentiments they express. Xhe mode of speak- ing is then only to be imitated by the reader, when it is just and natural. V. Endeavour to vary and modulate the voice, accord- ing to the nature of the subject, whether it be in a so- lemn, a serious, a familiar, a gay, a humorous, or an iron- ical strain. It would be highly improper to read an interesting nai- rative, with an air of negligence ; to express warm emo- tions of the heart, with cold indifference ; and to pronounce a passap;c of Scripture, on a sublime and important sub- ject, with the familiar tone of common conversation. On the other hand, it would be absurd to read a letter on tri- vial subjects, in a mournful strain; or u production of gaiety and humour, with grave formality. m fM m i'.'jy.'Jrl 9§& a. viii Hules, ^'C. VI. In rcadinj^: verse, the same g^oncral directions must be observed, as have been ,^iveu ibr reading prose. Narrative, didactic, desniptlve, t:nd pr.thetic pieces, have the same peculiar tone and manner, in poetry as in prose. A singing- note, and mal.i-i:.; i!ic lines jin'jle by laying too great stress on the rhyming uords, sJioVild be particularly avoided. A very small pause ought to be made at the end of a li:.e, unless the sense, or some of the usual marks of pause, refpiire a consi:lera!)lc one. The great rule Cor reading verse, us \vell lis prose, is to read slowly, distinctly, and in a natural tonv; of voice. »' ill We shall now caution young readers against somt. faults which many art- apt to commit, in doing this, it will unavoidably happen, that a fev/ of ti.e preceding observa- tions will in some respects, be repcLtod : but this confirm- ation of the rules will, it is presumed, b* no disadvan- tage to the learners. A display of the various eirors in reading, incident to children, may m:d;c a greater impres- sion than directions which are posiUv.-, aiid point cnlv to the propriety of pronunciation. 1. Avoid too loud, or too low a voice. An overstrained a oice is very inconvenient to the rei ut^ as well_ as disgusting to the hearei-. It exhausts the read- er's spirits ; and prevents the })rorer management and modulation of his voice, according to the sense of his sub- ject; and it naturally leads into a tone. Too low a voicf IS not so inconvenient to the speaker, as tlie otl:er extreme : but It is very disagreeable to the licarer. It is ahvavs of- lensive to an audience, to observe any thing in the reader or speaker, that marks indolence or inattention. When the voice IS naturally too loud, or too low, vounr> i)er:;ons should correct it in tlieir ordinary conversation': by this means they will learn to avoid both the extremes, in'read- mg. Ihey should begin the sentence Avith an even, mo- derate voice, which will enable them to rise or fall as the subject requires. 2. Avoid a thick, confused, clutteiing voice. It is very disagreeable to hear a person mumble, din, or swallow his words ; leaving out some syllables in the long words, and scarcely ever pronouncing some of the shoit ones ; but hurryint^ on without any care to p;ive his words tl)eir I'ull sound, or his hearers the lull sense of them. This fault is not easily cured. The best means of mending; it, is to endeavour, both iu conversation ai\d readinj^, to pro- nounce every word in a deliberate, clear, and distinct manner. ?u lie careful to read ncillier too quickly nor too slowly. A precipitant reader leaves no room for pauses ; fa- ti;7ues himself; and lowers the di;i;uity of his sul)ject. 11 1 s heurci's lose much of what is deli\ered, and must al- ways be dissatislied with a reader who hurries and tires them. Children are \ ery uj)t to read too fast, and to take a pleasure in it, thiukiu;^- that they who pronounce the words with the g-reatest rapidity, are the best scholars. — The heavy, dronish, sleopv reader, and wlio often makes pauses v/here there should be none, is also very disagreea- ble, if he liems and yawns between the periods, he is still more so. '4 "■i'l i « rf? 4. Study to avoid an irrop^ular mode of pronunciation. It is a p;recit fault in readlU;.;, to raise and fall the voice by fits and starts ; to elevate and depress it unseasonably wiliiout re!^-ard to sense or stops ; or always to bei?;in a sentence with a hip;h voice, and conclude it with a low one; or, on the contrary, to bc;^in with a low voice, and conclude with a hi;^h one. To avoid these errors, the sentence should not be be|;un in too hig-h, or too low u key ; regard should be had to the r.ature of the points, and the ienp;th of the periods : and the reader's mind should be attentive to the r.ubject, sense, and spirit of his author. 5. With the utmost cars avoid a flat, dull, uniform voice, without emphasis or cadence, or a proper regard to the sense of what is readii^^''. This is a practice to which children who do not love learniu;:^, arid who are tired with their lessons, are very prone. > When this mode of reading- becomes habitual, it is pairiful to the hearer, and very difficult to be i-emedied. The best means of cure are those prescril)ed for the pre- ceding error: for if the mind be attentive to the senti- ments delivered, the voice will be adapted to their nature and importance. 1 ?» '■"■•:; ,«'; <^:y ^ JRules, ^'c. 6. Beading with an improper tone, is a great and com- men fault of learnerb, and must be carefully avoided. ^ No habit is more easy to be contracted than this, or iiarder to be overcome. This unnatural tone in reading- IS always disgusting to persons of sense and delicacy.' borne have a squeaking tone. Persons uhose voices are shrill and weak, or overstrained, are apt io fall into this tone.— Som.e have a singing or canting note; others as- sume a high, swelling tone. These lay too much stress on every sentence, and violate every rule of decent pro^ nunciatioiL—Sorae affect a.i awful and strildng tone at- tended with ' Jemn grimace ; as if they wislied to move the reader v-uh every word, ^vhcther the weiL>-ht of the subject supports them or not. Somehave'a set, uni- iorm tone of voice, wluch has already been noticed. Uthers have a strange, whimsical, whining tone, peculiar to themselves, and not e,asv to be described. They are continually laying the eiripha-iis on words which do not require or deserve it. To avoid all kinds of unnatural and disagreeable tN3nes we should re:!d with tl e same ease and freedom that would mark our private conversation on tl:e same subject. We ao not hear persons converse in a tone : if we did, we should I'uigh at them. ^' Do not," savs Dr. Watts " af- lect to cliange tliat natural and easy'sound wit^ which you speak, for -i strange, new, awkward tone, as some do when they begin to read. We should almost be per- suaded that the speaker and the reader were two different personj, if our eyej did not tell us the contrary." We shall close these rules and observations, by a re- 'm'l?; ^^"^iderable importance to young persons who aie desirous oi iean.ing to read well. Few rules on the subject are^mteliigil)!c to children, unless illustrated bv the voice of a comp.etent instructer. They should, there- ore, pay great attention to the manner in which their teacher, and other persons of approved skill, perform the business of reading. They should observe rhiir mode ot pronouncing the words, jjlacing the emphasis, making the pauses, managing tjie voice, and adantiuL^ it to the vavinn^ '0 imitnflr/''''^' '"^; "^ "" '^'''' '^"^''''^ endeavou; imitate them as nearly as possible. I Select Sc.t. Ssct. Sect. "uf- CONTENTS. PART I. PIECES^ Lr PROSE. CHAPTER I. Select Sentences and Paragraphs, CHAPTER II. JS'arrative Pieces. Sc-t. 1. The pious son?, _ . - 2. Filial Eensibiiity, 3. Cruelty to insects condemned, 4. Selfish sorrow reproved, - 5. We are often deceived by appearances, 6. The two bees, 7. hi2,enuity atid industry rewarded, 8. The secret of bein'j always satisfied, 9. Beneficence its own reward, 10. The compassionate Judge, 1 1. The gene'-ous negro, - - 12. The Indian Chief, - _ _ - 13. Noble behaviour of Scipio, 14. Virtue in humble life, 15. The female choice, _ - - IG. Tiic noble baskot-maker, 21 22 23 24 25 26 ib. 28 29 30 ib. 32 34 35 38 40 41 42 43 44 ib. CHAPTER III. Didactic Pieces. S':!ct. 1. Tenderness to mothers, - - - 2. Respect and affection due from pupils to their tutors, 3. On filial piety, ------ 4. Love between brothers and sistc ", - - 5. Benevolence, ------ Q. Ingratitude to our Supreme Benefactor, is highly culpable, 45 7. Speculation and practice, - - - - 4G CHAPTER IV. Descriptive Pieces. Sect. 1. The eagle, - - - - ^ 2. Tlie hu::-iining-birJ, . . = = 3. The horse, - - • • 4. The Ouran-Outang, . - • - il>. 51 ^•'i' lis ^m 11 .fc P A. ^ 8. Charity, - 9. Gratitude, 10. Mortality, 11. Immortality, 12. Heaven, - Contents. Pag« 56 57 58 59 ib. 60 61 62 CHAPTER V Dialogues. Sect. 1. Canute and his courtiers — Flattery reproved, - - 63 2. The two robbers.'— We often condemn in others what we practice ourselves, - - _ _ g^ 3. A family conversation — On the slavery of the negroes, 66 4. The father redeemed from slavery by his son, - 69 5. The tutor and his pupils. — Eyes and no eyes ; or the art of seeing, - - . _ -71 ^^ Sect. 1. §'' 2. 1' 3. 1 4. r 5. i' 6. r 7. 8. 1 9. 1 10. 'f ' 11. Il'l [if VMr 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17. 18. 19. CHAPTER VI. Promiscuous Pieces. "We destroy pleasure by pursuing- it too eagerly, . - 78 On sisterly unity and love, - - . j^. The Supreme Ruler of the world, - - - 79* Abraham and Lot ; a fine example of wisdom and conde- scension, ------ 80 A persecuting spirit reproved, - _ . gl The folly of pride, ----- 82 The whistle, - - _ . - - 84 A generous mind does not repine at the advantages others enjoy, ---... g- Insolent deportment tov/ards inferiors reproved, - 8' Arachne r^.nd Melissa, - - . . . g Socrates and Leander — Disrespect to parents, is in no case alio 'able, - - - _ - {j, Socrates and Demetrius — Brethren should dwell too-e- ther in harmony, - - . « . f); On good breeding, - - . - . r, The ungrateful guest, ... - g. The hospitable negro woman, - - - _ 9.1 Catharina, empress of R ussia, - - . g. The same subject continued, - - - - 10« Virtue and happiness equally attainable by the rich and the poor -, = .__ ^q^ The character of Christ, - . - _ |qo Contents, xiii Pag« 56 57 58 59 ib. 60 61 62 63 64 66 69 71 78 ib. 79 80 81 82 84 8,- 8' 8 r, 9' 9.' 9- lo; 102 103 PART II. PIECES m POETRY, CHAPTER I. SeUct Sentences and Paragraphs, ' - CHAPTETl II. jyarrative Pieces. Sect. 1. The looking:-glass ; or, ill-humour corrected, 2. The Butterlly and the Snail ; or, elevation renders little minds proud and insolent, - - . - 3. The Brother and Sister ; or, mental excellence superior to personal beauty, - - . - 4. The Lamb and the Pig ; or, nature and education, ^ - 5. The Bfie and the Ant; or, the advantages of application and diligence in early years, - - - 6. The Doves, - - - 7. The Goldfinches, - - - - 8. The pet Lamb, - - - - . - 9. The Farmer, the Spaniel, and the Cat, - - 10. The Wheat and the Weeds, - - - 11. Economy the source of charity, - . - CHAPTER III. Didactic Pieces. Sect 1. To some children listening to a lark, - - - 2. The advantages of early religion, - - - 3. Peace and love recommended, - - - - 4. To a young woman, with a watch, 5. Verses accompanying a nosegay, - - - 6. Duties of the morning, _ - - - 7. The mind to be cultivated, . - - - 8. Dependence on Providence, - - - CHAPTER IV. Descriptive Pieces, Sect. 1. The pleasures of retirement. - - - - 2. The Sluggard, 3. Creation ami Providence, - • - - 4. A morning in Spring, - - - - 5. Heavenly wisdom, .-.--- a The Man of Ross, - - - • • B Page ' 105 109 110 111 ib. 113 114 115 116 118 119 120 122 123 ib. 124 ib. 125 126 127 128 129 ib. 130 131 132 ■'m km i 0k n m ^if^A ,-*• x!v Sect* 7. Resignation, 8. Character of Christ, Contents, Pa«r< - 13? 133 TC ifi: 1 u W ,jff Sect. 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17. 18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 23. 24. 25. 26. 27. 28. ^9. 30. 31. 'J2. CHAPTER V. Promiscuous Pieces, Gratitude to the Supreme Being, . - , 534 Acknowledgment of Divine favours, - - 135 The excellence of the Bible, - - - - ib. On Industry, - ... - 136 On early rising, - - - - - ib. The drowning fly, - - - - • 137 To a Redbreast, - - - - - ib. To a child five years old, - - - - 138 The Rose, - - - - . - * ib. The Ant, 139 A morning hymn, - - - . . ]40 An evening hymn, ----- ib. The winter's day, - - * - . 141 Compassion and forgiveness, - - , - ib. The ignorance of man, , - . . J42 The happy choice, - - - - « 143 The fall of the leaf, - - - - - ib. Trust in the goodness of God, - - - 144 The Christian race, - - - - • ib. The dying Christian to his soul, - - - 145 Epitaph on a poor and virtuous man, - - . 543 Love to enemies, ----- ib. The dangers and snares of life, - - - - 147 The Divine Being knows and sees every thing, - ib. AH nature attests the great Creator, - - _ 143 Praise due to God for his wonderful works, - 150 The happy end, - - - - - ib. A kind and gentle temper of great importance to the hap- piness of life, - - - - - 157 Simplicity, - - - - - -152 Care and Generosity, » • - • , I53 The Slave, - ' 154 The Swallows, ------ 155 TO . Vic( We Ag others Moc Dec Cult No( habit < Neg Idle; Clea The A c( Deli Boa Mer It is The by the OUB on the Goo us thr< We are un Pa«r« - 13f 133 134 135 ib. 136 ib. 137 ib. 138 ib. 139 140 ib. 141 ib. 142 143 ib. 144 ib. 145 148 ib. 147 ib. 148 150 ib. 157 152 153 154 155 I i INTRODUCTION TO THE EBrGZiISH READER. PART I. PIECES IN PROSE. CHAPTER I. fcj^LECT 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 happiness 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 approved by the Almighty. SECTION 'J Our reputation, virtue, and happiness, greatly depend on the choice of our companions. Good or bad habits, formed in youth, generally go wxih us through life. We should be kind to all persons, even to those who are unkind to us. ■hi : m m US' 16 Lilroduclion, <5'C. Pari 1. When we acknowlcdg-c our miscoiuluct, .md are sorry for it, generous and gooil peisons will pity and forgive us. Our best friends are those who tell us ot* our faults, and teach us how to correct them. If tales wei-e not listened to, there would be no tale- bearers. To take sincere pleasure in the blessings and excellencies of others, is a sure mark of a good heart. We can never treat a fellow-creature ill, without offend- ing the gracious Creator and Father of all. A kind word, nay, even a kind look, ol'Len affords com- fort 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 pleasures ; and those few are of the lowest order. We may escape the censure of others, when we do wrong privately 5 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 amuse- ments ; nor treat even the meanest insect with wanton cruelty. Vicious pursuits may yield a fev/ scattered pleasures ; but piety and virtue will make our whole life happy. Fancy paints pleasures at a distance, with beautiful co- lours ; but possession often takes away their beauty. We should accustom ourselves to bear small injuries pa- tiently ; we shall then be better able to support [^reat ones. When provoked by the follies of others, think of your own imperfections; be patient and humble. Without frugality none can be rich; and with it very few would be poor. ^ The good or bad disposition of children, often shows it- self, in theirbehaviour 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 every where; but we can rejoice, that every where there is a (jod to do t'i(Mn rood. QfU^in I* Select Smtmceif fyc. SECTION IV. ir W«i:n blessed with health and prosperity, cultivate a humble and compassionate disposition : think of the dis- tresses of human life ; of the solitary cottage, the dying pa- rent, and the weeping orphan. Avoid all harshness in behaviour : treat every one with that courtesy which springs from a mild and gentle heart. Be slow informing intimate connexions : they may bring dishonour and misery. Almost all our desires are apt to wander mto an impro- per course : to direct them properly requires care ; but that care will render us safe and happy through life. The days that are past are gone forever ; those that are 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 domg well : but it is impossible to do any thing well, without attention. Let us not expect too much pleasure in this life : no situation is exempt from trouble. The best persons are, no doubt, the happiest; but they too have their trials and afflictions. SECTION V. How greatly do the kind offices of a dutiful and affec- tionate child, gladden the heart of a parent, especially 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 Provi- dence has placed us ? An honest man, (as Pope expresses himself,) is the no- West work of God. How pleasant it is, when we lie down at night, to reflect that we ^re at peace with all persons 1 that we have care- fully performed the duties of the day 1 that the Almighty beholds and loves us I How readily should we forgive those who offend us, if we consider how much our heavenly Father has forgiven lis I Who would exchange the humble peace which virtue gives, for all the honours and pleasures of a vain world ? B 2 ':m 'M ■sf,' -<(; '■m Jill •■:;'v.*l1 ;ii' 1* 4^ t ;,' *' • * "13 Introduction^ Sfc. PaA^Vi 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 re- markable 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 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-bread and dried figs, and to drink water; "What pleasure," said lie, *' have I lost till now, by 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 remembrance 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.** Edwai'd 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 religipus Chap. 1. principh had nev( Pity t not to e moving '. Gratit at once \ If we our frier to Him, enjoy ! Youn^ confident the dang 1 re deprive i ous and We oi possess ; of our fe from wh If we ( of all ar* we shou modatin Wher what a c if we hi ciously i Wher ly do th tractable ful it is, How mi and the A fan reverenc orothers where p the law ful and i M. Chap. 1. Select Sentences, fyc. 19 » i» principles, said, with tekrs in his eyes: ** I almost ■wish I had never leanied to write." SECTION VII. Pity the sorrows and sufferings of the poor. Disdain not to enter their wretched abodes ; nor to listen to their moving lamentations. Gratitude is a delightful emotion. The grateful heart at once perforins 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 thankfulness 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 1 how little do they know the dangers which await them ! To repine at the improvements of others, and wish to deprive them of the praise they have deserved, is an envi- ous 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 whom we have received them. If we consider how much the comfort, or the uneasiness of all around us, depends on the state of our own temper, we should surely endeavour to render it sweet and accom- modating. 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, antj gra- ciously assist us ! When young persons are afflicted with illness, how great- ly do they endear themselves to all about them, by being tractable, considerate, gentle, and grateful ! but how pain- ful it is, to see them peevish, self-willed, and unthankful ! How much do the fonner qualities lessen the afflicvion ! and the latter increase it ! A family where the great Father of the universe is duly reverenced ; where parents are honoui'ed and obeyed ; where orothers and sisters dwell together in love and harmony I where peace and order reign ; where th"»*e is no law but the law of kindness and wisdom j is sur^.^ a most delight- ful and interesting spectacle ! ■m wm ■f'i'-.-i so Introduction^ ^e. Part 1. 'I h hH I - »• m I- .•3 SECTION VHI. God is the kindest and best of beings. He is our Fa- ther. He approves us when we do well : he pities us when we err: and he desires to make us happy forever. 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 im- plore relief or assistance. If you cannot grant their re- quests, refuse them mildly and tenderly. If you feel com- passion for them, (and what good heart can behold distress without feeling compassion ?) be not ashamed to express it. Listen to the affectionate counsels of your parents ; trea- sure up their precepts; respect their riper judgment; and enjoy, with gratitude and delight, the advantages resulting from their society. Bind to your bosom, by the most en- dearing 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 amongst 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 resemble the tra- veller in the wilderness, who sees no objects 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 reflection, that he had always behaved to the deceased, with duty, tenderness, and respect *' So I thought," replied the youth, " whilst my parent was living : but now I recollect, with pain and sor- row, many instances of disobedience and neglect, for which, alas ! it is too late to make atonement. " Si. Isaac Newton possessed a remarkably mild and even temper. This great man, on a particular occasion, was called out of his study to an adjoining apartment.* A little dog, named Diamond, the constant but incurious attendant of his master*s researches, happened to be left am.ono* 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 irrepara- Pari 1. our Fa- js when How T ! and hey im- heir re- ;el corn- distress ^ress it. L s ; trea- nt; and ^suiting lost en- them as irney of iterrupt u. lions in dwell the eye the tra- nd him, e grief, [ipanion he had ess, and lilst my md sor- jct, for ind even )n, was A little ;tendant o nsumed lac soon rrepara- Chap. 2. Narrative Pieces. 81 ble loss. But, with his usual self-possession, he only ex- claimed ; " Oh Diamond ! Diamond 1 thou little knowest the mischief thou hast done." 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 5 " No, my dear, you must not sit at present ; for I in- tend to make you stand this evening, as long as you suffer- ed lady — to remain in the same position." The benevolent John Howard, having settled his ac- counts 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 amusement she chose. " What a pretty cottage for a poor family it would build 1" was her answer. This charitable hint met his cordial ap- probation, and the money was laid out accordingly. Horace, a celebrated Roman poet, relates, that a coun- tryman, who wanted to pass a river, stood loitering on the bank of it. in the foolish expectation, that a current so ra- pid would soon discharge its waters. But the stream still flowed, increased, perhaps, by fresh torrents from the mountains : and it must forever 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 improve- ment, which at first is easy to be accomplished, but which will become more and more difficult, the longer it is neg- lected. CHAPTER n NARRATIVE PIECES. SECTION I. Tlie pious sons. 1. iN one 01 those lerriuie cruptiuua ui muuin. ic^i^t*, which have often happened, the danger to the inhabitants of the adjacent country, was uncommonly great. 2. To avoid immediate destruction from the flames, and ^ i:>"i m m ;*?»' m ■■■I*'''' ■ fy -'■m^ 91 Inhoduetiont ^'C. Part 1. in If! I*' In -f m i .•>^! ■^> the melted lava which ran down the sides of the moun- tain, the people were obliged to retire to a considerable distance. 3. Amidst the hurry and confusion of such a scene, (eve- ry 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 re- collected that their father and mother, lioth very old, were unable to save themselves by flight. 4. Filial tenderness triumphed over every other consi- deration. " Where," cried the generous youths, '^ shall we 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 the other his mother, and happily made their way through the surrounding smoke and ilames. 5. All who were witnesses of this dutiful and affection- ate conduct, were struck with the highest admiration : 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 semibility. 1. A STRONG instance of affectionate and dutiful attach- ment ^o parents, has been related in the preceding section. The following display of filial tenderness, is scarcely less interesting and extraordinary. 2. A young gentleman in one of the academies at Paris, was remarked for eating nothing but soup and dry bread, and drinking only water. The governor of the insf'! Mtion, attributing this singularity to excess of devotion, reoiovrd his pupil, and endeavoured to persuade him to alter his resolution. 3. Finding, however, that his remonstrances were inef- fectual, he sent for him again, and observed to him, that such conduct, was highly unbecoming, and that it was his duty to coiiibriii to the rules of the academy. 4. He thcu ex"; ieavoured to learn the reason of his pupil's conduct ; but as the youth could not be prevailed upon to impart the seci'et, the governor at last threatened to send him back to his family. 5. This menace produced an immediate explanation : I Part 1. le moun- siderable ;nc, (eve- ned most , and the itude for denly re- ald, were er consi- ' shall we ) gave us through or on his ily made imes. iffbction- ion : and th whicli he Field Narrative Pieces, ds il attach- section. cely less at Paris, y bread, if'iM.tion, I'eprovrd alter his ere inef- im, that ; was his s pupil's upon to to send mation : * " 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 5 and though I might, if I chose it, fare luxuriously, I cannot persuade myself to take any thing else, when 1 reflect on the situa- tion in which I have left my father and mother." 6. The governor was greatly moved i)y this instance of filial sensibility, and could not refrain from tears. ** Your father," said he, *' has been in the army ; has he no pen- sion ?" ** No, " replied the youth : '* he has long been soli- citing oiiC ; but for want of money, has been obliged to give up the pursuit : and rather than contract any debt- at Versailles, he has chosen a life of wretchedness in the :ountry." 7. " Well," retumed the governor, " if the fact is 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 your father the first half year of his pension, in ad- Vance. 8. "Ah, Sir!" replied the youth, "as you have the goodness to propose remitting a sum of money to my fa- ther, 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 main- tenance of his other children." SECTION III. Cruelty to insects condemned. 1. A CERTAIN youth indulged himself in the cruel enter- t?.inment of torturing and killing flies. He tore off ^ their ^/ings and legs, and then watched with pleasure their fee- ble efforts to escape from him. 2. Sometimes he collected a number of them together, and crushed them at or.ce to death ; glorying, like many a celebrated hero, in the devastation he committed. 3. His tutor remonstrated with him, in vain, on this bar- barous conduct. He could not persuade him to believe that flies are capable of pain, and have a right, no less than ^ifMoolv'^^ '*■'> lift* liKar»fTr or\A pninvtYiPTlt. 4. The signs of agony, which, when tormented, they ex- press, by the quick and various contortions of their bodies, he neither understood nor regarded. ■if "lit 'i 1M ""» .'A ill. m If-;.' il;.. ^ hirodueiion, ^, Tart 1; 5. The "Alitor had p microscope; and he desired his pu- pil, one day, to examine a most beautiful and surprising aniraal. *' Mark," said he, '• hoir it is studded from head *o Jail with black and silver, and its body ali ov*».r beset with the most curious bristles ! The head contains the most lively eyes, encircled with silver 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 tc know the name and properties of this wonderful animal. It was M'ithdrawn 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 companions, 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 wea- ther, and sullenly refused all consolation. 3. In the evening, the clouds were dispersed ; the sun shone with unusual brightness; and the face of nature 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 se- renity of the air, the music of the feathered songsters, the verdure of the meadows, and the sweet perfumes which breathed around, regaled every sense, and filled his mind with delightful emotions. 5. " Do not you remark," said Euphronius, " the delight- ful change which has suddenly taken place in the whole 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 Uie revival of nature ?" 1. Part Ic rprising )m head **.r beset lins the le trunk r. The ►rations, ts of the le youth of this -gniiier ; poor fly, mcivAL. xis had .^anions, owered, time in last was ude; he of wea- the sun nature s. The I the se- ters, the s which Is mind delight- i whole e before li a long fragrant cease, ire ?" Cfiap. 2, Narrative Pieces, '^^ 6 ** To the rain which fell this morning," replied Alexis, With a modest confusion. He was struck with the selfish^ ness and folly of his conduct ; and his own bitter reflections anticipated the reproofs of Euphronius. peucival. SECTION V. We are often deceiued by appearances. 1 A YOUTH, who lived in the country, and who had not acquired, cither by reading or conversation, any knowledge of the animals which inhabit foreign regions, came to Man^ Chester, 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 astonishment. But his attention was soon withdrawn from these animals, and directed to another, of the most elegant and beautilul ^T^ He stood contemplating, with silent admiration, tlie o-lossy 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 ot his countenance. . „ . , , . , ,> • i i « ♦« 4 *' Whit is the name of this lovely animal, said he to the'kee')er, ''which you have placed near one of the ug- liest beasts in your collection ; as if you meant to contrast beauty with deformity r" ^ 5 "Beware, young man," replied the intelligent keeper, « of beinp- so easily captivated with external appearance. The animal which you admire is called a tiger; and not- withstanding the meekness of his looks, he is fierce and sa- vaee beyond description. I can neither territy him by cor- rection, nor tame him by indulgence. But the other beast, which you despise, is in the highest degree docile, affec- tionate, and useful. 6 " For the benelit of mail he traverses the sandy cle- serts of Arabia, where drink and pasture are seldom to be found ; and will continue six or seven days without suste- nance, vet still patient of labour. His hair is manufactured into clothing ; his flesh is deemed wholesome nourishment ; and the milk of the female is much valued by the Arabs. r. " The camel, therefore, for such is the name given to this animal, is more worthy of your admiration than the tiffer ; notwithstanding the inelegance of his make, and the two bunches upon his back. For mere external beauty i3 of little estimation ; and deformity, when associated with C • 4- * ■Hh4 m '-.t.i'.fs-- la*' 75^ ^i;: i 1 •■ , \!f-¥ ■*>»: *5 Introduction, 4'c. Par/* I. aaniable dispositions and useful qualities, does not preclude our respect and approbation." percixal. SECTION VI. TJie two bees, 1. On a fine moniing in summer, two bees set forward 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 dainties 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, without regard to any tiling but his present gratification. 3. At length they found a wdde-moiuhed ])hial, that hung 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 headlong 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 dan- ger, flewoff to fruits and flowers; where, by the modera- tion of his meals, he improved his relish for the true en- joyment of them. 5. In the evening, however, he called upon his friend, to inquire whether he would return to the hive : but he found liim surfeited in sweets, which he was as unable to leave, as to enjoy. 6. Clogged in his wingo, enfee])led in his feet, and his whole frame totally enervated, he was but just able to bid lus fiiend adieu ; and to lament, with his latest breath,— that though a taste of pleasure may quicken the relish of lile, an unrestrained indulgence leads to inevitable destruc- ^^^' DODSLEY. SECTION VII. Ingenuity and industry rewarded. 1. A uicH husbandman had two sons, the one exactly a year older than the other. The very day the second was born, he set, in the entrance of his orchard, two young ap- ple-trees of equal size ; which he cultivated with the sama i Narrative Pieces. 37 Cfmp, 2. care, and which grew so equally, that no person could perceive the least difference between them. 2. When his children were capable of handling garden- tools, he took them, one fine morning in spring, to see these two trees, which lie had planted for them, and called after their names : and when they had sufficiently admired their growth, and the number of blossoms that covered them, he said : " My dear children, I give you these trees : you see they are in good condition. 3. *' They will thrive as much by your care, as they will decline by your negligeuce; and ^ their fruit will reward you in proportion to your labour." 4. The youngest, named Edmund, was industrious and attentive. Iie'l)usied himself in clearing his tree of in- sects that would hurt it; and he propped up its stem, to prevent its taking a v/rong 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, throw- ing 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 iu his quarrels. 7. In short, he neglected his tree so far, that he ne\xr thought of it, till, one dav in autumn, he, ])y chance, saw Edmund's tree so full of apples streaked with purple and gold, that had it not l)een 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 hastened to his own, hoping to find as large a crop upon it : but, to hns 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 hisfather, 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 vou V said his father ; '' so the indu^ trious must lose his' labour, to feed the idle ! Be satisfied ' H^ ... 1 m • *,'■< •'■£ i| 518 Introduction, Sf'c. Part 1. •V'. ^ ■?!^ ■•1; * ■ '.3n 4 fi's's "It. ■ff 'ft:,. i«rith your lot : it is the effect of your negligence : and do not think to accuse me of injustice, when you see your bro ther*s rich crop. Your tree was as fruitful, and in as good order as his : it bore as many blossoms, and grew in the same soil, only it was not fostered with the same care. II." Edmund has kept his tree clear of hurtful insects ; 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, tliat too shall 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 ap- ple-trees he could find. Edmund assisted him with his advice in rearing it ; and Moses embraced every occasion of paying attention to it. 14. He was now never out of humour with his comrades, and still less with himself; for he applied cheerfully to work : and, in autumn, he had the pleasure of seeing his tree fully answer his hopes. Thus he had the double ad- vantage, of enriching himself with a splendid crop of fruit ; and, at the same time, of subduing the vicious habits he had contracted. His father was so well pleased with this diange, that, the following year, he divided the produce of a small orchard between him and his brother. berquin. SECTION VIII. The secret of being always satisfied. 1. A CERTAIN Italian l)ishop, was remarkal)le for his hap- py and contented disposition. He met with much opposi- Uon, 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. ^ 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 i 1 o» Pi^ r M: and Chfw, 2. Narrative Pieces. 29 being always satisfied. - Yes," replied the good «ld ma^^^ « I can teach you my secret, aiul with gf f \^^^^^^^^^ It consists in nothing more, than m makmgaright useol ""1^ Hi's 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 prm- cipal business here is to go to that blessed abode. 1 then look down upon the earth, and call to mmd that, when I am dead, I shall occupy but a small space m it. 4. " I then look abroad into the world, and observe what multitudes there are, who, in every respect, are less fortu- nate than myself. Thus I learn where true h^mess is placed; where all our cares must end; and how veiy 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 humanitv. Intending, on a particular occasion, to make a journey from Lyons to Paris, belaid by twelve louis d ors to defray his expenses. But a little before, the time pro- posed for his setting out, he ol)served a man walkmg with strong marks of deep-felt sorrow, in his countenance and deportment. „ , i ^t. * 2 Piffalle, impelled by the feelings of a benevolent heart, accosted him, and inquired, with much tenderness, whe^ ther it was in his power to afford him any I'eliet. Ihe stranger, impressed with the manner of this friendly ad- dress, did not hesitate to lay open his distressed situation. 3. " For want often louis d'ors," said he, "I must be drajrt^cd this evening to a dungeon ; and be separated trom a teiKler wife and a numerous family." "Do you want no more?" exclaimed the humane artist. " 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 Pigalle's met lum; and in- quired whether it was true, that he had, as was Publicly .„,! , — ,.^..f,.v,«Ur i^nUnvpfl n noor man and his la- ported, very opportunely relieved a poor man and his la- mily, from the greatest distress. " Ah, my friend . saia Pi'-alle, " what a delicious supper did I make last night, upon bread and cheese, with a family whose tears ot gra- titude marked the goodnessof their hearts ; and who bless- ed me at every mouthful they eat I" C 2 m '''»* v." I) Ml' f*;;., > ■<■ . ■'A '■#■ , tS . .. db Introduction^ Sfc. Part 1. SECTION X. The compassionate judge. 1. The celebrated Charles Anthony Domat, was pro- moted to the office of a judge of a Provincial court, in th« south of France, in wliich he presided, with public ap- plause, for twenty-four years. One day a poor widow brou,i>;ht a complaint before him, against the baron de Nairac, her landlord, for turning her out of possession of a farm which was licr whole dependence. 2. Domat heard the cause; and finding by the clearest evidence, that the woman had ignorantly broken a cove- nant in the lease, which empowered the 'landlord to take possession of her farm, he recommended mercy to the ba- ron tovrards a poor honest tenant, r/ho had not willing- ly transgressed, or done him any material injury. But Nairac bciiig iiiexoi-able, the judge v.as obliged to pro- nounce a sentefice of expulsion from the farm, and to or- der payment of the damages mentioned in the lease, to- gether with the costs of the suit. 3. In delivering this sentence, Domat Vv'iped his eyes, from which tears of compassion iiowed plentifully. When the order of seizure, both of her person and effects, was de- creed, the poor woman exclaimed : '■* O just and righteous God ! be thou a father to the wido.Y and her helpless or- plians !" and immediately she fainted away. 4. The compassionate judge assisted in raising the dis- tmssed woman ; and after inquiring into her character, the number of her children, and other circumstances, pe- nej'ously presented her with a hundred louis d'ors, Thci amount of her damages and costs, which he prevailed wiui the baron to accept as a full recompense; and the widow was restored to her farm. 5. Deeply affected with the generosity of her benefactor, she said to him : " O, my lord ! when will you demand payment, that I may lay up for that purpose .^" '*! will ask It," replied Domat, "when my conscience shall tell me I have done an improper act. " SECTION XL Tlie generous negro. CHEL, a respectable negro, resided in the 1. Joseph Ra island of Barbadoes. He was a trader, and dealt chiefly Narrative Pieces. 91 b rs, thci d with vvidou^ CMtp. 2. iii the retail way. In his business, he conducted himself so fairly and complaisantly, that, in a town filled with liV tie peddlinjj shops, his doors were thronged with cus- tomers. I have often dealt with him, and always found him remarkably honest and obliging. 2. If any one knew not whore to obtain an article, Jo- sepl\ 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 good- ness of heart. 3. In 1756 afire happened, which burned down great jyart of the town, and ruined many of the inhabitants. Jo- seph lived in a (quarter that escaped the destruction ; and tixpressed his thankfulness, by softening the distresses of his neighbours. Among those who had lost their pro- perty by this heavy misfortune, Avas a man to whose fa- mily, Joseph, in the early part o£ his life, owed some ob- ligvitions. 4. This man, l)y too great hospitality, an excess very common in the West Indiey, had involved himself in dif- ficulties, 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 temper of the sufferer, the obli- gations that Joseph owed to his family, were special and ])Owerful motives for acting towards him the part of a friend. 5. Joseph had his liond for sixty pounds sterling. ** Un- fortunate man I" said he, " this debt shall never come aq-iiinst thee. I sincerelv wish thou couldst settle all thv other afiairs as easilv ! 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 that might hiive called up a smile on the face of charity, filled his pip«, 8^j^4pbwn again, twisted the bond, and lighted his pipe with ' 'it' i /'it. ■'•Pi in ■'■i,',f'., * f :. ll- Wit3 j^ Introduction, ^'C. Fart U It. While the account was drawing out, he continued smoking, in a state of mind that a monarch might envy. When it was finished, he went in searcli of his friend, with the discharged account, and the mutilated bond, in his hand. r. On meeting him, he presented the papers to him with this address: " Sir, I am sensibly afiec ted with your misfortunes; the obligations I have received from your family, give me a relation to every Ijranch of it. I know that your inability to pay what you owe, gives you more uneasiness than the loss of your own substance. That you may not be anxious on my account in particular, ac- cept of this discharge, and the remains of your bond. I am overpaid in the satisfaction that I feel from having done my duty. 1 beg you to consider this only as a token of the happiness you will confer 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 Indians attacked a small body of British troops, and defeated them. As the Indians had greatly the advantage 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 armed with battle-axes, he had no hope of escape. But, just at thus crisis, another Indian came up, who was advanced hi years, and was armed with a bow and arrows. 3. The old man instantly drew his bow ; but, after hav- ing taken his aim^at the officer, he suddenly dropped the point of his arrow, and interposed between him and his pursuers, who were about to cut him in pieces. They re- tired 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 kind- ness which did honor to his professions, 4. He made him less a slave than a companion ; taught him the language of the country ; and instructed him in the rude arts that are practised by the inhabitants. They gret, at lent ed. »ntinued it envy, nd, with , in hi9 to him ith your •m your I know ju more . That ilar, ac- lond. I having a token iver you MSAY. Indians id them, ftness of I British e treated samples, ker, and led with t at this in years, fter hav- pped the . and his They re- )fficer by >es; and, h a kind- ; taught :l him in s. Thev Narrative Pieces. S3 Chap, 2. lived together in the most perfect harmony : and the young officer, in the treatment he met with, found nothing to re- gret, but that sometimes the old man fixed his eyes upon him, and, having regarded him for some minutes with a steady and silent attention, burst into tears. 5. In the mean time, the spring returned, and the In- dians 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 march- ed above two hundred leagues across the forest, and came at length to a plain, where the British forces were encamp- ed. The old man showed his prisoner the tents at a dis- tance: "There," say she, " arc thy countrymen. There is the enemy who wait to give us battle, llemei^iber that I have saved thy life, that 1 have taught thee to conduct a canoe, to arm thyself with a bow and arrows, and to sur- prise the beaver in the forest. I 6. What wast thou when I first took thee to my hut ? i Thy hands were those of an infant. They could neither ' procure thee sustenance nor safety. Thy soul was in utter darkness. Thou wast ignorant of every thing. Thou owest all things to me. Wilt thou then go over to thy na- i tion, and take up the hatchet against us ?" The officer re- plied, " that he would rather lose his own life, than take away that of his deliverer. '* 7. The Indian, bending down his head, and covering his face with both his hands, stood some time silent.^ Then looking earnestly at his prisoner, he said, in a voice that was at once softened by tenderness and grief;'* Hast thou a father ?" '* 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 fa- ther? — I am a father no more. — I saAv my son fall in bat- tle. — 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 vehe- mence. His body shook with a universal tremor. He was almost stifled with 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 ■■.,> ■^■ t"*^', Cf-) *" ■>•• v;, ■:;-■; if^ :•.)' ■■km i '* I > [ ''?' < flic »■■' ' ■'.i«' f r." .' ^1^' ^''.v ■'':|:'., ■ :'':' ■■■i^*' ■'i ■''''- ■r-; ^H.''^: i Introduction, ^c. Part U a with prevailing day? and hast thou pleasure n. the sight? I have pleasure in th^ said the Indian^ offi( ** Yes," replied the young beauty of so fine a sky. " "1 have none and his tears then found their way. 9. A few minutes after, he showed the young man a magnolia in full bloom. " Dost thou see that beautiful tree?" said he, "and dost thou look upon it with plea- sure ?" " Yes," replied the officer, '* 1 look with plear t sure upon that beautiful tree." — " I have no longer any < pleasure in looking upon it !" said the Indian hastily : and , immediately added ; " Go, return to thy father, that be may still have pleasure, \\ hen he sees the sun rise in tJip morning, and the trees blossom in the spring!'* SECTION XIII. Noble behaviour of Sv.lpio. 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 conquest of Carthagena, the capital of the empire, his integrity and virtue were put to the following exemplary and ever-me- morable trial, related by historians, ancient and modem, with universal applause. •- 2. Being retired into his camp, some of his officers 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 himself, he inquired of the beautiful capv- tive, in the most civil and polite manner, concerning her country, birth, and connexions ; and findint?; that she wa^s betrothed to a Celtiberian prince, named Alkicius, he or- dered both him and the captive's parents to be sent for* 3. When the Spanish prince appeared in his presence, Scipio took him aside ; and to remove the anxiety he might feel on account of the young lady, addressed 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 tenderness j 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 Uopato swer; 1 Part I, i sightZ'^ re in thfe ". Indian^ ; man a )eautiful th plea- th plea>- iger any ily : and that be I in th^ a.ge, was d of the quest of ■rity and Bver-me- modern, V, officers uty, that ry body, onfusioti isence of I, and for loments, tiful cap- aing her she wais .8, he or- ent for* )resence, ixiety he jsed hiih idmits of brought ime, that ;r beauty which, I Chap. 2. Narrative Piecei [•e think you a service. yself happy in the meet with favour: 1 the present conjuncture to c 4. *' Though the fortune of war has made me your mas- ter, I desire to be your friend. Here is your wife : take her, and may you Ijc happy I You may rest assured, that she has been amon;^st us, as she would have been in the house of her father and mother. Far be it from Scipio to purchase any plea >■" '''i^fA f. '% IP '■m t. ■■':<• 30 I/Uroduclion, t]'C, Pari 1. ii' I tT. of fifteen he was hired by a fanner to be a shepherd, in a neighbourhood where Lucetta kept her father's sheep. They often met, and were fond of being together. After an acquaintance of five years, in which they had many oppor- tunities of becoming thoroughly known to each other, Perrin projjoscd to Lucetta to ask her father's consent to their marriage : she blushed, and did not refuse her ap- probation. 3. As she had an errand to the town next day, the op- portunity of her absence was chosen for making the pro- posal. " You wish to marry my daughter," said the old man : ** have you a house to covor her, or money to main- tain her PLucetta's fortune is not eiM)ugh fur both. It will not do, renin ; it will not do." '' liut," replied Perrin, " I have hands to work : I have laid up twenty crowns of my wages, which will defray the expense of the wed- ding : I will work harder, and lay up more." '* Well," said the' old man, '^you are young, uiul may wait a little : get rich and my daughter is at your service." Perrin waited forLucett'i's reluni in theeveuinr^. 4. ''Has my father given you a refusal?" cried Lu- cetta. "Ah, Lucetta," replied Perrin, "how unhappy 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 approached, and it became dark. Perrin, making a false step, fell on the ground. He found a bag, which was heavy. Draw- inp- towards a light in the neighbourhood, he discovered that it was filled with gold. "I thank heaven," cries L'errin, in a transport of joy, '* for l)eing favourable to our wishes. This will satisfy your fatlier, and make us hap- iiy." In their v/ay to her father'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 al- ways been kind tome." 5. Perrin put the bag into the vicar's hand, saying, " 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 eved the young couple with attention : he admired their honesty, which appeared even to surpass their affec- tion. ^'Perrin," said he, "cherish these sentiments: Heaven will bless you. We will endeavour to find out \ ago, fa::«i Narralive Pieces. 37 >rd, in a sheep. U'ter an r oppor- i other, isent to her ap- the op- :he pro- the old main- It Vi\\\ Perrin, crowns 10 wcd- 11," said tie : get 1 waited led Lu- mhappy )es : my ley were ,'oached, 1, fell on Uraw- scovered ," cries le to our ; us hap- it struck to some iting the e has al- , saying, •esent, to t that he ." The admired leir affec- timents : ( find out i Chap* 2. the owner : he will reward thy honesty : I will add what lean 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 car- ried it to Terrin. '• These twelve thousand lures bear at present no profit : you may reap the interest ai least. Lay them out in such a manner, as to ensure the sum itsell to the owner, it' he should ever appear." A larm was pur- chased, and the consent ot'Lucetta's father to the marriage was obtained. Perrin was employed in husbandry, and Lu- cetta in family affairs. They lived in perlect cordiality : and two children endeared them still more to each othei% 7 Perrin one evening, returning homeward irom his work, saw a chaise overturned with two gentlemen in it. He ran to their assistance, and offered them every accom- modation his small house could afford. " 1 his spot, cried one of the gentlemen, *' is very latal to me. 1 en years ago, I lost here twelve thousand hvres." 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 I'Orient to em- bark for the Indies, as the vessel was ready to sail. 8. Next morning, Perrin showed to his guests his house, his garden, his cattle, and mentioned the produce oi his fields. '' All these are your property," said he, addressing the gentleman who had lost the bag : " the money fell into mv hands ; I purchased this farm with it ; the farm is yours. The vicar has an instrument which secures your oronerty, though I had died without seeing you." _ 9 The stranr-er read the instrument with emotion ; he looked on Perrin, Lucetta, and the cluldren. " Where am I " cried he, ^' and what do 1 hear ! What virtue in peo- ple of so low a condition ! Have you any other land but this farm '-" " No," replied Perrin ; '* 1)ut you will have occasion for a tenant, and I hope you will allow me to re- main here." ''Your honesty deserves a better recom- pense," answered the stranger. " My success in trade has been great, and I 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 vou have done ?" „ ^ . i • 10. Perrin and Lucetta shed tears of affection and joy. D ,' '.11 '•¥\\ .•.»f, . I' I''-!*' W- W. .' >i M M ■.!!L,*ti ' i >"* •( t- "I. 38 Introduction, Src. Part 1. " My dear children," said Perrin, '* kiss the hand of your benefactor.— Lucetta, this farm now belongs to us, and we can enjoy it without any anxiety or remorse." Thus was honesty rewarded. Let those who desire the reward prac- tise tlie 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 pleasant ar- bour, where she presently fell asleep. During her slum- ber, two female figures presented themselves before her. One was loosely habited in a thin robe of pink, with light green trimmings. Her sash of silver 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 riliand. 2. She advanced smiling to the girl, and with a familiar ail' thus addressed her. *«My dearest Melissa, I am a kind genius who have watched you from your birth, and have joyfully beheld all your beauties expand, till at length they have rendered you a companion worthy of me. See what I have brought you. This dress, and this ticket, will give you free access to all the ravishing delights of my palace. With me you will pass your days in a perpetual round of ever-varying amusements. 3. Like the gay butterfly, you will have no other busi- ness than to flutter from flower to flower, and spread your dianiis before admiring spectators. No restraints, no toils, no dull tasks, are to be found within my happy domains. All is pleasure, life aad good humour. Come then, my dear 1 Let me put you on this dress, which will make you quite enchanting ; and away, away, 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. '^My name," said she, " is Dissipation." 4. The other female then advanced. She was clothed in a close habit of brown stuff, simply relieved with white. She wore hei' smooth hair under a plain cap. Her whole Chap. 2. Narrative Pieces. 39 i person was perfectly neat and clean. Her look was serious, but satisfied ; and her air was staid and composed. She held in one hand a distaff; on the opposite^arm hung a work-basket ; and the girdle round her waist was garnished with scissors, knitting-needles, reels, and other^implements of female labour. A bunch of keys hung at her side. She t>)us accosted the sleeping girl. 5. " Melissa, I am the genius who have ever been 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 your time in amusements, if you enter yourself of my train, you must rise early, and pass the long day in a variety ot employments, some of them difficult, some laborious, and all requiring exertion of body or of mind. You must dress plainly ; live mostly at home ; and aim at being useful ra- ther than shining. 6. " But in return, I will ensure you content, even spi- rits, self-approbation, and the esteem of all who thoroughly know you. If these offers appear to your young mmd less inviting than those of my rival, be assured, however, tnat they are more real. She has promised much more than she can ever make good. Perpetual pleasures are no more in the power of Dissipation, than of Vice and Folly, to bestow. Her delights quickly pall, and are inevitably succeeded by languor and disgust. She appears to you under a disguise, and what you see is not her real tace. 7. " For mvself, 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 mv name, it is Housewifery." ^ , ,. t,^ 8. Melissa heard her with more attention than delight; jind 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 possible to resist; when, by a iucky accident, the mask with which Dissipation's ^ace was 60 artfully covered, fell off. As soon as Melissa beheld, instead of the smiling features of youth and cheerfulness, 'mi m m m m , ■v:4 ^ ■Vkf .*>; .■)5! W ■ m '4M flii' ! W] l*> if;: 40 Introduction, ^c. ■P«»'' !• a countenance wan and ghastly with sickness, and soured bv fretfulness, she turned away with horror and gave her hand unreluctantly to her sober and sincere companion. BARBAULD. SECTION XVI. The noble basket-maker. I The Germans of rank and fortune, were formerly re- markable for the custom of having their sons instructed m Sme mechanical business, by which they might be habitu- ated to a spirit of industry ; secured from the miseries of idleness; and qualified, in case of necessity, to support themselves and their families. A striking proof of the utility of this custom, occurs m the followmg narrative. ' 2 A young German nobleman of great merit and ta- lents, paid his addresses to an accomplished young lady ot the Palatinate ; and applied to her father lor his consent to marry her. The old nobleman, amongst other observa- tions, asked him, "how he expected to maintain his dauQ-hter." The young man, surprised at such a question, observed, " that his possessions were known to beam.pxc, and as secure uS 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 render you destitute. 1 o keep you no longer in suspense, (continued the father, with ^reit politeness and affection,) I have seriously resolved never to marry my daughter to any person, who, what- ever may be his honours or property, does not possess some mechanical art, by which he may be able to sup- port her in case of unforeseen events. 4 The youuQ' nobleman, deeply affected with his de- terminanon, was silent for a few minutes ; when, reco- vering himself, he declared, " that he believed his happi- ness so much depended on the proposed union, that no difficulty or submissions, consistent with his honour, should prevent him from endeavouring to accomplish it. lie oeL-L^ed to know whether he might be allowed six months to 'i-cn-lre the knnwledee of some manual art. Ihe ta- theVI pleased with the voung man's resolution, and affec- tion for his daughter, consented to the proposal ; and pledged his honour that the marriage should take place, Chap* 3. Didactic Pieces, 41 if, at the expiration of the time limited, he should sue ceed in his undertaking. ., 5 Animated by the tenderest regard, and by a high sense of the happiness he hoped to enjoy, he went imme- dTately into Flanders, engaged himself to a white-twig basket-maker, and applied every power of mgenuity and Kc"tob;c^^^ in the business He soon ob- ta ned a complete knowledge of the art ; and, before the ex- Son ofX time proposed, returned, 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 uni- versally admired for the delicacy and perfection of the workinanship. Nothing now remained to Pi'event the ac- complishmeAt of the noble youth's ^y/^^^^V.U IS^s riajje was solemnized to the satisfaction ol al paitits. > The vouuL. couple lived several years m affluence; and seemed, by their virtues and moderation, to have se- cured the favours of fortune. But the lavages of wai> at length, extended themselves to the Palatinate Both the families were driven from their country, and tneir estates forfeited. And now opens a most i^^^^f.^^.^f/^"^; ^^3. 8 The vomu? nobleman commenced his trade ol bas keLaking ; and by his superior ski-, in the art soon com- manded extensive business. For many years je Ul^^^^^^^^^ supported not only his own, family, but also that ot the good old nobleman, his father-in-law;, and enjoyed the kigh satisfaction of contributing, by ^^^Y"'"" ^T^wZ' bv • thS h^npiness of connexions doubly endeared to him by their ;^ fortunes: and who otherwise would have sunk Into the miseries of neglect and indigence, sharpened by the remembrance of better days. ■ ••r , ,:% (*'♦!■ yJ ■>l, "' CHAPTER III. DIDACTIC PIFXES. SECTION I. Tfinfltrnp/m to mothers. , MtRK that parent hen, sai■«■ * . • < V * * 42 Introduction^ ^'c. Part 1. offspring, and cover them with her expanded wings I The kite is hovering in the air, and, disappointed of his prey, may perhaps dart upon the hen herself, and bear her off in his talons. 2. Does not this sight suggest to you the tenderness and affection of your mother 1 Her watchful care protected you in the helpless period of infancy, when she nourished you with her milk, taught your limbs to move, and youp tongue to lisp its unformed accents. In your childhood, slie mourned over your little griefs; rejoiced in your inno- cent delights ; admhiistered to you the healing balm in sickness j 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 grar titude, esteem, and veneration. percival. SECTION II. Respect and affection due from j)ifpils to their tutors. 1. QuiNCTiLiAN says, that he has included almost all tlie 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 to look upon tliem as fathers from whom they derive not the life off tJie bodv, but that instruction which is in a manner tlio life of the soul. 2. This sentiment of affection and respect disposes tliem to apply diligently during the time of their studies | and preserves in their minds, during the remainder of iife^ a tender gratitude towards their instructors. It seems to include a great part of what is to be expected from them. 3. Docility, which consists in readily receiving instruo tiojis, and reducing them to practice, is properly the vir- tue 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, warni3 and moistens it ; so the whole fruit of instruction depends npon a good correspondence between masters and scholars. 4. Gratitude towards those who have faithfully labouiv €Sd in our education, is an essential virtue, and the mark of a good heart. '^' Of those who have been carefully inr Etructed, who is there," says Cicero, " that is not delightr ed with the sight, and even the remembrance of his pr;e- Part I. \\ The s prey- her ;'^ ess and otected Lirished id youp dhood, ir inno- lalm in ruth, of iient of 2 St grar IVAL. rs. riost all hich hfi as they k upon e life of mer tlifl lisposes studies J nder of ors. It xpected instruo the vir- , As it ilcss the , \varni3 depends ;cholars. ' labouiv mark of fully inr delightr his pr^- Chap. n Didactic Pieces. 43 ceptors, and the very place where he was educated ?" Se- neca exhorts young men to preserve always a great r^ spect 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 displease, at an age when we are not in a condition to judge of the obligations we owe them ; 1)ut when years have ripened our understanding and judgment, we discern that admo- nitions, reprimands, and a severe exactness in restraming the passions of an imprudent and inconsiderate age, fai* from justifying dislike, demand our esteem and love. Mar- cus Aurclius, one of the wisest and most illustrious empe- rors that Rome ever had, thanked Heaven for two thmgs especially ;— for having had excellent tutors himself; ami for having found the like blessing for his children. ROLLIN. SECTION III. On Jilial piety. 1. From the creatures of God let man learn wisdom, and apply to himself the instruction they give. Go to th'l 'hi % i -ft »v i* i' 44 Introduction^ ^c. Part 1. SECTION IV. Xoye 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 the bonds of affection, therefore, unite thee with thy brothers and sisters, that peace and happiness may dwell in thy father's house. 2. And when you are separated in ti •■ - ' 1, remember the relation that binds you to love and . • .y ; and prefer not a stranger before thy own blood. If thy ])rother 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 considerest thy wants, when thou be- holdest thy imperfections, acknowledge his goodness, O son of humanity 1 who honoured thee with reason ; en- dued thee with speech ; and placed thee in society, to re- ceive and confer reciprocal helps and mutual obligations. 2. Thy food, thy clothing, thy convenience of habita- tion ; thy protection from the injuries, thy enjoyment of the comforts and the pleasures of life ; all these thou owest to the assistance of others, and couklst not enjoy but in the bands of society. It is thy duty therefore, to be a friend to mankind, as it is thy interest that man should be friend- ly to thee. 3. Rejoice in the happiness and prosperity of thy neigh- bour. Open not thy ear to slander : the faults and fail- ings 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. 4. Shut not thine ear against the cries of the poor ; nor harden thy heart against the calamities of the innocent. When the fatherless call upon thee, when the widow's heart ^*s sunk, and she implores thy assistance with tears of sorrow ; pity their affliction, and extend thy hand to those who have none to help them. When thou seest the naked wanderer of the street, shivering with cold, and des- ■;■( Chap, 3. Vidactic Pieces. 4^ titute of habitation, let bounty open thy heart; let the wings of charity shelter him from death, that thy own soul "" 5! Whilst the poor man groans on the bed of sickness ; whilst the unfortunate languish in the horrors of a dun- Jeon; or the hoary head of age lifts up a feeble eye to thee for pity ; how canst thou riot in superfluous enjoy- ments, regaMless of their wants, unfeeling of their woes? ' ^ ECONOMY OF HUMAN LIFE. SECTION VI. IngratUude to our Supreme Benefactor, is highly culpable. I. Artabanes was distinguished with peculiar favour bv a wise, powerful, and good prince. A magnificent pa- lace Vuri'ounded with a delightful garden, was provided for his residence. He partook of all the luxuries of his sovereign's table, was invested with extensive authoritY, and admitted to the honour of a free m^ercourse wiU. h^ tracious master. But Artabanes was insensible of the ad- faSsThich he enjoyed; his heart glowed not with Gratitude Ind respect; he avoided the society of his be- Spfartor. and abused his bounty. 2-1 detest such a character," said Alexis, with gc- nerous indignation !-- It is your own picture which I have drawn;" replied Eaphronius. "Ihe great Poten- tate of heaven and earth has placed you m a world whi^^^ displays the highest beauty, order, and magnificence ; and whFrh abounds with every means of convenience, enjoy- ment and h-r.iness. He has furnished you with such ment, and ^^-iVf^ . dominion over the nowers 01 body una minu, cib i^ivc^wu. ^f*!,^ fishes oftlie sia, the lbw!s of the air, and the beasts of the field He has imUod yo,. to hold communion with him, and to exiat vour cv.n nature, by the love and imitation of ''V'"VeV w'y"' eyes wandered, with brutal gaze ovCT the fair creation, inconscious of the mighty hand from which it sprung. You have rioted m the profus on of nature, without suitable emotions of gratitude to the "oveidJn Dispenser of all good: and you have too ofter, sUehtedthe glorious converse, and forgotten the presence of ttiat omi^potent Being, who fills all space, and e«sts through all eternity. percivai.. • lit il"'-''i- v:^^ H^^-^ m ■■■:Vi m^ ■»■•" ''m m ■,;•<', 46 Introductio7i, ^c. Part 1. i:-: m m -.'' ■ :ii- lit'*..- I * rSf i I '■■'.•.at- :' SECTION VIL Speculation and practice. 1. A CERTAIN astronomer was contemplating the moon through his telescope, and tracing the extent of her seasu the height of her mountains, and the number of habitable territories which she contains. '* 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 i^e- main upon a level with the uninstructed vulgar ? Have you so long gazed at the temple of virtue, without ad- vancing one step towards it ? Are you smitten with moral beauty, yet regardless of its attainment ? Are you a phi- losopher in theory, but a novice in practice ? The parti- ality 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 con- duct will be 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 feli- city which flows from a cultivated understanding, pious and well-regulated aftections, and extensive benevolence ! In (these consists that sovereign good, which ar lent sages so much extol ; which reason recommends, rci '^^n au- thorises, and God approves. perc> CHAPTER IV. DESCHIPTIVE PIECES. • SECTION I. The eagle. 1. THE Golden Eagle is the largest and the noblest of all those birds that have received the name of Eagle. It weighs above twelve pounds. Its length is three feet ; the ecstent of its wings, seven feet four inches; the bill is three inches long, and of a deep blue; and the eye of a hazel colour. In general, these birds are found in mountains and thinly inhabited countries ; and breed among the lof- tiest cliffs. They choose those places which are remotest Hi •i*HL Chap. 4. Descriptive Pieces. ^^ from man, upon whose possessions they but seldom make tiieir depredations, jeinjj contented rather to follow tte wild game in the forest, than to risk their safety to satisfy flieir hunger. 2. This fierce animal may be considered among birds, as tlie lion among quadrupeds ; and, in many respects, tOiey have a strong similitude to each other. 1 hey ain; both possessed of 'force, and an empire over their fellows of the forest. Equally magnanimous, they disdain small plunder ; and only pursue animals worthy the conquest. It is not till after having been long provoked, by the cries df the rook or the magpie, that this generous bird thinks fit to punish them with death. r 3. The eagle also disdains to share the plunder ot an- otlier bird ; and will take up with ,no other prey than that wliich he has acquired by his own pursuits. How hungry soever he may be, he stoops not to carrion ; and when sa- tiated, never returns to the same carcass, but leaves it lor other animals, more rapacious and less delicate than him- self. Solitarv, like the lion, he keeps the desert to him- self alone; it'ifj as extraordinary to see two pair ot eagks in tiie same mountain, as two lions in the same forest. 4. Thev keep 5:eparate, to find a more ample supply ; ttiul consider the quantity of their game as the bestprooi oT tiieir dominion. Nor does the similitude of these animals stop here : they have both sparkling eyes, and nearly ot the s;iiic colour ; tlieir claws are of the same form, their breath cquallv strong-, and their cry equally loud and terrilying. Ered both for war, they are enemies of all society; alilte fiei>ce, proud, and incapable of being easily tamed. ^ 5. Of all t'ne feathered tribe, the eagle flies the high£st ; tmtl from thence the ancients have given him the title of Qi2 bird of Jmmi. He possesses also the sharpest sight; but his sense of smelling, though acute, is inferior to tha» (^ a vulture. He never pursues, but when his object is m vdew ; 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, ^lul kids ; and often destroys fawns and calves, to drmk their blood : and bears a part of their flesh to his retreat. \i UV^V^A, a. Infants themselves, when left unattended, hav ^ afe§H;oye4 by these rapacious creatures. An instanc^^is;*- • 'A'f) m ^4 m y ■:K- 4^. . m m "^ij. ::^' 48 Introduction, ^'C. Part 1. 1 «!*''-i corded in Scotland, of two children having been carried off by eao-les ; but fortunately they received no hurt by the way ; and, the eagles being pursued, the children were found unhurt in the nests, and restored to the affrighted 7. The eagle is thus at all times a formidable neigh- bour : but peculiarly so when bringing up its young. It is then that tlie male and female exert all their force and in- dustry to supply their offspring. Smith, in his history of Kerry, relates, that a poor man in that country got a com- fortable subsistence for his family, during a summer of fa- mine, out of an eagle's nest, by robbing the eaglets ot 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 llight of the young ; and very probably also, as I have known myself, by so tying them, as to increase their cries, which are al- ways found to increase the parent's despatch to procure them provision. It was fortunate, hoAvever, that the old eagles did not surprise the countryman 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 by long assiduity, yet it is a dangerous domestic, and often turns Its force against its master. When l)rought 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 solitudes. Sometimes, however, eagles are brought to have an attachment to their feeder ; they are then highly serviceable, and liberally pro- vide for his pleasures and support. 10. When the falconer lets them go from his hand, they 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 with- out food ; and that the period of its life exceeds a hun- dred years. goldsmith. SECTION II. The humming-bird. 1. Of all the birds that flutter in the garden, or paint the landscape, the humming-bird is the most delightful to Chap, 4. Descriptive Pieces. ^9 look upon, and the most inoffensive. Of this charming lit- tle animal, there are six or seven varieties, from the swc of a small wren, down to that of an humble-bee. A Euro- pean would not readily suppose that there existed any birds so very small, and yet 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 imagina- tion, were they not seen in infinite numbers, and as tre- ciuent as butter-flies in a summer's day, sporting in the fields of America, from flower to flower, and extracting I sweets with their little bills. , 3 The smallest humming-bird is about the size ol a hazel-nut. The feathers on its wings and tail are black; but those on its body, and under its wings, are of a green- ish 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 ot its forehead. The bill is black, straight, slender, and ot the length of a small pin. , ■, , ^u 4 It is inconceivable how much these birds add to the high finishing and beauty of a rich luxurious western land- scape. As soon as the sun is risen, the humming-birds, ot different kinds, are seen fluttering about the flowers, with- out ever lighting upon them. Their wings are in so rapid motion, that it is impossible to discern their colours, ex- cept by their glittering. . „ • 5. They are never ^till, but continually in motion, vi- siting flower after flower, and extracting its honey as if with a kiss. For this purpose they are furnished with a forky tono-ue, that enters the cup of the flower, and ex- tracts its nectared tribute. Upon this alone they subsist. The rapid motion of their wings occasions a humming sound, from whence they have their name ; for whatever divides the air swiftly, must produce a murmur. 6. The nests of these birds are also very curious. Ihey are suspended in the air, at the point of the twigs of an orange, a pomegranate, or a citron tree ; sometimes even in houses, if a small and convenient twig is found^for the purpose. The female is the architect, while the ma.e goes in quest of materials ; such as cotton, fine moss, and 1 ■'■•■"iff ',.•'' ■;•*■■■ ril: ■1 '''Hi m '■*>■■» .-'4' \;i K-: r .J I m w ^) * «1 j'j. ■"■! ■ 50 Introduction^ 8fc. Part U the fibres of vegetables. Of these materials, a nest is com* posed, about the size of a hen's egg cut in two ; it is ad* mirably contrived, and warmly lined with cotton. 7. There are never more than two eggs found in 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 ; but the female takes to herself the greatest share. She seldom quits the nest, ex- cept 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 her 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 ; and, 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 Ame- rica, says " that his companion found the nest of a hum- ming-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 cham- ber window, to be amused by their sportive flutterings: but he was much surprised tp see the old ones, which came and fed their brood regularly every hour in the day. By this means they themselves grew so tame, that they sel- dom quitted the chamber ; and, without any constraint, came to live with their young ones. 10. " All four frequently perched upon their master's hand, chirping as if they had been at liberty abroad. He fed them with a very fine clear paste, made of wine, bis- cuit, 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 agreea- ble," continues he, " than this lovely little family, which had possession of my companion's chamber, and flew i4i and out just as they thought proper ; but were ever atten- tive 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 co- lony formed, he unfortunately forgot to tie up their cage t^j the ceiling at night, to preserve them from the rats, and lie iouuu iu ine liiuriiiiii;^, lO u they were all devoured." Us ui^av ortification, that GOLDSMITH. Chap. 4. 1. Of beautiful skin, the metry of 2. To simpliclt the stabi in those ly produ all the v indepcn< tends or 3. In Spain, ^ moded -^ ivurope. wants ; his cons 4. In in drov( war age remain one am notice < take b\ 5. li day, til examii ing; b centlni he doe take tl their fi 6. I runs \ most I thoug! trv : J •• ' 7. ' swiftn is com? is ad« a nest; i snow, md the akcs to jst, ex- hen the tion. : place, the end ize of a es they ;ed, but Ame- a hum- 1 took it fteen or > chara- kerings : :h came ly. By ley sel- istraint, naster's id. He ne, bis- Ls paste, chirped agreea- , which flew iji er atten- them. )ove six new co- p cage t^j •ats, and LOG, that Chap. 4. Descriptive Pieces. SECTION in. The horae. 51 1. Of all ([uadrupeds, the horse appears to be the most beautiful. His fine size, the glossy smoothness ot his . skin, the graceful ease of his motions, and the exact sym- metry of his shape, entitle him to this distinction. 2 To have an idea of this noble animal in h\s native sim'plicity, we are not to look for him in the pastures, or the stables, to which he has been consigned by man ; but in those wild and extensive plains, where he was origmal- Iv produced, where he ranges without control, and riots in •ill the variety of luxurious nature. In this state of happy independence, he disdains the assistance of man, which tends only to his servitude. 3 In those boundless tracts, whether of Africa or New Spain, where he runs at liberty, he seems no way incom- moded with the inconveniences to which he is subject in r urope. The continual verdure of the fields supplies his wants ; and the climate that never knows a wmter suits his constitution, which naturally seems adapted to heat. 4 In those countries, the horses are often seen teedmg 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. 1 hey have always one among their number that stands as centinel, to give notice of any approaching danger ; and this office they take bv turns. ., , /. v u 5. If a man approaches them while they are feeding by day, their centinel walks up boldly towards him, as it to examine his strength, or to intimidate him from proceed- hig; but as the man approaches withm pistol-shot, the centinel then thinks it high time to alarm his fellows, i his 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 centinel 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 persevermg. 1 hey are found, though not in great numbers, in the deserts of that coun- try : and the natives use every stratagem to take them.^ V; The usual manner in which the Arabians try ine swiftness of these animals, is by hunting the ostrich. 1 he MJ . 'J ;;* "M I? ■;t^j i.4i Ml If' ^''r ... fi. |-r, *■■*.•' \^:^ " PS ii <;.•■■■•. v 52 IrUroduetion, fyc. Part 1. horse is the only animal whose speed is comparable 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 mountains, while the horseman pursues with all the swiftness possible, and * endeavours to cut off" its retreat. The chase then conti- nues 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, finding 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, shows great speed, and is not rea- dily 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 tlie fields to the call of their masters. The Arab, his wife, and children, ofteii lie in the same tent with the mare and foal; which, instead 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 witJi kindness, and even affection. The following anecdote of the compassion and attachment shown by a poor Arabian to one of these animals, will be interesting to ^very reader. — The whole property of this Arab con- sis^d of a very fine beautiful marc. This animal the French consul at Said offered to purcliase. with an intention to send her to the king, Louis the Foiirteenth. •••'ll. The Arab, pressed by want, hesitated a long time, but at len^'th consented, on condition of receiving a very considei-aiile siini of money, vv^hich he named. The con- sul wrote to France for permission to close the bargain ; and liavhig obtained it, sent the information to the Arab. The man, so poor as to possess only a few rags to cover his body, arrived with his magnificent courser. He dis- mounted, but appeared to be greatly agitated by contend- ing emotions. , 3. Chap. 4. Descriptive Pieces. 53 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 j who will beat thee ; who will render thee mi- serable! Return with me, my beauty, my jewel, and re- joice the hearts of my children!" As he pronounced the last words, he sprung upon her back ; and, in a lew mo- ments, was out of sight. SECTION IV. The Ouran-Outang. 1. The ape called the Ouran-Outang, approaches in ex- ternal 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 t\ian that of a man ; but its strength and agility are much greater. 2. Travellers who have seen various kinds oi these ani- mals, in their native solitudes, give surprising relations of 1 their force, their swiftness, their address, and their fero- city. They are foun \ 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 are sunk in his head, his countenance is stern, and all his li- neaments, though resembling those of a man, are harsh and blackened by the sun. Ke 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 v/oods, 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 ^pare those who fall into their hands. A ne^ro 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 E2 iS:; ,•■■*-; ■ft'/. '■'41 w '■■:s^ '•X '' ■ •* ' 'J 54 Introduction, fyc. Part 1. ^l i n •'■■■■ |.^f iV'W *■?(■," - fc. K ■■>• never attempted to injure him. They frequently 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 confine- ment, are gentle, and, for the most part, harmless, per- fectly devoid of that disgusting ferocity so conspicuous in some of the larger baboons and monkeys. It is mild and docile, and may be taught to perform with dexterity a va- riety of entertaining actions. Vosmaer's account of one of tliese animals, which was brought into Holland in the year 1776, and lodged in the menagerie of the prince of Orange, is so exceedingly 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, uttering lamentable cries, and tearing in pieces the lii en within its reach. Its keeper hav- ing been accustomed to sit near it on the ground, it fre- quently took the hay oft' 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 j but its chief food was bread, roots, and all sorts of fruit, especially strawberries. When presented with strawberries on a plate, it was ex- tremely 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 it also very wil- lingly drank all siorts of wine, and particularly Malaga. After drinking, it wiped its lips ; and after eating, if pre- sented with a toothpick, it would use it in a proper man- ner. 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 dept, and putting it in proper order. It wt aid then care- fully draw up the coverlet. This animal lived only seven months after it had been brought into Holland." I Part 1. f attack B him to as their aver the confine- iss, per- :uous in lild and ty a va- f one of [ in the rince of present less and ppeared the care f on the ies, and per hav- , it fre- ide, and nearer, urs, hut e ahTiost )od was 'berries. was ex- ) one by )lding at ^ery wil- Malaga. J, if pre- ler man- 1, played chen for to sleep, which it ten care- ily seven 1 CJiap, 4. Descriptive Pieces. 55 10. The Ouran-Outang, described by Buffon, exhibited a still greater degree of sagacity. It walked upon two legs, even when it carried burdens. Its air 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 only from fear, this animal was slow in its mo- tions, and a look was sufficient to keep it in awe. 11. I have seen it, says Buffon, give its hand to show the company to the door : I haVe seen it sit at table, un- fold 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 cnp and saucer, lay them on the table, put in sugar, pour out its tea, leave it to cool, and then drink it. 12. All this it would do without any other instigation than the signs or commands of its master, and often of its own accord. It was gentle and inoffensive : it even ap- proached strangers with respect; and came rather to re- ceive caresses than to offer injuries. It was particularly fond of comfits, which every body was ready to give it ; but as it had a defluxion upon the breast, so much sugar contributed to increase the disorder, and to shorten its life. It continued at Paris but one summer, and died in London. 13. We are told by Pyrard,thatthe Ouran-Outangs are found at Sierra Leona; where they are strong and well- formed, and so industrious, that, when properly tramed and fed, they work like servants ; that, when ordered, they pound any substances in a mortar ; and that they are fre- quently 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 animals suffer them to fall to the ground. When they perceive the pitcher to be overturned and bro- ken, thev 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 5 an evident proof, as Buffon finely observes, that no arrangement pf inatter will give mind 5 and that the body, how nicely tj #(1 )%•■■■ '■'.'KM 1^ r., A.- >^i It^ I' eV'^t tit mf^ 56 Introduction, ^c. Part 1. soever formed, is formed to very limited ends, when there is not infused a soul to direct its operations. SECTION V. The four seasons. 1. Who is this beautiful virgin that approa-ches, 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, and the ice which was in the rivers, melt away when she breathes upon them. 2. The young lambs frisk about her, and the birds war- ble in their little throats to welcome her coming; and when they see her, they begin to choose 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 is hot, and sultry; she seeks the refreshment of the cool shade; she seeks the clear streams, the crystal brooks, to bathe her languid limbs. The brooks and rivulets fly 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, and the red pulp of the juicy i:herry, which are poured out plentifully around her. 2. The tanned haymakers welcome her comL.g ; 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 j— let me walk with her in the early morning, when the dew is yet upon the grass ; — let me wander with her in the soft twilight, when the shepherd shuts his fold, 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 i 5 her name. 1. Who is he that comes with sober pace, stealing upon us unawares ? His garments are red with the blood of the grape, and his temples are bound with a sheaf of ripe wheat. His hair is thin and begins to fall, and the auburi: IS mixed with mournful gray. He shakes the brown nuts from the tree. f (j/iap, 4. Descriptive Pieces. 57 2. He winds the horn, and calls the hunters to their fiport. The gun sounds. The trembling partridge and the beautiful pheasant flutter, bleeding in the air, and f»ll 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 the blazing fire, high piled upon the hearth. . He binds skates to his feet, and skims over the frozen lakes. His breath is piercing and cold, and no little flower dares to peep above the surface of the ground, when he is by. 2. Whatever he touches turns to ice. If he were to strike 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. 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 fold themselves up, and hang their heads on the slender stalk. The chick- ens are gathered under the wing of the hen, and are at rest : the hen herself is at rest also. The litUe 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 amongst the honeyed woodbines ; they have done their 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 amongst the hiils. There is no sound of a number of voices, or of children at play, or the trampling of busy feet, and of people hurrying to and fro. The smith's hammer is not heai-d upon the an- vil ; nor the harsh saw of the carpenter. All men are stretched on their quiet beds : and the child sleeps upon tiieoreast oi its momer. jL/arKucaa xb api ^aa v;rv.« ii^^ ^«i-.3, and darkness is upon the ground : every eye is shut, and every hand is still. m i •■'4 ti.K- \ f.if i f. 'if ■yKi !.** -■: 18 Introduction^ fyc* Part U I*,;-" K r*j • •■ , IP:' m „''.». a' »• I'- Mi' i 't*^ "■ 3. Who takes care of all people, when they are sunk fh ifteep : 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 ofver all the families of the earth. The eye that sleeps not is God's 5 his hand is always stretched out over us. He ma4e 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 fin- gei' 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 us ; 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 Ixttle humming insect, sleep quietly, for God watches ewer you. You my.y sleep, for he never sleeps : you may -dose your eyes in safety, for his eye is always open t^ pro- tect you. e>. When the darkness is passed away, and the beams of the morning sun strike through your eye-lids, begin the •flay 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 I Birds, when you awake, warble your thanks amongst the green boughs! Bing to him before you sing to your mates ! — Let his praise be in our hearts, when we lie down ; let his praise be on <5ur lips, when we awake. barbaulj). SECTION vn. 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 niorning breathes from her lips ; joy, tempered with inno- cence and modesty, sparkles in her eyes j and the cheeu^ fulness of her heart appears in all her movements. Her txame is Health : she is the daughter of Exercise and Tern- 1 :f Part U sunk fti ? see iJf sleeps ; 5 in the iun, nop nor any hat eye itinually ieps not IS. He le nvade her fin- ir infant I its bed, id draws il things ay sleep ren, and watches ^ou may ti t^ pro- beams of egin the through ead your hen you boughs! lis praise Lse be on 3AULJ). d with a ss of the ith inno- lie cheeu^ ts. Her ind Tem- Chap, 4. Descriptive Pieces, »Q perance. Their sons inhabit the mountains and the plain. They are brave, active, and lively, and partakr 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 tli^ir father excite their appetites f and the repasts of their mother refresh them. To combat the passions is their delight ; to conquer evil habits, their glo- ry. Their pleasures are moderate, and therefore they en- dure : their repose 's short, but sound and undisturbed* Their blood is pure ; their minds are serene ; and the physician does not find the way to their habitations. ECONOMY OF HUMAN LIFE. SECTION vin. « 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 overflow for the benefit of mankind. He assists the poor in their trouble f he rejoices in promoting the welfare of all men. He does not harshly censure his neighbour ; he believes not the tales of envy and malevolence, nor repeats their slanders. 2. He forgives the injuries of men ; he wipes them from hU remembrance : revenge and malice have no place ill his heart. For evil he returns not evil : he hates not even his enemies ; but requites their injustice with friendly ad- monition. The griefs and anxieties of men excite hh compassion ; he endeavours to alleviate the weight of their misfortunes ; and the pleasure of success rewards hia labour. 3. He calms the fury, he heals the quarrels of angry men : and prevents the mischiefs of strife and animosity. He promotes in his neighbourhood peace and good will j and his name is repeated with praise and benedictions. ECONOMY OF HUMAN LIFB. SECTION IX. Grnlilude, 1. As the branches of a tree return their sap to the rooi, /» _„- _.-! - .. 't. _..~.... . »>o « ..i.xii. .-.mii.c ito ctl'»»<>m« to tl\R ironi WilCiiCC IL arOsf i ua u tiivl j/vratj ii.r 31.^-- — ' sea, whence its spring was supplied ; so the heart of a grateful man delights in returning a benefit received. He u ■Mi «* ."i-w w m &^ 60 Introduction, fye. Part U 1%: ■jj'r (1 ■. '^i ■' M v^^.% 1: VK ■■ >■•. acknowledges his obligation with cheerfulness ; he looks on his benefactor with love and esteem. And if to return a favour be not in his power, he cherishes the remem- brance of it through life. 2. The hand of the generous man ,is like the clouds of he?iven, 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 produces 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 j though the act of ge- nerosity commands admiration 5 yet the humility of gra- titude touches the heart, and is amiable in the sight both of Qod 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 5 it spread its leaves to the morning sun. I returned : it was dying upon its stalk ; the grace of the form of it was gone : its loveliness was vanished away; its leaves were scattered on the ground, and no one gathered them again. 2. A stately tree grew on the plain 5 its branches were covered with verdure ; its boughs spread wide, and made a goodly shadow ; the trunk was like a strong pillar ; 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 decayed ; it mouldered away and fell to the ground. 3. I have seen the insects sporting in the sunshine, and darting along the streams 5 their wings glittered with gold and purple; their bodies shone like the green emerald; tliey were more numerous than I could count ; their mo- tions 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 j the pike had seized them ; there were none found of so great a multitude. 4. J have seen man In the pride of his strength ; his th« the Chap. 4. Descriptive Pieces, ^^ cheeks glowed with beauty 5 his limbs were full of activity ; he leaped 5 he walked; he ran 5 he rejoiced in that he was more excellent than those. I returned : he lay stiff and cold on the bare ground ; his feet could no longer move, nor his hands stretch themselves outj his lite was de- parted 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 Hower withering on the stalk, and its bright leaves spread on the ground.— I looked again ;--it sprung forth afiesh 5 its stem was crowned with new buds, and its sweetness filled the air. , , , j c 2. I have seen the sun set in the west, and the shades ot niffht shut in the wide horizon : there was no colour, nor shape, nor beauty, nor music ; gloom and darkness brood- ed 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 ^T.^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 wmgs through the soft air 5 it rejoiced in its nevv being. 4. Thus shall it be with thee, O man! and so shall thy life be renewed. Beauty shall spring up out oi ashes, and life out of the dust. A little while shalt thou he m the ground, as the seed lies in the bosom of the earth : but thou Shalt be raised again ; and thou shalt never die anymore. 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 descend on a fiery cloud ; the sound of a trumpet goes bf ore ^um , thousands of angels are on his right hand.-It is Jesus tL Son of God : the saviour of men ; the friend of the g;;d. He comes in the glory ofhis Father; he has receiv- ed power from on high. F f 4^ '$ - J", m It..- ■y\ im- ISx m f-l'K I 1''' 4')' \t<-3 ■ .-*'■■ M>K 0% Introduction, ^c. Port U 6. Mourn not, therefore, child of immortality I for the spoiler, the cruel spoiler, that laid waste the works of God, is subdued. Jesus has conquered death :— child ot im- mortality! mourn no longer. BARBAULD. SECTION XII. Heaven. 1. The rose is sweet, but it is surrounded with thorns : theiily of the valley is fragrant, but it springs up amongst the brambles. The spring is pleasant, but it is soon past : the summer is bright, but the winter detroys its beauty. The rainljow is very glorious, out 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 brambles. In that hnd, there is eternal spring, and light without any cloud. The tree of life grows in the midst thereof; rivers of plea- sure are there, and flowers, that never fade. Myriads of happy spirits are there, and surround the throne of God ■vrith a perpetual hymn. , ; 3. The angels with their ?rolden harps sing praises con- tinually, and the cherubim fly on wings of fire! — This country is heaven : it is the country of those that are good ; and nothing that is wicked must inhabit there. The toad must not spit its venom amongst turtle-doves; nor the poisonous henbane grow amongst sweet flowers. Neither must any one that does ill, enter into that good land. ^ 4. Thif. earth is pleasant, for it is God's earth ; and it is Blled with many delightful things. But that country is far better : there we shall not grieve any more nor be sick any more, nor do wrong any more ; there the cold of win- ter 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 se- parated no more. There we shall meet all good men, whom we read of in holy books. There we shall see Abra- ham, the called of God, the father of the faithful; and Moses, after his long vvanderings in the Arabian -^esert; and Elijah, the prophet of God ; and Dantel, who escaped the [ions' den ; and there the son of Jesse, the shepherd 1^.-^ i-S fi*!-.'!' Chiip. S. . Dialogues. W king, the sweet singer of Israel. They loved God. on earth ; they praised him on earth ; but in that country they will praise him better, and love him more. 6. There we shall see Jesus, who is gone before tts to that happy place ; and there we shall behold the glory of the high God. We cannot see him here, but we will low 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 forever, even for eternal ages. barbauld. CHAPTER V. DIALOGUES. SECTION I. CANUTE AND HIS COURTIERS. Flattery reproved. Ckinute. Is it true, my fiiends, as you have often told me, that I am the greatest of monarchs ? Oj^a. It is true, my liege ; you are the most powerful of all kings. Oswald. We are all your slaves; we kiss the dust of your feet, 0/a. Not only we, but even the elements, are your sJaves. The land obeys you from shore to shore ; and th« se^ obeys you. Canute. Does the sea, with its loud boisterous waves, obey me ? Will that terrible element be still at my bidding ? OJJ^a. Yes, the sea is yours ; it was made to bear your Ships upon its bosom, aiid to pour the treasures of th« world at your royal feet. It is boisterous to your enemies, liut it knows you to be its sovereign. Canute. Is not the tide coming up ? Oswald. Yes, my liege ; you may perceive the swell at- i-eady. Canute. Bring me a chair then; set it here Upon the sands. . Ojfa. Where the tide is coming up, my graciou? lord ? Canute. Yes, set it just here. Os\^M (^Me.) I wonder what he is going l9Jk>\ ■ '"'li.i.i ■ V'L- . ■■ , V' ■'1 ■1^ 64 Introduction^ ^c. Part 1. m ,H-M . If. ; 'Ski'-.-'' *1/^ Offa. (Asifk.) Surely he is not so silly as to believe us. Canute. O mighty Ocean! thou art my subject; my courtiers tell me so j and it is thy duty to obey me. 1 hus, then, I stretch my sceptre over thee, and command thee to retire. Roll back thy swelling waves, nor let them pre- sume to wet the feet of me, thy royal master. Oswald. (Jlside.) 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 the chair. It is folly to stav ; we shall be covered with salt water. ^ Canute. Well, does the sea olioy my commands ? It it be my subject, it is a verv rebellious subjccl. 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 vour base lies? that I l)elicved your abject flat- teries ? Know, there is but one Beiiry whom the sea will obey. He is sovereii^n of heaven arid 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 staved." A king is but a man ; and a man is but a worm. Shall a worm assume the power ot the great God, and think the elements will obey him ? May kings learn to be humble from my example, and courtiers Learn truth from your disgrace ! dR« aikin. SECTION IT. THE TWO ROBBERS. We often condemn in others what we practise ourselves. Alexander the Great in his tent. £ man with a fierce coun- tenance, chained and fettered, tn'oui^ht before km. Mxandar. Wh.vf, art thou the Thracian robber, oi whose exploits I have heard so much ? Robber. I am a Thracian, and a soldier. Mxander. A soldier!— a thief, a plunderer, an assassin, the pest of the country! I could honour thy courage, butl must detest and punish thy crimes. Robber. What have I done of which you can complain i Alexander. Hast thou not set at defiance my authority ; 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 to m- 'i;*,- ^'a*» little l^Ha/m* Dialogues. «5 flict. But my soul is unconquered ; and if I reply at all to your reproaches, I will reply like a free man. Mlexander. Speak freely. Far be it from me to take the advantage of my power, to silence those with whom I deign to converse! Hobber. I must then answer your question by another. How have you passed your life ? Mexander. Like a hero. Ask Fume, and she will tell you. Among the brave, I have been the bravest: among so- vereigns, the noblest : among conquerors, the mightiest. Robber. And does not Fame speak of me, too ? 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 are you but a robbcr—a base, dis- honest robber ? Robber. And what is a conqueror ? Have not you, too, gone about the earth like an evil genius, blasting the fail fruits of peace and industry; plundering, ravaging, killing, without law, without justice, merely to gratify an insatiable lust for dominion ? All that I have done to a single district with a hundred followers, you have done to whole nations with a hundred thousand. If I have stripped individuals, you have ruined kings and princes. If I have burned a few hamlets, you have desolated the most flourishing kingdoms 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 I ? Alexander. But if I have taken like a king, I have given like a king. If I have subverted empires, I have founded greater. I have cherished arts, commerce, 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 5 and have stretch- ed out my protecting arm over the oppressed* I know, indeed, little of the philosophy you talk of; but I believe neither you nor I shall ever atone to the world, for the mischiefs we have done it. . Mexander. Leave me— Take off his chains, and use him ^ell.— Are we then so much alike '—Alexander to a rob- ber ? — ^Let me reflect. ^R« aimn. '1' •1 • ■"■■il: % ^''^^■ '•Jr *•: > >^ m '^i \ ,:• •;r*' •M\ f',*' mJ 66 Introduction, fyc. Psft l» .•■-lilf SECTION III. A FAMILY CONVERSATION. On the slavery of the negroes. Msusta. My dear papa, you once informed me, that in the West-Indies, all laborious operations were pertormed by negro slaves. Are those islands inhabited by negroes ? I thought these people were natives of Africa. Father. You are right, my dear; they are, mdeed, da- tives of Africa ; but they have been snatched, by the hand of violence, from their country, friends, and connexions. I am ashamed to confess, that many ships are annually sent from different parts of England, to the coast of Guinea, to procure slaves >rom that unhappy country, for the use of our West-India islands, where they are sold to the plant- ers of sugar-plantations ; and afterwards employed in the hardest and most servile occupations ; and pass the rest oi their lives in slavery and wretchedness. Sophia. How much my heart feels for them! How ago- nizing must it be, to be separated from one's near relations ; parents perhaps divided from their children forever 5 hus- bands 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 ? Mother. Many causes have operated to induce the Afri- can princes to become assistants in this infamous traffic : and instead of being the defenders of their harmless peo- ple, 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 immoderately fond. They have fomented jealousies, and excited wars, amongst them, merely for the sake of obtaining the prisoners of war for slaves. Fre- quently 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 extremely cruel, before thev would undertake such an employment Mother. There is reason to believe that most of them, by the habits of sucb. a life, are become deaf to the voice of pity : we must, however, compassionate the situation of those, whose parents have early bred them to this pro- Chap, a* fession fc employir What I : rows. "^ crowded want of stances they con fuge fro West-In they are Their ft master, the ovei feeling •< the poo; indoleni ca, the) of seve soften i dition b ciuently is calle< length ' sensibil pUcatec knowle human Augi have h( say, th and thi but stri Fnth in misl reason which Leadir can ha fall int rious s for sle ing th '>»'. m- '^ * i>' iilf Oiap/i: Diahgua. 67 fession before they were of an age to choose a diftferent emnloyment. But to resume the subject of the negroes. What I have related is only the beginnrng of their sor- rows When they are put on board the ships, they are crowded together in the hold, where many of them die for w^ of air and room. There have been frequent m- stances of their throwing themselves into the sea, when hey could find an opportunity, and seekmg m de'^th a re- fuee from their calamity. As soon as they arrive m the West InSes, thev are carried to a public market, where they a "old to ihe best bidder, like horses at our fairs Their future lot depends much upon the disposition of the mas er into whose hands they happen to iall ; for among Se o'er eers of sugar-plantations, there are some men of feei;n.'and humanity : but too generally the treatment ol the Sor ne'A^:'m i> V;? MM M' 68 Introduction, ^'C, Part h ly'/i*' ..- •A ^1^ 1", * ' , ■ tilt '!<'!• . >y ..■ ' diflfer f?^ .:*^* v**»^. ..jm us in any thing but colour; which distinxtion arises from the intense heat of th^ir climate. There have been instances of a few, whose situation has been favour- able 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 m- human traffic. . , Charles. My indignation rises at this recitai. vV hy does not the British pariiameiit exert its powers to avenge the wrongs of these oppressed Africans ? What can prevent an act being passed to forbid Englishmen from buying and selling slaves 1 , . , Father. Many 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 Diviue Providence, who cares for all creatures, that the day will come when their rights will be considered : and there is great reason to hope, from the light already cast upon the subject, that the rising generation will prefer justice and mercy, to in- terest and policy ; and will free themselves from the odium . we at present suffer, of treating our fellow -creatures in a manner unworthy of them and of ourselves. Mother. Henry, repeat lat beautiful ui)Ostrophe to a negro woman, which you learned the other day out of Bar- bauld's Hymns. ^ ... Henry. " Negro woman, who sittest pinmg m captivity, and weepest over thy sick child, though no one sees thee, God sees thee ; though no one pities thee, (iod pities thee. Raise thy voice, forlorn and abandoned one ; call upon him from amidst thy bonds, for assuredly ho will hear thee. " Cecilia. I think no riches could tempt me to have anv share in the slave-trade, I could never enjoy peace ol 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 r ^ CpriUn- T would forec-o any indulgence to alleviate their sufferings. ^ „ « , • j The rest of the children together. We are all of the samemmd. '.♦T '. °art 1. inction e have ^avour- rers of . moral xiilt to and in- ly does ige the Drevent buying L", have for the nuance but we idence, e when reason >ct, that , to in- i odium . •es in a be to a of Bar- iptivity, ;es thee, ies thee. lU upon irthee." lave any peace of s of my 1 to the umerous lur? ate their nemind. 1 Chap. 5. Diahgues. 69 Mother. I admire the sensibility of your uncorrupted 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 princi- ple of benevolence, which excites your just indignation at the oppression of the negrots, 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 domestics ; requiring no more of them, than you would be willing to perform in their situation ; in- structing them when you have opportunity ; sympathizing in their afflictions, and promoting their best interests to the utmost of your power.* SFXTION IV. The father redeemed from slavery by his son. A YOUNG man, named Robert, was sitting alone in his boat in the harbour of Marseilles. A stranger stepped in, and took his seat near him, but quickly rose again ; ob- serving', that since the master was not present, he would take another boat. "This, sir, is mine," said Robert: "would you sail without the harbour?" — "I meant only to move about in the basin, and enjoy the coolness of this fine evening. But I cannot believe you are a sailor." — '* Nor am I : yet on Sundays and holydays, I act the barge- man, with a view to make up a sum." — " 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 mis- taken. Let US take our little cruise of pleasure ; and ac- (juaint me with your history." The stranger having resumed his seat, the dialogue, af- ter a short pause, proceeded thus. " I perceive, young man, you are sad. What grieves you thus ?"— " My fa- ther, 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 ves- sel was captured by a Barbary corsair 5 and my father was * It will, doubtless, be gratifying to the youn°: reader, to be informed, that since this Dialogue was written, the Slave Trade has been happily abolished by the British Parliament. This memorable, though late tri- umph of justice and humanity, was eflfected in the year 1807. m ' .-''1. '■!; m ,v;-i-.:v-'!| ••,.\:-'»-v. I M-*::^ >.► •-ft. m ■'*: I II j^'t *■'.■■■ -if:'. ■.W" ?"^.i 70 Introduction^ ^'C. Po,rt 1 conducted to Tetuan, where he is now a slave. They re- fuse to release him for less than two thousand crowns, a sum which far exceeds our scanty means. However, we do our best. INIy mother and sisters work day and night. I ply hard at my stated occupation of a journeyman jew- eller ; and, as you perceive, make the most I can of Sun- days and holydays. I had resolved to put myself in my fa- ther's stead; but my mother, apprized of m.y desi^ni, and dreading the double privation of a husband and an only son, requested the Levant captaiivi to refuse^ me a pas- sage."—" Pray do you ever hear from yoiir lather?^ L ri- der what name does he pass ? or what is his master's ad- dress?" ^" His master is overseer of the royal gardens at Fez ; and mv father's name is Robert a< Tetuan, as at Mar- seilles."— "Robert, overseer of the royal :^-arcleus r"— 4t Yes sir." — " I am touched with your misfortunes j but venture to predict their termination." Night drew on apace. The stranger, upon landmg, thrust into young Robert's hand a purse containing eight double louis d'ors, vvdth ten crowns in silver, and histantly disappeared. Six weeks passed after this adventure ; and each v^- tuniing sun bore witness to the unremitting exertions of the good family. As they sat one day at their unsavoury meal of bread and dried almonds, old Robc-t entered the apartment, in a garb little suited to a fugitive prisoner 5 tenderly embraced his wife and children, and thanked Uiem, with tears of gratitude, for the tifvy louis they had caused to be remitted to him on his sailing froni Tetuan, for his free passage, and a comfortable supply of wearing apparel. His astonished relatives eyed one another in si- lence. At length, the mother, suspecting that her son had secretly concerted the whole plan, recounted the va- rious instances of his zeal and aflection. '" Six thousand livres," continued she, " is the sum we wanted ; and we had already procured somewhat more than the halt, ow- ing chiefly to his industry. Some friends, no doubt,^have assisted him upon an emergency like the present." ^ A Hoomy suggestion crossed the father's mind. Turning suddenly to his son, and eyeing him with the sternness of distraction, " Unfortunate boy," exclaimed he, " what have you done ? How can I be indebted to you for my freedom, and not regret it ? How could you effect my ransom with- Part 1 They re- rowns, a ever, we id night, iian jew- 1 of Sun- Ln mv fa- lig-n, and 1 an only e a pas- icr ? Un- stcr's ad- irdens at < £,1 ?vlar- leiis r"— - nes J but hmdhig-, ing' eight instantly each rc- irtions of nsavoury tered the :)risoner *, thanked they had 1 Tetiian, f wearing- her in si- : her son d the va- thousand . ; and we half, ow- ubt, have ient." A Turning ernness of what have ;' freedom, som with- (TAftp. S. Dialogues, '^^ out your mother's knowledge, unless at the expense of vir- tue ? I tremble at the thought of filial affection having be- trayed you into guilt. Tell the truth at once, whatever may be the consequence."—" Calm your apprehensions, my dearest father," cried the son, embracing him. ' No, I am not unworthy of such a parent, though fortune has denied me the satisfaction of proving the full strength ot 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 inquiries. Should I pass my life in the pursuit, I must endeavour to meet with him, and invite him to contemplate the fruits of his bene- ficence." He then related to his father all that passed mthe pleasure-boat, and removed every distressing suspicion. Restored to the bosom of his family, the father again partook of their jovs, prospered in his dealings, and saw his children comfortably established. Some time after- wards, 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 familv, to share the happiness he had been the means of producing. The stranger again disappeared in the crowd— but, reader, this stranger was Montesquieu. muirhead's travels. SECTION V. THE TUTOR AND HIS PUPILS. Eyes and no eyes; or, the art of seeing. Well, Robert, where have you been walking this after- noon ? (said a Tutor to one of his pupils at the close of a holy day.) f, i Robert. I have been to Broom-heath, and so round by the windmill upon Camp-mount, and home through the mea- dows by the river side. Tutor. Well, that is a pleasant round. Robert. I thought it very dull, sir ,• I scarcely met with a single person. I would much rather have gone along the turnpike-road. Tutor. Whv, if seeing men and horses is your object, you would, indeed, be better entertained on the high-road. Ti.,i- (jj^d ^'! F<^e. William ? " Robert. We set out together, but he lagged behind in the lane, so I walked on and left him. •-If ^ '■^- V- ^ -4 •'■: ■ifi.' •::^'! '"'■/. m My.. i'^ ' i*^,' \ ft: 1; " ** ■; ' i h ' •■ 1 -rf Introduction, &!•€. PartU Chap. 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 ? , ^ „ -n Tilliam. O, the pleasantest walk ! I went all over Broom- heath, and so up to the mill at the top of the hill, andthen down among the green meadows by the 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, th .-u 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. However, I spied a curious thing enough in the hedge. It was an old crab-tree, out of which grew a great bunch of something green, quite different from the tree itself Here is a branch of it. Tutor. Ahl this is mistletoe, a plant of great fame for the use made of it by the Druids of old, in their religious rites and hicantations. It bears a very slimy white berry, of which birdlime may be made, whence the Latmname viscus. It is one of those plants which do not grow in the ground by a root of their own, but fix themselves upon other plants : whence they have been humorously styled jiarasHiml^ i.s being hangers-on, or dependents. It was the mistletoe of the oak that the Druids particularly honoured. William. A little further on I saw a green woodpecker fly to a tree, and run up the trunk like a cat. Tutor. That was to seek for insects in the baik, on which they live. They bore holes with theii- strong bills for that purpose, and do much damage to the t'ce;. by it. yviuiam. vvnaibeauuiui uncig lucj- mt. Tutor, Yes ; they have been called, from theii colour and size, the English parrot -73 heath, how chann- Chap. 5. Dialogues. William. When I got upon the oj ing it was! The air seemed so fresh, and the prospect on every side so free and unbounded! Then it was all cover- ed with gay flowers, many of which I hid never observed before. There were at least three ki'^ds of heath, (I have got them in my handkerchief 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. Tuto^r. '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 Sus 8CX, 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 distinctly, 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 tumbled close to the ground ; but as I came near, he alwavs contrived to get away. Tutor. Ha, ha! you were finely taken in, thenl 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 crea- ture 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 1 have known several turf-cuttcrs bitten oy them. q '/i ■- ■*"n' !;'■•*■■»;■•" '■ -mi if*. ' '■^ •? ^'j "■^1 ■m ••.-GJi? m. m ■A It. 74 Introduction^ ^'C. Part \* William. They are very venemous, 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 wm*- mill on the mount. I climbed up the steps of the mill m order to get a better view of the country round. What an extensive prospect ! I counted fifteen church steeples ; and 1 saw several gentlemen's houses peeping out from tlie midst of green woods and plantations ; and I could trace the windinp-s of the river all along the low grounds, tiJl 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 Carey's county map, by which I shall probably be able to mak-e out most of the places. Tutor. You shall have it, and I will go with you, and take mv pocket spving-glass. William. I shall be very glad of that. Well— a thought struck me, that as the hill is called Camp-mount, there might probably be some remains of ditches and mounds, with which I have read that camps were surrounded. And I really believe I discovered something of that sort run- ning 'ound one side of the mount. Tutor. Very likely you might. I know antiquaries ha^■« described such remains as existing there, which some sup- pose to be Roman, others Danish. We will examirie tliem further when Ave go. William. From the hill I went straight down to the meadows below, and walked on the side of a brook that nins into the river. It was all bordered with reeds, and flags, and tall flowering plants, quite difl'erent from those I had seen on the heath. As I was getting down the bank to reach one of them, I heard something 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 preat many large dragon flies aU 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 tlie 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. It was somewhat less than a tlirush, and had a large head and bill, and a short tail. I and Chap. 5. Dialogues. ^ fS Tuto" I can tell you what that bird was— a kingfisher, 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. • w i , • f„„ i Williajn. I must try to get another sight of him, ioi I never saw a bird that pleased me so much. Well, 1 lol- lowed this little brook till it entered the river, and then took the path that runs aloniv the bank. ()n the opposite side, I observed several little birds runnin,^^ alon;^ 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 oi the nu- merous family of birds that get their living by wading among the shallows, and picking up worms and insects. WiMiam. 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. „ , r Tufor Those were sand-martins, the smallest ot 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, whicli run a great depth, and by their situation are secure from all plun- ^^ William. A little further I saw a man in a boat, who ■ ■'"4'i m Mi I dent onlv tnere were uvc iiioiv.«.^ ^ -— pushed straight down into the mud, in the deepest parte of the river, and fetched up the eels stickmg between the ^"^Tutl'r. I have seen this method. It is called, spearing fif eels Wuiiam. While I was looking at him, a heron came flvin" ov^r mv head, with his large flaggmg wings. He alighted at the next turn of the river, and I crept solt y be- h fd the bank to watch his motions. He had waded mto •;K^" It/. : '\. I: If"'*, ^'a ■■■• Pr*' <«■ V ;. .- • ' at'- •' * 76 Introduction, ^'c. Part I. the water as (\ir as his loir^ legs would curry him, and was standing with his neck drawn in, U)oking intently on the stream. Presently he darled his long bill as quick as lightning into the water, and » PERCIVAL. SECTION III. The Supreme Ruler of the world. 1. Many kingdoms, and countries full of people, and islands, and large continents, and different climes, make np this whole world: God governs it. The people swarm upon the face of it like ants upon a hillock. Some are black with the hot sun ; some cover themselves with furs agLiinst the sharp cold ', some drink of the fruit of the vine ; some of the pleasant milk of the cocoa-nut ; and oUiers 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 dif- ferent languages, but he understands them all ; he hears t!;em all ; he takes care of all : none are so great that he cannot punish them j none are so mean, that he will not protect them. ^ ... ,. ., , 3. Negro woman, who sittest pmmg m captivity, and weepest over thy sick child ; though no one sees thee, God sees thee ; though no one pities thee, God pities U:iee. Raise thy voice, forlorn and abandoned one ; call upon him from amidst thy bonds ; for assuredly he will hear thee.—Monarch, that rulest over a hundred states ; whose frown is terrible as death, and whose armies cover the laud, boast not thyself as though there were none above tliec. God is above thee ; his powerful arm is always crver thee ; and if thou doest ill, assuredly he will pun- 4. 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 anv one whom he hath not blessed ? let him not praise l^jj^ BAaBAULD. . it m J, HT ■>> vl >-■■'»■'.'■ • , 11 .1 ■ *'*- ■ '•>'' ,' ' • **' ;:»a^ Yi i*' ':uy.. ^ .* ;t ■ p m * » fe ' '' 1:. . s <.* * r '?■.; 82 Introduction^ 8fC. Part IV m X. > ^^ *f> ■*■«■'* ■ ■f'l. '<•' f W- ■' - / f me. Vain is thine oblation of thanksgiving, without a lowly heart. , , . . , ^^ , 5 i' As a bulrush thou mayest bow clown thine head, and'lifi up thy voice like a trumpet; but thou obey est not the ordinance of thv God if thy worship be for strife aiiQ debate. Behold the sacrifice that 1 have chosen : is it not to undo the heavy burdens ; to let the oppressed go iree ; 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 ot God. Ana he arose, and put on sackcloth and ashes ; and v^ent out into the wilderness, to do as the Lord had commanded him. PEHCIVAL. SECTION VI. The folly of pride. 1 If there be any thing which makes human nature ap- pear ridiculous to beings of superior faculties, it must be Jnide They know so well the vanity of those imaginary perfections that swell the heart of man, and of those little superni-merary advantages of birth, fortune, or title, which one 11) an enjoys above another, that it must certainly very much astcaiish, if it does not very much divert them, when thevsec a mortal puffed up, and valuing himselt alcove his neighbours, on any of these accounts, at the same time that he is liable to all the common calamities ot the species. ^^ 2. To set this thought in its true light, we shall lancy, il you please, that yonder molehill is inhabited by reasonable creatures ', and that every pismire (his shape and way ot life only excepted) is endowed with human passions. How should we smile to hear one give an account of the pedi- P-rees, distinctions, and titles, that reign among them. . " ^,. Observe hov/ the whole swarm divide, and ixiake way f for the pismire that passes along ! You must understand '' he is an emmet of quality, and has better blood m his veins than any pismire in the molehill. Do not you see how sen- sible he is of it, how slowly he marches forward, how the whole rabble of ants keep their distance ? . , . 4. Here you may observe one placed anon a little emi- nence, and looking down on a long row of labourers. He i^ thp richest insect on this side the hillock: he has a walk of half a yard in length, and a q\iarter ot an inch in breadth : he keeps a hund^ed menial servants, and has at 8. :hout a i head, i^est not [•ife and s it not JO free ; lungry ; lOUse ?" . And ent out ed him. IIVAL. ture ap- must be I aginary )se little e, which nly very m, when ]:»Qve his ime that pecies. fancy, if asonable :l way of ns. How :he pedi- heml iake wav der stand his veins how sen- how the ttle emi- ers. He he has a n inch in lid has at Chap. C. Promiscuous Fieces. 83 least fifteen barley-corns in his granary. He is now chid- ing and enslaving the emmet that stands before him; one who, for all that we can discover, is as good an emmet as himself. 5. But here comes an insect of rank! Do not you per- ceive the little white straw that he carries in his mouth r That straw, vou must understand, he would not part with for the longeJit tract about the molehill : you cannot con- ceive what he has undergone to purchase it ! See how the ants of all qualities and conditions swarm about hun. Should this straw drop out of his mouth, you v/ould sec ail this numerous circle of attendants follow the next that toolc it up ; and leave the discarded insect, or run over his baclv to come to his successor. 6. if now you have a mind to see the ladies oi the moie- hilU observe first the pismire that listens to the emmet on her left-hand, at the same time that she seems to turn a^yay her head from him. lie tells this poor insect that she is a superior bein:^; that her eyes are brighter than the sun : that life and death arc at her disposal. She believes him, and gives herself a thousand little airs upon it. 7. Mark the v anity of the pismire on her right-nand. She can scarcely crav.-i with age; but you must know she values herself upon her l3irth; and, if you mind, spurns at every one that comes within her reach, i he little nimoii- coquette that is running bv the side of her, is a wit. .-jhe has broken many a pismii-e's heart. Do but observe what a drove of admirers are running after her. 8. We shall here finish this imaginary scene. But iirst of all, to draw the parallel closer, we shall suppose, li you please, that death comes down upon the molehill, m tne shape of a cock-sparrow ; and picks up, without distinction, the pismire of (luality and his Ratterers, the pismire oi substance and his day-labourers, th- white straw oflicer and his sycophants, with all the ladies of rank, the wits, and the beauties of the molehill. 9. and among our own species, m cut oani^- n>^i.v» ^^ , -. they take a survey of those who inhabit this earth ; or, (in the language of an ingenious French poet,) of those pis- mires that people this heap of dirt, which human vanity has divided into climates and regions ? addiso%t. '>■■:$':> ••■'i others, s of bo- Avealth : whistle. \{r every lere seii- oroviding much for Promiscuous Pitces* 85 Chap. 6. 9. If I saw one fond of fine clothes, fine furniture, fine equipage, all above his fortune, for which he contracted debts and ended his career in prison ; Alar, ! said I, he has paid dear, very dear for his wlustle. 10. In short, I conceived that great part of the miseries 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 whistles. dR- franklin. SECTION VIII. A generous mind does not repine at the advantages others enjoy. 1. Ever charniiii?, over new. When will the landscape tire llie view: Tlie fountain's fall, the river's flow, The woody valleys warm and low ; The windy summit, wild and high, llougldy rusliing; o:i thf pky ; The pleasant seat, the ruin'd tovv'r, The naked rock, the shady bow'r ; The town and vjilage, dome and farm, Each g-ives each a double charm. K 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 appeared in all the gay atttre 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 yourselt 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 i present tliemselves to our view. The house, garden, and pleasure grounds of Eugcnio, formed a part of the pros- pect: and Alexis expressed a jocular wish, that he had more than an imaginary property in those possessions. 3. " Banish the ungcnei^ous desire," said Euphronius, '' for if you indulge such emotions as these, your heart will soon become a prev to envy and discontent. Enjoy, with gratitude, the blessini>:s >v iiich you have received from the liberal hand of Providence ; increase 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 filled, rejoice that your neighbour's overflows wiin plenty. Honour the abilities, and emulate the virtues, of '■''fa X- H^^ -■"'♦t v.; m ••^... 4fP. >■-'. A-ti I 90 Introduction, ^c. Pf^rt I. Eugenio : but repine not that he is wiser, richer, or more powerful, than yourself. 4 "His fortune is expended in acts of humanity, genero- sity" and hospitality. His superior talents are applied to the instruction of 'his children ; to the assistance ot his friends: to the encouraL,^emeut of agncultuie, and ot every useful P.rt; and to support the cause of hl)erly and the rights of manlund. And his power is ey.erted to punis^h the guilty, to protect the innocent, to reward the good, and to distribute justice, with an efjuui hand, to all. I feel the affection of a brother for Eugenio: and esteem myself singularly happy in his friendship." phiicival. SECTION IX. Insolent deportment towards inferiors reproved. 1. SACciiAPassA was about fifteen years of age Nature had given her a high spirit, and education had tostered it into pride and haughtiness. This temper was ( isplayea m every little competition, which she had with her compa- nion«. She could not brook the least opposition ironi those whom she regarded as her inferiors ; and il they did not instantly submit to her inclination, she assumed all her airs of dignity, and treated th.em witli the most supercilious contempt. She domineered over her father's servants; always commanding their good offu-es with the voice ot authority, and disdaining the gentle language ot request. 2. Euphronius was one day .valldng with her, when the gardener brought her a nosegay, which she had ordered him to collect. '' Blockhead!" she cried, as h.e delivered it to her; " what strange ilowers you have chosen : and how awkwardly you have put them together. ^- Blame not the man with so much harshness," said Euphronius, '< because his taste is different from yours! he meant to please you, and his good intention merits your thanks, and not your censure." "- Tha.iks!" replied' Sacchariss., scornfully, " He is paid for his services, and it is his duty to perform them." . j, . 5. <-<• \nd if he does perform them, he acquits himsell ot his duty," returned Euphroniui. '' The obligation is ful- filled on his side ; and you have no more right to upbraid •i _ e .o-">«^>"— 'T-^i'v. r^T^rif^r-c- nrr ni'flinfj' to his best ability, tlian he has to claim, from vour tatiier, more wages than wei-e convenanted to oe given nim.'^ *'But he is a poor ^art I. r more [veiiero- iliecl to i ot* his )f every nid the punish e g'ooii, ^ all. I esteem IV AL. Nature itered it luyed ill compa- im those did not licr airs ■nxilious ervants ; voice of request, vhen the ordered ilclivered UM\ ; and "• Blame )hronius, meant to ' thanks, xharissa, j his duty .imself of ion isful- 3 upbraid St ability, ages than is a poor Chap. 6. Promiscuous Pieces. 87 dependent," said Saccharissa, " and earns a livelihood by his daily labour." ■ ..... 4. "That livelihood," answered Euphronius, " is the just price of his labour ; and if he receive nothing farther from your hands, the account is balanced between 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 af- fection; studies to promote their interest and happiness; and, as much as possible, conceals from them their servi- tude, and his superiority. 0. " 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* inoral government, and joint heirs of immortality. A con- duct directed by such principles, gives a master claims, which no money can purchase, no labour can repay. His affection can only be compensated by love ; his kindness, by gratitude ; and his cordiality, by the service of the heart." percival. SECTION X. Arachne and Melissa; or, the happiness of cultivating a good temper. 1. A GOOD temper is one of the principal ingredients of happiness. This, it will be 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 cul- ture. Almost every object that attracts our notice, has a ])right and a dark side. , 2. He that habituates himself to look at the displeasing side will si.ur his disposition, and consequently impair his happiness; while he who beholds it on the bright side, insensibly meliorates his temper; and, by this means, im- proves his own happiness, and the-happiness of all about him. « . , rni, \'\ 3. Arachne and Melissa are two friends. They are alike in birth, fortune, education, and accomplishments. They were originallv alike in temper too; but by different ma- nagement, are' grown the reverse of each other. Arachne has accustomed herself to look only on ihe daiK siae oi every object. ■S1 ■ft**) I '■,■*'■»■ '' i'-i'' £•■.■■■-* ■ '.* ■•"'til .:>j^ ■ t j> '1 '"v-'V, 88 Introduction, ^'C Part 1. I 4. ' If a new literary vork makes its appearance, with a thousand beauties, and but one or two blemishes, she slightly skims over the passages that should give her pleasure, and dwells upon those only that fill her with dis- like. If you show hci- im excellent portrait, she looks at some part of the drapery, that has been neglected, or to a hand or finger which has been It'l't unfinished. 5. Her 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 de- lightful prospect, she observes to you, that there is too much wood, or too little water ; thr.t the day is too sunny, or too gloomy ; that it is sultry, or windy : and finishes with a long harangue upon the wretchedness of our cli- mate. 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 health, or of some melancholy accident that has befallen cue 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 habituating herself to look on the bright side of objects, she pre- serves 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 thankful to Providence foi an escape. 9. She rejoices in solitude, as it gives her an opportu nity of knowing herself; and in society, because she com- municates the happiness she enjoys. She opposes every man's virtues to his failings, and can find out something iu cherish and applaud, in the very worst of her acquaint- ance. 10. She opens every book with a desire to be entertain- ed or instructed i and therefore seldom misses what she looks for.— Walk with her, though it be but on a heath or a common, and she will discover numberless beauties, un- Chap. 6. Promiscuous Pieces. 89 observed before, in the hills, the dales, the brooms, brakes and variegated flowers, of weeds and poppies. She enjoys evwy chani^^e of weather, and of season, as bringing with it some advantages of health ov convenience. U. In conversation, you never hear her repeating her own grievauccs, or those of her neighbours, or (what is worst of ail) their faults and imperfections. If any thing of the latter kind is mentioned in her hearing, she has the addi'ess lo turn it into entertainment, by changing the most odious railing into a pleasant raillery. 12. Thus Melissa, like the bee, gathers honey Irom every weed J while Arachne, like the spider, sucks poison from the fairest flowers. The consequence is, that of two tempers, once very nearly 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. >^«^^^- SECTION XI. SOCRATES AND LEANDEIl. Disrespect to parents^ is in no case allowable. 1. Leander, the eldest son of Socrates, fell into a vio- lent passion with his mother. Socrates was witness to this shameful misbehaviour, and attempted the correction 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, Ire- quently," answered the youth. "And what is ingrati- tude?" demanded Socrates. '^ It is to receive a kindness, said Leander, '' without making a prpper return, when there is a favourable opportunity." ^ ^^ 3. " Ingratitude is therefore a species of injustice, said Socrates.' ''I should think so," answered Leander. " It then," pursued Socrates, " in-ratitude be injustice, does it not follow, that the degree of it must' be proportionate to the magnitude of the favours which have been receiv- ed ?" 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 ren- dered honourable, useful, and happy?" '^ acknowledge the truth of what you say," replied Leander; "but who H2 0ki \', ^^<. m ■ . -J -v* I ■■'■■.?*• ■ '■>' I .■ ■■/■•,•'. m 90 Introduction^ ^'c. Part \, 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 mor- tal can bear." ** How much more," said Socrates, " has she endured from your wran^liu^, frclfuliics^, and inces- sant cries, in the period of iid'aucy! What anxieties has she suffered from the levities, capriciousness, a!\d lollies, of your childhood and youth! What aniicLion has she felt, what toil and watching- has she sustained, in your illnesses . These, and various other powerl'ul luotivcs to Iilial duty and gratitude, have been reco,c,niized by the legislators of our republic. For il" any one be disrespectful to his parents, he is not permitted to enjoy any post of trust or honour. 6. " It is believed tliat a sacrifice, offered l)y an impious hand, can neither be acceptai>le to Heaven, nor prohtable to the state; and that an uiidulii'ul son cannot be capabk of performing any great action, or of executing justice with impartialitv. Therelbre, my son, if you In- wi.e, you will pray to Heaven to pardon the otVences comnuiLed against vuur mother. r. " Let no one discover the contempt with which you have treated her ; for the world will condemn, and abandon vou for such behaviour. And if it be even suspected, that you repay with ingratitude the good offices oi 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." rEuciVAL. SECTION XH. " SOCRATES AND DEMETRIUS. Brethren should dwell together in harmony. 1 Two brothers, named Timon and Demetrius, having quarrelled with each other, Socrates, their commori 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 -™, .. ennancement of the blessings of prosperity ?" " Certamly %-M it is,^' replied Demetrius ; " because our sorrows are dimi- %'1 nished, and our joys increased by sympathetic participa- jf m if k" ' ■ nil i . V '•' r'A*. -ni . I?" *.)■■". ->'■"■. ••.'•'■.vSt- . I .,>.- S.f, ^,-t tion 9 ' " \mongst whom, then, must we look for a friend ?" said Socrates. " Would you search among strangers ? I: -lift m Chap. fi. Promiscuous Pieces. 91 They cannot be interested about you. Amongst your ri- vals ? They have an interest in opposition to yours. \mongst those who are much older, or younger than your- self ? Their feelings and pursuits will be widely dirterent from yours. Are there not, then, some circumstances fa- vourable, and others essential, to the formation of frienct- 3. "Undoubtedly there are," answered Demetrius. " May we not enumerate," continued Socrates, " amongst the circumstanci favourable to friendship,^ long ac- quaintance, common connexions, similiuide of age, and union^ of interest r" " 1 acknowledge, said Demetrius, "• the powerful inlluence of these circumstances : but they may subsist, and yet others be wanting, that are essential to mutual amity. " , • i 4. *• And what," said Socrates, " are those essentials which arc 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 oi be- nevolence, generosity, gratitude, and other social afiec- t'ons ?" '' 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 unkind- >> 5. " Suppose you have a very valuable horse, resumed Socrates, " gentle under the treatment of others, but un- governable, when you attempt to use him ; would you not endeavour by all means, to conciliate his affection, and to treat him in'the way most likely to render him tractable r Or, if you have a dog, highly prized for his fidelity, watch- fulness, and care of your ilocks, who is lond of your shep- herds, and playful with them, and yet snarls whenever you come in his way ; Would you attempt to cure him ot 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 ot iar more worth, than the services of a horse, or the attachment of a doir? Why then do you delay to put in practice those means, which may reconcile you lu ximon . . ^.4..^...*. me with those n.eans," answered Demetrius, " lor 1 ana '.'.it} ;■• ■ • V ^1 IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) /. A M/..^' 1.0 I.I 11.25 IM 2.2 2.0 1.8 U 1 1.6 6" — ^ s /2 w m ^^ 'A s I ^m /^ W o 7 Photographic Sciences Corporation 4< ^' <> ;\ .A> ^/^., ^ ^^ > "%" 23 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580 (716) 871-4503 I. Iff A. m Rj? 92 Introducilo7ii ^-c. Part a stranger to them." *^ Answer me a icw questions," said Socrates. T. " 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 journey ?" — "I should be forward to do the same good oflice to him, in his absence." 8. ''If you be solicitous to remove a prejudice, which he may have received against you, how would you then behave towards him ?" — " I should endeavour to convince him, by my looks, words and actions, that such prejudice w-as ill founded." — '* And if he appeared inclined to recon- ciliation, would you reproach him with the injustice he had done you r" — " No," answered Demetrius ,• " I would re- peat no grievances." 9. "Go," said Socrates, "and pursue that conduct to- wards your brother, which you would practise to a neigh- bour. 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 breeding, 1. As learning, honour, and virtue, are absolutely ne- cessary to gain you the esteem and admiration of man- kind, 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 of the smaller talents, such as civility, affability, and an obliging, agree- able address and manner ; because 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, that al- ways hold true. For example, it is extremely rude not to give proper attention, and a civil answer, when people speak to you : or to go away, or be doing something else, while they are speaking to you ,• for that convinces them that you despise them, and do not think it worth youp while to hear, or answer, what they say. Promiscuous Pieces, 93 Chap. 6. 4. It is also very rude to take the best place in a room ; or to seize immediately upon what you like at table, with- out offering first to help others ; as if you considered no- body but yourself. On the contrary, you should always endeavour to procure all the conveniences you can, to the people you are with. 5. Besides being civil, which is absolutely necessary, the perfection of good breeding is, to be civil with ease, and in a becoming manner : — Awkwardness can proceed but from two causes j either from not having kept good company, or from not having attended to it. Attention is absolutely necessary for improving in bphaviour, as in- deed 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 cofTce on his clothes. At dinner his awkwardness distinguishes itself particularly, as he has more to do. 7. There, he holds his knife, fork, and spoon, differ- ently from other people ; eats with his knife, to the great danger of his lips j 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 commonly stuck throuc^h a button-hole, and tickles his chin. putting his finc^crs in his nose, or blowing it, and looking afterwards in liis handkerchief, 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 disa- greeable and ridiculous in company; and ought niost carefully to be guarded against, by every one that desires to please. 1 1. There is, likewise, an awkwardness of expression M -•w, and wurds. •I, F'*J ^4 Introduction, ^c. Part 1. English, bad pronunciation, old sayings, and vulgar pro- 'verbs ; which are so many proofs of a poor education. 12. For example, if instead f»f saying that tastes are dif- ferent, and that every man haij his own peculiar one, you should let off' a vulgar proverb, and say, " That what is oiie man's meat is another man's poison ;" or else, *' Eve- ry one to his liking, as the good man said when he kissed his cow;" the company would be persuaded that, you had never associated Vv-ith any but low persons. 13. To mistake or forget names; to speak of *' What- rrye-call-him," or, " Thingum," or, " How-d'yc-call-her,'* is excessively awkward and vulgar. To begin a story or narration, when you are not perfect 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 unplea- sant and bungling. 14. One must be extremely exact, clear, and perspicuous, in every thing one says ; otherwise, instead of entertaining Of informing others, one only tires and puzzles them. The voice and manner of speaking, too, are not to be neglect- ed. Some people almost shut their mouths when they speak 5 and mutter so, that they are not to be understood! others speak so fast, and sputter, that they are equally un- intelligible. 15.. Some always speak as loud as if they were talking to deaf people ; and others so low, that one cannot hear them. All these, and many other habits, are awkward and disagreeable, and are to be avoided by 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 extraordinary acts of valour; and had received many marks of Philip's appr. bation and favour. 2. On a particular occasion, this soldier embarked on Chdp. 6. Promiscuous Pieces. ' 95 board a vessel, which was wrecked by a violent storm ; and he was cast on the shore, helpless and naked, with scarce- ly any appearance of life. A Macedonian, whose lands were contiguous to the sea, came opportunely to be wit- ness of his distress 5 and, with the mos't humane and chari- table tenderness, 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 con- veniences which his languishing condition could require. 4. The soldier, thus happily rescued from death, was in- cessant in the warmest expressions of gratitude to his be- nefactor ; assured him of his interest with the king ; and of his determination to obtain for him, from the royal bounty, tlie noble returns which such extraordinary benevolence had merited. He Avas at length completely recovered ; and was supplied by his kind host with money to pursue his journey. 5. After some time, the soldier presented himself before the king; lie recounted his misfortunes ', lie magnified his services; and this inhuman wretch, 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 rcGpestthat the king would bestow upon him the house and lands, where he had been so tenderly and kindly entertained. 6. Unhappily, Philip, wit'. out examination, precipitately granted his infamous request. The soldier then returned to his 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 unpa- ralleled ingratitude and insensibility, boldly determined, 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 affecting 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 restored to th« man whose charitable offices had been thus horribly repaid; an^, to show his abhorrence of the deed, he caused the '.tj ■<«i <^''' •ar.il Me' ^k 96 Introduction^ SfC Part 1. 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 em- ployed, by the African^Association, to explore the inte- rior regions of Africa. In this hazardous undertaking, he encountered many dangers and difficulties. His wants were often supplied, and his distresses alleviated, by the kindness and compassion of the negroes. He gives the following lively and interesting account of the hospitable treatment he received from a poor negro woman. 2. *' Being arrived at Sego, the capital of the kingdom of Bambarra, situated on the banks of the Ni:^er, I wished to pass over to that part of the town in which the king resides : but, from the number of persons eager to ob- tain 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 Mansoug, 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 5 and that I must not presume to cross the river without the king's permission. 5. ** He therefore advised me to lodge, for that 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, as there was no remedy, I set off for the village ; where I found, to my great mortification, that no person would admit me iijto his house. From the prejudices infused into their Ttiinds, I was regarded with astonishment 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 uncomfortable; for the wind rose, and there was great appearance of a Part 1. ^nded on MITH. was em- he inte- king, he 13 wants by the ives the spitable ingdom '. wished he king r to ob- ng two ised the > that a ming to d men, see me, ry 5 and out the t night, , that in >ns how s there found, Imit me to their ar; and i, in the )rtable ; ice of a .iChap, 6. Promiscuous Pieces. 97 Kiavy rain : the wild beasts too were so numerous m the > neighbourhood, that I should have been under the ne- cessity 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, returning Irom the labours of the field, stopped to observe me ; and perceiving that I was weary and dejected, inquired' into my situation. 9. " I briefly explained it to her ; after which, with looks of great compassion, she took up mv 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 sup- per. ^ 11. " The rites of hospitality being thus performed to- wards^ a stranger in distress, my worthy benefactress (pomtmg 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 threat part of the night. *^ 12. " They ligntened their labour by songs, one of which was composed extempore j 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 man, faint and weary, came and sat under our tree, --He has no mother to bring him milk ; no wife to grind his corn. Choms. Let us pity the white man : no' mo- ther has he to bring him milk ; no wife to grind his corn.'* * These simple and pathetic sentiments have been very beautifully yersifie.1 and expanded, by the Dutchess of Devonshire. The follow ins is a copy of this little interesting piece of poetry. I ■■^ ^Vf ^■/: ... - .ifv. 'i' Introduetion, ^c. Pari I. % I* l^v. m, w: 98 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 kindness ; and sleep fled from my eyes. In the morning I presented to my com- passionate 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 Eussia. 1. Catharina Alexowna, born near Derpat, a little city in Livonia, was heir to no other inheritance than the vir- tues 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 con- tented. , , t 1 1 2. Here, retired from the gaze of the world, by the la- bours of her hands she supported her parent, who was now incapable of supporting herself. While Catharina spun, the old woman would sit by, and read some book of devotion. When the fatigues of the day were over, both 1. The loud wind roarM, the rain fell fast ; The white man yielded to the blast. He sat him down beneath the tree, For v/eary, sad, and faint was he : 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 hush'd the blast ; The wind 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. ! cHontJS. Go, white man, go ; but witli thee bear The negro's wish, the negro's pray'r, Remembrance of tlie negro's care. i Part I. reader, I was :ep fled ly com- which t was in VELS. ttle city the vir- ig dead, covered ery con- f the la- ^ho was itharina book of er, both Chap. 6. Promiscuous Pieces. 90 would sit down contentedly by the fiixs-slde, and enjoy their frugal meal. 3. Though Catharina's face and person wei*e models of perfection, yet her whole attention seemed bestowed upon her mind. Her mother taught her to read, and an old Lutheran minister instructed her in the maxims and duties of religion. Nature had 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 se- veral 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 hud been instructed from her childhood. In his house she resided, in quality of governess to his children j 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 ])arts 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 poorj where- fore Catharina, though possessed of so many accom- plishments, experienced all the miseries of hopeless in digence. Provisions becoming every day more scarce, and her private stock being entirely exhausted, she re- solved at last to travel to Marienburgh, a city of greater plenty. 8. With her scanty wardrobe, packed up in a wallet, »he set out on her journey, on foot. She was to walk through a region miserable by nature, but rendered still more liideous by the Swedes and Russians, who, as each happened to become masters, plundered it at discretion : but hunger had taught her to dispise the dangers and fa- tigues of the way. 9. One evening, upon her journey, as she had etitered a cottage by the way-side, to take up her lodging for the night, she was insulted by two Swedish soldiers. They m tuo Introduction, fyc. Part 1. T iff m might probably have carried their insults into violence, had not a subaltern officer, accidentally passing by, come in to her assistance. 10. Upon his appearing, the soldiers immediately de- sistedj 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 foi Catbarina. 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 countryman, 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 of his father's, the su- perintendent of Marienburgh. SECTION XVII. %^ The same subject continued. ■ 1. The beautiful stranger was well received at Marien- burgh. She was immediately admitted into the superin- tendent's family, as governess to his two daughters; and, though but seventeen, showed herself capable of instruct- ing her sex, not only in virtue, but in politeness. 2. Such were her good sense and beauty, that her mas- ter himself in a short time offered herhishand; which, to his great surprise, she thought proper to refuse. Actuated by a principle of gratitude, she was resolved to marry her de- liverer only, though he had lost an arm, and was other- wise 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 striking. The very day on which they were married, the Russians laid siege to Marienburgh. The unhappy soldier was im- mediately ordered to an attack, from which he never re- turned. 5. In the mean tii'ne, the siege went on with fury, ag- gravated on one side by obstinacy, on the other by revenge. The war between the two northeni powers at that time J*: m Part 1. iolence, ff come tely de- lan her tliverer, tructor^ iew foi tit from es were ► ho had trymaii, buy her tiers of the su- Marieii- juperin- rs; and, nstruct- ier raas- h, to his lated by her de- s other- Stations on duty, )oy; and triking. lussians was im- ever re- iiry, ag- 'evenge. lat time Chap. €. Promiscuous PiecM. 101 was truly barbarous: the innocent peasant, and the haim- less virgin, often shared the fate of the soldier in arms. 6. Marienburgh was taken by assaultj and such was the fury of the assailants, that not only the garrison, but al- most 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 conform to her hard fate, and learn what it was to be a slave. In this situation, however, she behaved witli piety and humilityj and though misfortunes had al)ated her vivacity, yet she was cheerful. 8. The fame of her merit and resignation reached even prince Menzikoff, the Russian general. He desired to see her; was pleased with her appearance; bought her from the soldier, her master; and placed her under the direction oCJJBfi own sister. Here she was treated with all the res- ^which her merit deserved, while her beauty every improved with her good fortune. She had not been long in this situation, when Peter the Great 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 beautiful slave; asked her several questions; and found the charms of her mind superior even to those of her person. He had been forced, when young, to marry from motives of in- terest; he was now resolved to marry pursuant to his own inclinations. He immediately inquired into the history of the fair Livonian, who was not yet eighteen. '1 1 . He traced her through the vale of obscurity, throug>h the vicissitudes of her fortune; and found her truly great in them all. The meanness of her birth was no obstruc- tion to his design. The nuptials were solemnized in pri- vate; the prince declaring to his courtiers, that virtue was the properest ladder to a throne. •■<' 12. We now see Catharina raised from the Jow/mud* walled cottage, to be empress of the greatest kingdom np'^ on earth. The poor solitary wanderer is now surronnded by thousands, who find happiness in her smile^ She, who formerly wanted a meal, is now capable of diffusing pleiit)r 12 i ■ -*1 fi '■^h m^ iW '. m ■-it it' II >7 lOf Introduction, fyc. Part 1. 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 extraordinary prince, her husband, laljoured for the reformation of his male subjects, she studied, in her turn, the imi)rovementof her own sex. She altered their dresses; introduced mixed assemblies; instituted an order of female knighthood; pro- moted piety and virtue; and, at length, when she had greatly filled all the stations of empress, friend, wife, and mother, bravely died without regret,-— regretted by all. GOLDSMrrH. SECTION XVIII. Virtue and happiness equally attainable by the rich and the poor, 1. The man to whom God has given riches, and blessed with a mind to employ them aright, is peculiarly favou|ip, and highly distinguished. He looks on his wealth with pleasure, because it affords him the means to do good, lie protects the poor that are injured; 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 without ostentation. He assists and rewards merit; he encourages ingenuity, and liberally promotes every useful design. He carries on great works, his country is enriched, and the la- bourer is employed; he forms new schemes, and the arts receive improvement. 3. He considers the superfluities of his table, as belong- ing to the poor of his neighbourhood: and he defrauds 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 ne 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 dependents, nor teased with the clamours of solicitation. Debarred from the dainties oi the rich, he escapes also their diseases. 5» The bread that he eats, is it not sweet to his taste ? The water he drinks, is itnot pleasant to his thirst? Part I. owed a c. ;s which ordinary 111 of his anient of d mixed odj pro- she had i^ife, and )y all. MITH. and the 1 blessed tvouilil, 1th yjith )od. He mighty ires into without ourages ?n. He [1 the la- the arts belong- ds them 1 by his J joy is • ne has ice; his He is led with [lainties s taste ? thirst? Promiscuous Pieces, lOS Chap. 6. yea, far more delicious than the richest draughts of the luxurious. His labour preserves his health, and procures him a ixipose, 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 acquisition!! of wealth and grandeur. — Let not the rich, therefore, pre- sume on his riches; nor the poor in his poverty yield to despondence: for the providence of God dispenses happi- ness to them both. economy of human life. SECTION XIX. The character of Christ. 1. Whoever considers, with attention, the character 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 disci- ples,) will soon discover that it was, in every respect, the most excellent that ever was made known to mankind. 2. If we only say of him what even Pilate said of him, and what his bitterest enemies cannot and do not 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 ex- cellence of his character. He was not only free from every failing, but he possessed and practised every ima- ginable virtue. Towards his heavenly Father he expressed the most ardent love, the most fervent yet rational devo- tion; and displayed, in his whole conduct, the most abso- lute 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 em- ployment of his life, was to do good to the bodies and souls of men. In this, all his thoughts, and all his time, were constantly, and almost incessantly occupied. Si He went about dispensing his blessings to all around him, in a thousand different ways; healing diseases, reliev- ing infirmities, correcting errors, removing prejudices; pro- moting piety, justice, charity, peace, and harmony; and crowding into the narrow compass of his ministry more acts of mercy and compassion, than the longest life of th« ijjost benevolent man upon earth ever yet produced. rij :a n? •^1 «;■' ■•■> '( m:' Hr W4 Iniroductio.1, ^c. Pay/ j, 6. Over his awn passions he had obtained the most com- plete command: ijnd though his patience was continually put to the severest irials, ye^ he v/as never overcome, ne- ver betrayed into any intemperance or excess, in word or deed J " never once spake unadvisedly with his lips." 7. He endured the cruellest insults from his enemies, with the utmost composure, meekness, patience, and re- signation! displayed astonishing fortitude under a most painful and ignominious death: and, to crown all, in the very midst of his torments on the cross, implored forgive- ness for hi? murderers, iii that divinely charitable prayer, *« Father-j ^^rgive them, for they know not what they do." 8. Nor was his wisdom inferior to his virtues. The doc- trines he taught were the most sublime, and the most im- portant, that were ever before delivered to mankind : and every way worthy of that God, from whom he professed to derive them, and v/hose Son he declared himself to be. 9. Hii precepts inculcated the purest and most perfect morality; his discourses were full of dignity and wisdom, yet intelligible z-.l clear; his parables conveyed instruc- tion in the mci' pleasing, familiar, and impressive man- ner; and his answers to the many insidious questions that were put to him, showed uncommon quickness of concep- tion, soundness oi judgment, and presence of mind; com- pletely 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 Sa- viour's character, it is evident that he was beyond com parison, the wisest and the most virtuous person that ever appeared in thf*. world. BIELBY, BISHOP OF LONDON. IL«i m ( »*};■■* 'ilh,i,^,utl*^.> ; ■,H PART n. PIECES IN POETRY. CHAPTER I. SELFXT 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 riches soils deface. The noblest art. Indulge the true ambition 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 roartij *Tis doubtless found with little, and at home. Virtue and vice progressive. The human heart ne'er knows a state of rest j 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 nappiness. 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. Stlf partiality. The faults of our neighbours with freedom we blartc. But tax not ourselves though we practise the same. if m j^ :i^ v., di u 3 *■*■..* it pa- 106 Introduction, ^c. Pari S. Candour and forgiveness, —How noble *tis to own a fault! How gen'rous and divine to forgive it! Troubles from ourselves. *Tis to ourselves, indeed, we chiefly owe The multitude of poignant griefs we feel. Besignation. Nor love thy life, nor hatej but what thou liv'st, Live well^ how long or short, permit to Heav'n. SECTION II. Integrity. The man of pure and simple heart. Through life disdainr. 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 giv'n, It blesses like the dews of Heav'n: Like Heav'n it hears the orphan's crie~3; And wipes the tears from widows' eyes. Choice of friends. 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. _-__ —'Xis our part, As Christians, to f'orget the wrongs we feelj To pardon trespasses^ our very foes To love and cherish; to do good to all; Live peacea'jly; and be, in all our acts, Wise as the serpent, gentle as the dove. Hope in affliction* ' — ^Shkll 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 eq^ual ease^ Remove it? ■ ;r Hr '■■"' ::i\\<-\. fh. . ..i^ii Can you fliscem another's min4? Why b't ygu envy? Envy's blind* 7/ •'I :( 1 Chap. 1. Sekct SmtenceSf fye. lor Tell Envy, when she would annoy, That thousands want what you enjoy. The wif^h. 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. Censoriouness reproved. In other men we faults can spy, And blame the mote that dims their eyej 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. Ungovern'd wrath, and fell resentment fly: . They rend the soul, as tempests rend the sky. Shun peevish humours: they corrode the breast, And ••loud the browj 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 subdu'd to reason's sway, And passions practis'd to obeyj An open and a gen'rous heart, Refin'd from selfishness and art; Patience which mocks at fortune's pow*r, And wisdom neither sad nor sour* Let gratitude in acts of goodness flow; Our love to God, in love to man below. If m ■ "V *; , « 'i W ■ t < - A'.; Introduction^ ^'c. Pari 2. s«, 'f^ 108 Me this 01 . 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 pow'r to act, though mean our skill, God sees the heartj he judges by the will. Men mutually helpful. Nature expects mankind should share The duties of the public care. 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 th& wind and tide, From pole to pole, our commerce guide ; While some, 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 young, what honest triumph flush'd my b^'cast, This truth once known, — To bless, is to be blest! I led the bending beggar on 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, He breath'd his pray'r, — " Long may such goodness live."* Twas all he gave, 'twas all he had to give. Epitaph on a young vjoman» In dawn of life she wisely sought her God; And the straight 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 hei* life alone; Blind to their faults, severe upon her own : In other's griefs a ti^nder part she bore; And with the needy shar'd her little store; At distance view'd the world with pious di«ad; And to God's temple for protection fled: Ther /.nd ••«ti Qhapk 2. , iNariftc^ve Pieces. ,109 There sought that peace which Heav*n alone can give; i\nd learn'd to die er^ othdrs leaiH to live. CHAPTER II. NARRATIVE PIECES. SECTION I. The boking-glass; or^ ill-humour corrected. 1 . There was a little stubborn dame, ' ^ ^ Whom iio authority could tame: Restive by long indulgence grown, No will she minded but her own: At trifles oft 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 ev'ry course He took still made her worse and Worse. 3. Mamma observ'd 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 us'd for her retreat. Whene'er by accident offended, , A looking-glass was straight suspended, That it might show her how deform'd She look'd, and frightful, when she storm'd; And warn her, as she priz'd her beauty, To bend her humour to her duty. 5. All this the looking-glass achiev'd : ' Its threr.ts were minde.l, aiid believ*d. , Themai^, who spun: ! at all advice, Grew tame and gentle in a trice: So when all other means had faird, The silent monitor prevail'd. K m m k •.i* WkLKlE. MP 110 Introduction^ Sfc, Pari 2. Chap. SECTION II. TU Butterfly and the Snail; or, elevation renders little minds proud 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. 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 choaking weeds to rid the soil? Why wake you to the morning's carer 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 design'd, That vermin of voracious kind? Crush then the slow, the pilPring race^ So purge thy garden from disgrace." 3. *« What arrogance!" the Snail reply'd,- " How insolent is upstart pride I Hadst thou not thus with insult vain Provok'd my patience to complain, I had conceal'd thy meaner birth, Nor trac'd thee to the scum of earth. For scarce nine suns have wak'd the hours, To swell the fruit, and paint the flow'rs, Since I thy humbler life survey'd, ' In base and sordid guise array 'd: A hideous insect, vile, unclean. You dragg'd a slow and noisome train,* And from your spider bowels drew Foul film, and spun the dirty clue. ThtB 1 1. I Pari 8. *U minds Chap, 3. Narrative Pieces. Ill 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 num'rous seed) Shall prove of caterpillar breed." SECTION III. GAT. The Brother and Sister; or, mental excellence superior to ptr^ sonal beauty, 1. Warn'd 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 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" bmabt. / SECTION IV. The Lamb and the Pig; or, nature and education. I. Consult the moralist, you'll find That education forms the mind. But education ne'er supply'd. What ruling nature has deny'd. i If you'll the following page pursue, My tale shall prove this doctrine true. m I ^■s I v' m ;^f.: V' tt m M2 Introduciiqnj^'C. Pwi2, 2. - Vi\ Since to the mvise all brutes belong, The lamb shall usher in my song; Whose snowy fleece adorn'd her ski?. Emblem of native white within. , ; i Meekness and love possess'd her soul, And innocence had crown'd tl^e whole. 3. It chanc'd upon a luckless day, The little wanton, full of play, \ Rcjoic'd a thimy bank to gain ; But short the triumphs of her reign! The treacheroi^s slopes her fate foretell, And soon the pretty trifler fell. 4. Beneath, a dirty ditch impress'd Its mire upon her spotless vest. What greater ill could lamb betide, The butcher's barb'rous 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 refin'd; Her fleece in virgin whiteness shin'd. Cleans'd from pollution's every stain, « She join'd her fellows on the plainj And saw afar the stinking shore. But ne'er approach'4 those dangers more. The shepherd bless'd the kind event. And view'd his flock with sweet content. To market next he shap'd his way, And bought provisions for the day: But made, for winter's rich supply, A purchase from ^ farmer's sty. The children round their parent crowd; And testify their mirth aloud. They saw the stranger with surprise, And all admired his little eyes. Familiar grown he shar'd their joys; Shar'd 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, 5. 8. COTTON. Chap, 3. Narraline Pieces. \\^ SECTION V. 77ie Bee and the Ants or the advantages of application and diligence in early years 1. On a bright dewy summer's morn A Bee rang'd o'er the verdant lawn ; Studious to husband ev'ry hour, And make the most of ev'ry flow'r. 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 ev'ry tempting rose pursues, Or sips the lily's fragrant dews ; Yet never robs the shining bloom, Or of its beauty, or perfume. Thus she discharg'd in ev'ry way, The various duties of the day. 3. It chanc'« a frugal Ant was near, Whose brow was furrow'd 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 ; 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 lo trace the grain, And drag the heavy load with pahu 5. The active Bee with pleasure saw The Ant fulfil her parents' law. Ah ! sister-labourer, says she, How very fortunate are we ! Who, taught in infancy to know The comforts which from labour flow, Are independent of the great, Nor know the wants of pride and state. \J^V»V !o AMI*! fckixA txfx va«ir onirPAf K Because we earn before we eat 6. m m • V /J iCj4S^ K3 ■ >'■ W^ 114 Introduction, ^e. Part 2. Why are our M'ants so very few? Because we nature's calls pursue. Whence our complacency of mihd? Because we act our parts assigpn'd. 7. Have we incessant tasks to do? Is not all nature busy too? Docs 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 plough? Or when did e'er the gen'rous steed Withhold his labour or his speed? ootion. SECTION VI. The Doves. 1. Reas'ning at ev'ry step he treads, Man yet mistakes his way, While meaner things, whom instinct leads, Are rarely known to stray. 2. One silent eve I wander'd late, And heard the voice of lovej The turtle thus address'd her mate, And sooth'd the list'ning dove: 3. " Our mutual bond of faith and truth, No time shall disengage ; Those blessings of our early youth. Shall cheer our latest age. 4. While innocence without disguise, And constancy sincere, Shall fill the circles of those eyes, And mine can read them therej 5. Those ills that wait on all below Shall ne'er be felt by me ; Or, gently felt, and only so. As being shar'd with thee. 0. When lightnings flash among the trees, Or kites are hov'ring near, 1 fear lest thee alone they seize, And know no other fear. Chap, t 7. w^t\ 1. All T Intl N 2. Her \^ Till \^ 3. And W Wh A 4. But H A tr T 5. The N Wit H Ohop- 2. Narrative Pieces. 7. *Tis then I ftcl myself a wife, And press thy wedded side, Resolv'd a union form'd for life Death never shall divide. 8. But, oh! if, fickle and unchaste, (Forgive a transient thought,) Thou could St 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 Avidow'd heart would break.'* 10. Thus sang the sweet sequester'd bird, Soft as the passing wind; And I recorded what I heard;— A lesson for mankind. SECTION VII. «13 •.Hi', COWPER. 77/6 Gold/Inches. 1. All in a garden, on a currant bush, Two Goldfinches had built their airy seat; In the next orchard liv'd a friendly thrush. Nor distant far, a woodlark's soft; retreat, 2. Here, blest with ease, and in each other blest, With early songs they wak'd the neighb'ring groves; Till time matur'd their joy, and crown'd their nest With infant j)ledges of their faithful loves. 3. And now, what transport glow'd in either'seye! What equal fondness dealt th' allotted food! What joy each other's likeness to descry. And future sonnets in the chirping orood ! 4. But ah; what earthly happiness can last ? How does the fairest purpose often fail! A truant school-boy's wantonness could blast Their flattering hopes, and leave them both to wail. 5. The most ungentle of his tribe was he; With concord false, and hideous prosody. He scrawl'd his task, and blunder'd o'er his part. 4il M ' -v. fi, 4 -V m \e^ "k ■\-' if' -it. i 1," n, r t'iit't A' £^|•-, 11^ i^ r l^'-- ,:;'■ i; lid Inlroduclion^ Sfc. Part 2. 6. On mischief bent, he mark'd with ravenous eyes, Where, wrapt in clown, the callow songsters lay; Then rushing, rudely sciz'd the glitt'riny prize, And bore it in his impious hands away! 7. But how shall I describe, in numbers rude. The panj^s for poor Chrysomitris decreed, When, from her secret stand, a'^hast, she view'd The cruel spoiler perpetrate the deed? 8. " O grief of griefs!" with shrieking voice she cried, "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 ])ill, Was it for this i pois'd th' unwieldy straw: . For this I bore the moss from yonder hill, Nor shunn'd the pond'rous stick along to draw? 10. Was it for this I pick'd the wool with care. Intent with nicer skill our work to crown 5 For this, with pain, I bent the stui)born hair. And lin'd our cradle with the thistle's down? 1 1. Was it for this my freedom I resign'd. And ceas'd to rove at large from plain to plain; For this I sat at home whole days confin'd, 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 return'd: Then side by side they sought the distant ' '•^• And there in secret sadness inly mourn'fl jaivo SECTION VII The pet Lamb. - 1 Tub Jew was falling fast, the stars began to blink; I heii!"i a voice ; it said, " Drink, pretty creature drink !" And, !u'>«.. :■>»'!■.' I '*?3. J. 4. ^20 Introduction, Sfc. Of herbs and grain they little knew What Linnaeus wrote, or Sinclair grew; But each, as o'er the field they gaz'd. What fancy led to, pluck'd and prais'd. ** See," said the first, " this flow'r 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 flow'r I show, With star-like rays and sky-like blue, So much does your dull plant outshine, That the best choice is surely mine." " Stop," said the third, 'Uheflow'r T hold, With cluster 'd leaves of burnish'd gold, Than yours or his, is richer drest; The choice I've made, is doubtless best." In this, however, each agreed. That nbthing could his own exceedj And that the rising blades of green Did not deserve to grow between. A Farmer chanc'd behind the gate To overhear the youth's debate; Knowing from ign'rance error springs, He Etrove to teach them better things. " " 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 si^ht." SECTION XI. Economy the source of charity. 1. By gen'rous goodness taught, my early youth Soon learn'd humanity. — My parents died — Orphans have claims on charitable souls; The pious Edgar thought so; mov'd perhaps By the soft eloquence of infant tears, Perchance by nature prompted,tohis roof He led the fatherless. — 2. It was the seat Of nuptial happiness: a rustic cot, Part % 5. 6. fui Pari % n. 13i Chap. 2. Narrative Pieces. 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 gain. 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 earthy 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 turn'd its source, Where,wand'ring devious thro' hisneat-dress'd grounds, It cheer'd the green copse, fill'd the earing com; Then trickled gently through the perfum'd grove. 4. " Mark well, my child," he said; " this little stream Shall teach thee Charity. It is a source I never knew to fail : directed thus Be that soft stream, the fountain of thy heart. For, oh! my much lov'd child, I trust thy heart Has those affections that shall bless thyself; And flowing softly, like this little rill, Cheer all that droop." — 5. The good man did not err; The milk of hum an -kindness warm'd my breast; Young as I was, I felt for others' woes. And, when I could, reliev'd them. — Yet I was young! And, having lavish'd all my infant store In gewgaw toys, and childish fooleries, I do remember well, a vet'ran old, Maim'd and disfigur'd by the hand of war, Implor'd my charity. 6. I felt, alas ! His various wants — sore, sick, and wan, he seem'd: My little heart bled at each wound he show'd. Alas! alas! replied my infant thoughts, And shall want cloud the evening of his days Whose noon of life was toil?— And then I wept— It was the first time that I e'er knew want? I was indeed a bankrupt. 7. Edgar came. I wept, but spoke not; for my heart was full. M 1' ■-■■I . Hi M f. f. If n ■ 1^- m 1 .JV;: tP M m R^W*< '■I Wi Pi^jK." 8. rS9 Introduciipa, §rc, Pa^t 2. " What wilt thou give, my boy?" — Fearing a lici I sobb'd out truth most sadly. Edgar feltj PardonM my follyj (for he lov'd my tears;) And gave what sooth'd the poor man's misery. But, in our evening walk, behold ! the stream Was dry. I ask'd the cause— " Mark me my child! This rill, I told thee oft, through all thy life. Should teach thee Charity. — Now let it teach, If yet thou hast to learn, that tlie bless'd source Of lib'ral deer^s, is wise Economy. This mora, like thee, I drew the stream too fast: Now-— vvhen the parch'd glebe wants its wat'ry aid, The SQurce is all exhausted." CHAPTER III. DIDACTIC PIECES. Cht^ 2. 3. 4. 2. 4. SECTION I. To some children listening to a lark, 1. See the lark prunes his active wings. Rises to heav'n, and soars, and sings! His morning hymns, his mid-day lays, Are one continu'd song of praise, ile speaks his Maker all he can. And shames the silent tongue of man. 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. 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. To him your grateful tribute pay, Through ev'ry period of the day. To him your evening songs direct; His eye shall watch, his arm protect: Thougli darkness reigns, he's with you still; Then sleep, my babes, and fear no ill. cotton. 5. 6. 1. 2. 3. : V2. C%. 3. Didactic Pieces* m n id, >N. o. 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 flow'r, that's ofter'd in the bud, Is no vain sacrifice. 3. 'Tis easy work, if we begin To fear the Lord betimes j While sinners, Avho grow old in sin, Are hardcn'd in tlieir crimes. 4. 'Twill save us from a thousand snares. To mind religion young; It will preserve our foll'wing years. And make our virtue strong. To thee, Almighty God ! to thee Our childhood we resign; 'Twill please us to look back and see That our whole lives were thine. 6. Let^ the sweet work of pray'r and praise Employ our youngest breath ', Thus we're prepared for longer days, Or fit for early death. 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. WAITS. ■•^^ n. >V :fc^ ^? X m Introduction, t^c. Fart 2. Chi P^ '•Mil y^' '7i W'* ^ i^ m ^f^ iit^"*-' 'M'^ 4. His soul was gentle as a lamb 5 And as in age he grew, He grew in fa\our both with man, And God his Father too. 5. The Lord of ull "vvho reigns above. Does from his heav'nly throne, Behold what children dwell in love, And marks them for his own. SFXTION IV. To a young woman, ivith a imtclu 1. While this gay toy attracts thy sight, Thy reason let it warn ; And seize, my dear, that rapid time. That never must return. 2. If idly lost, no art or care The blessing can restore ; And Heav'n requires a strict account For ev'ry mispent hour. 3. Short is our longest day of life, And soon its prospect ends 5 Yet on that day's uncertain date, Eternity depends. 4. But equal to our being's aim. The space to virtue giv'n ; And ev'ry minute, well improv'd. Secures an age in Heav'n. SECTION V. Verses accompanying a nosegay, 1. Thou canst not steal the rose's bloom. To decorate thy face i But the sweet blush of modesty. Will lend an equal grace. 2. These violets scent the distant gale (They grew in lowly bed ;) So real worth new merit gains, By diffidence o'erspread. 3. Nor wilt thou e'er that lily's white In thy complexion find ; Yet innocence may shine as fair, Within thy spotless mind. WATTS. GARTER. Chap, 3. Didactic Pieces, 4. Now, in the op'ning spring of life^ Let ev'ry flow'ret bloom : The budding virtues in thy breast Shall yield the best perfume. 5. This nosegay, in thy bosom plac'd, A moral may convey : For soon its brightest tints shall fade, And all its sweets decay. 6. So short-liv'd are the lovely tribes Of Flora's transient reign : They bud, blow, wither, fall, and die ; Then turn to earth again. 7. And thus, ray.dear, must ev'ry charm. Which youth is proud to share, Alike this quick succession prove, And the same truth declare. 8. Sickness will change the roseate huCj Which glowing health bespeaks; And age will wrinkle with its cares The smile on beauty's cheeks. 9. But as that fragrant myrtle wreath, Will all the rest survive ; So shall the mental graces still, Through endless ages live. SECTION VI. Duties of the Morning. \ See the time for sleep has run ; Rise before or with the ann. JL-ift 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 quick'ning 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. L2 }25 yj ' ■ Hi* %^ '••1.1 •■ ■ ■ / rft'i •-fs- 'fc m ft'^ m ■:, ■ ■'! ^ ■■> mm mi . i '*^ JntroducHon^ ^c. From the lap of night it springs, With heaps of business on its 'wings : Prepare to meet them in a mind, 1 hat bows submissively resi:^n'fi : That would to works appointed fall ; Ihat knows that God has order'd all. ^'^r"^ ^^'^^ether, witli a small repast, We brake the sober morning fast ; Or in our thoughts and houses lay 1 he future methods of the day ; Or early walk ubi-oad to nieet Our business with industrious feet: n hate'er we think, whate'er we do. His glory still be kept in view. ' 4. O, Giver of eternal bliss, Heav'nly Father, grant me this ! Grant it all, as well as me, All whose hearts are fix'd on thee ; V\ ho revere the Son above ; Who thy sacred Spirit love'l SECTION VII. 77ie mind to be cuUivated. I. Hear, ye fair mothers of our isle. Nor scorn your poet's homely style. What though my thoughts be quaint or new, 1 11 warrant that my doctrine's true : ' Or il my sentiments be old, Remember, truth is sterling gold. 2. You judge it of important weight To keep your rising offspring straight ? i^or 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 warp'd aside, By passion, prejudice, and pride ? Deformity of heart I call The worst deformity of all. 4. Your cares to body are confin'd ; rew Tear nhlinnifxr ^P ^'A Why not adorn the better part ? This is a nobler theme for art Part 2 PARNEL. Chap, S. ZHddciic Pieces, 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 till'd with annual care, And minds lie fallow ev'ry year ? O, since the crop depends on you, Give them the culture which is due : Hoe ev'ry weed, and dress the soil j So harvest shall repay your toil. 6. If human minds resemble trees, (As ev'ry moralist agrees,) Prune all the stragglers of your vine j Then shall the purple clusters shine. The gard'ner knows, that fruitful life Demands his salutary knife : For every wild luxuriant shoot. Or robs the bloom, or starves the fruit. SECTION VIII. Dependence on Providence, I. Regard the world with cautious eye, Nor raise your expectation high. See that the balanc'd scales be such, You neither fear nor hope too much. For disappointment's not the thing j 'Tis pride and passion point the sting. 2. Life is a sea where storms must rise j 'Tis folly talks of cloudless skies : He who contracts his swelling sail, Eludes the fury of the gale. 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. 4. The hand which form'd 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 sov'reign Love desert The humble and the honest heart ? 1S7 COTTOK. ■h "ft i -^1 'it. I 1 OQ Introduction, ^-c Pari 2. m /^, *. .!*■?- f^V 'I 5. Heav'n may not grant thee all thy mind ; Yet say not thou that Heav'n's unkind. God is alike, hoth £;ood 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 halt' the scene. True — and this consequence you see, The world was ne'er design'd for thee : You're like a passenger below, That stays perhaps a night or so ; But still his native country lies Beyond the bound'ries of the skies. 7. Of Heav'n ask virtue, wisdom, health ; But never let thy pray'r be M'ealth. 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 Heav'n this comfort brings, Tis more than Heav'n bestows on kings, cotton. CHAPTER IV. DESCRIPTIVE PIECES. SECTION L Thf. pleasures of retirement. 1. Happy the man, whose wish and care A few paternal acres bound ; Content to breathe hisnative air, In his own ground. 8. Whose herds with milk, whose fields with bread, Whose flocks supply him with attire $ In winter fire. Chap. 4 Descriptive Pieces. )S9 3. Biest who can unconcern'dly find Hours, days, and years, slide soft away, In health df body, peaoie of mind, Quiet by day. 4. Sound sleep by night ; study and ease, Together mix'd ; 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. ■»ope SECTION II. The Sluggard. 1. 'Tis the voice of the sluggard — I heard him complain, '' You have wak'd me too soon, I must slumber again." As the door on its hinges, sb he on his bed Turns his sides, and his shoulders, and his heavy head. 2. "A little more sleep and a little more slumber j" 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 saunt'ring, or trifling he stands. 3. 1 pass'd 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 ta'en better care for improving his mind : He told me his dreams, talk'd of eating and drinking; But he scarce reads the Bible, and never loves thinking. 5. Said I then to my heart, " Here's a lesson for me j That 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 !'* WATTS. SECTION III. Creation and Providence. 1. I SING th* almighty pow*r of God, That made the mountains rise ; That spread the flowing seas abroad, And built the lofty skies. i- ■W1 ir^ '■!••■ "'v V.I % i 130 Introduction^ ^e, Part S. 2. I sing the wisdom that ordain'd The sun to rule the day : Tlie moon shines full at his command, And all the stars obey. 3. I sing the goodness of the Lord, That fiU'd the earth with food : He form'd the creatures with his word, And then pronounc'd 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 flow'r below But makes thy glories known ; And clouds arise, and tempests blow, By order from thy throne. 6. Creatures (as num'rous as they be) Are subject to thy care ; There's not a place where we can flee, But God is present there. 7. In Heav'n he shines with beams of love j 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 spring. 1. Lo ! the bright, the rosy morning, Calls me forth to take the air : Cheerful spring, with smiles retuniing, Ushers in the new-born year. 2. Nature now in all her beauty, With her gently-moving tongue, Prompts me to the pleasing- dut" Of a grateful n^orning song. a«? 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 1. 3. 3. Part S. n Chap. 4. Descriptive Pieces. 3. See the early blossoms sprinp^injj ! Sec the jocund lambkins piay 1 Hear the lark and lirmet 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 llowers, 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 ev'ry tongue : Join, my soul, with ev'ry creature j Join the universal song I 8. For ten thousand blessings giv'n ; For the richest gifts bestow 'd j Sound his praise through earth and heav'n ; Sound Jehovah's praise aloud ! fawcett. IS. SECTION V. • Heavenly wisdom. 1. How happy is the man who hears Instruction's warning voice ; And who cebstial 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. 4y "if . '■', " I sti m. mil* ■7". ?>;■.„■ ii il !«■ LOGAN 2. •^2 Introduction, ^x. 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. SECTIOxN VI. The Man of Ross, 1. Rise,' honest muse ! and sing the Man of Ross.— > Who hung with woods yon mountain's sultry brow r From the dry rock who bade the waters flow } Not to the skies in useless columns tost, Or in proud falls magnificently lost ,• But clear and lm liess, pouring through the plain, Health to the sick, and solace to the swain. Whose causeway parts the vale with shady rows ? Whose seats the weary traveller repose ? Who taught that heav'n-directed spire to rise ? " The Man of Ross," each lisping babe replies. . Behold the market-place with poor o'erspread ! The Mar. 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 portion'd maids, apprentic'd orphans blest ; 1 he young who labour, and the old who rest. Is any sick .? The Man of Ross relieves, Prescribes, attends, the med'cine makes, and m ves Is there a variance } Enter but his door, Balk'd are the courts, and contest is no more. Thrice happy man ! enabled to pursue What numbers wish, but want the pow'r to do SECTION vn. 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 rootj Part 2. to do. 1 POPE. "1. ] r 1 Part 2. POPE. Chap, 4. Descriptive Pieces. |M That friend, which never fails the just, When other friends must quit their trust. 3. Come then, my soul, be this thy guest, And leave to folly's sons the rest : With this thou ever mayst be gay. And night shall brighten into day. 4. With this companio!! in the shade. My soul no more shall be dismay'd j 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 iu ev'ry 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 sov'reign love directs the rod ? 7. Peace, rebel thoughts — I'll not complain ; My Father's smiles suspend my pain : Smiles, tliat a thousand joys impart, And pour the balm that heals the smart. S. Though Heav'n 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 tliat darksome way. And lead me to the realms of day; To milder skies and brignter plainS;; Where everlasting sunshine reigns. oottom. 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 Inspir'd his holy breast ; In deeds of mercy, words of peac^ His kindness was exprest. M i M if; t m J ^ s I Pi Mr*- mm W d^. 18^ Introduction, ^c. 3. To spread the rays of heav'nly light, To give the mourner joy, To preach glad tidings to the poor, Was his divine employ. 4. Lowly in heart, by all his friends, A friend and servant found ; He wash'd their feet, he wip'd their tears, And heal'd each bleeding wound. 5. Midst keen reproach, and cruel scorn, Patient and meek he stood : His foes, ungrateful, sought his life; He labour'd for their good. 6. In the last hour of deep distress. Before his Father's throne, With soul resign'd, he bow'd 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 ! Par/ 2. ENFIELD. CHAPTER V. ' PROMISCUOUS PIECES. SECTION I. Gratitude to the Supreme Being. 1. How cheerful along the gay mead, The daisy and cowslip appear ! The flocks, as they cavele^isly feed, Rejoice in the spring of the year. 2. The myrtles that shade the gay bow'rs, The herbage that springs from the sod. Trees, plants, cooling fruiis, and sweet flow'rs, All rise to the praise of my God. 3. Shall man, the great master of all, The only insensible prove ? Forbid it, fair Cirautude's call ! Forbid it, devotion and love ! 4. The Lord, who such wonders could raise, AriH ofill i^n-i-' fl'»o(-«^.. ,.. ;*!, _ .. ^1 My lips shall incessantly praise ; My heart shall rejoice in my God. 1. 2. Ohtq), 5. Promiscuous Pieces, 135 SECTION II. Acknowledgment of Divine favours, 1. Whene'er I take my walks abroad, How many poor I see ! What shall I render to my God, For all his gifts to me ! 2. Not more than others I deserve. Yet God has giv'n 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 cloth'd from head to feet, And cover'd from the cold 1 - 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 *d serve thee best. WATTS. SECTION III. The excellence of the Bible. 1. Great God I with wonder and with praise On all thy works I look ; But still thy wisdom, pow'r, and grace, Shine brightest in thy book. 2. The stars, which in their courses roll, Have much instruction giv'n ; But thy good word informs my soul How I may get to heav'n. 8. The fields provide me food, and show The goodness of the Lord | But fruits of life and glory grow In thy most holy word. '■¥'■. Am # mi m i m m 3 1M. i 186 Introduction^ ^c* 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 j Show what my faults have been ; And from thy gospel let me draw Pardon for all my sin. 6. For here I learn how Jesus died. To save my soul from hell : Not all the books on earth beside Such heav'nly 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. SECTION IV. On Industry, 1. How does the little busy bee Improve each shining hour; And gather honey all the day, From every op'ning flow'r ! 2. How skilfully she builds her cell . How neat she spreads the wax i 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 ev'ry day Some good account at last. SECTION V. On early rising. 1. How foolish they who lengthen nig-ht. uiiiu oiuiiioer III mc mornmg light; How sweet at early morning's rise. To view the glories of the skies, Parti, WATTS. WATTS Parti, C%). 5. Promiscuous Pieces. m And mark with curious eye the sun Prepare his radiant course to run ! Its fairest form then nature wears, And chid 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 mornhig air ; This will your nerves with vigour brace, Improve and heighten ev'ry grace j 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 jiy. 1. In yonder glass, behold a drowning fly! Its little feet, how vainly does it ply I Poor helpless insect ! and will no one save? Will no one snatch thee from the threat'ning 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 num'rous 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 Hedbreast. LnTLE bird, with bosom red, Welcome to my humble shed! M 2 m s H i I m m i i ^^^ Introduction, ^c p^;./ g. 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 rewardcc], if I spy Pleasure in thy g-Iancing- eye 5 See thee, when tliou'st eat'thy fill, Plume thy breast and wipe thy bill ^ Come, my feather'd friend, again ! Well thou knovv'st the broken j: Ask of me t!iy daily store 5 Ever welcome to my door! langhcrne. SECTION VIII. To a child five years old. 1. Fairest flower all flowers excelling, Which in Milton's page we see : Flo-vers of Eye's embower'd dwelling, A -e, my fair one, typ-> of thee, 2. Mark, my Polly, how the roses Emulate thy damask cheek ; How tlie bud its sweets discloses— Buds thy op'ning bloom bespeak. 3. Lilies are by ])lain 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. T/ie Rose. 1. How fair is the rose ! what a beautiful flow'r! 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 pow'rful virtue to boast. Above all the flowers of the field • When its leaves are ail deaii,^and fine colours lost, J>«U how sweet a perfume it will yield 1 Chap* 5. Promiscuous Pieces. 139 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 5 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 Mt. 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 : Yet as wise as we are, if we went to their school, There's many 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 come. And pray that my sins be forgiv'n : Let me read in good books, and believe and obey ; iiai, Wiicii ClCuiii Luiils iiic uut ui LUIS (^utiugc Ol ^iuy, I may dwell in a palace in Heav*n. WATTS. 4 m h 1 wi 140 <<*; m K 'A % i s ;•». li 1^ 'I f ff 'i-'* Introduction^ fyc. SECTION XI. ^ morning hymn. 1. My God, who makes the sun to know His proper hour to rise, And to give li,^ht to all below, Does send him round the skies. 2. When from the chaml)ers 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 heav'nly 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. SECTION XII. An evening hymn. 1. And now another day is o-one, I'll sing my Maker's pniise: My comforts ev'ry 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,' Ai^d through the hours of darkness keep 1 heir 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. Pm % Cbq u 2. 3. 4. WATTS. 5. 6. 1. 2. 3. WATTS ». 5. Promiscuous Pieces, 141 SECTION XIII. The winter's day. 1. When raging storms deform the air, And clouds of snow descend ; And the n-ide landscape, bright and fair, No deepen 'd colours blend j 2. When bitin,^ frost rides on the wind, Bleak from the north and east, And Aveakh is at its ease reclin'd, Prepar'd to laug-Ii and feast ; 3. When the poor trav'ller treads the plain, All dubious of his way. And crawls with nig-ht-iucreasing pain, And dreads the parting- day j 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-l^eguil'd, Scarce feels that it is prest ; 6. Then let your bounteous hand extend Its blessings to the poor : Nor spurn tlv2 wretched, while they bend All suppliant at your door. SECTION XIV. Compassion and forgiveness. 1. I HEAR the voice of wo ; A brother mortal mourns : My eyes with tears, for tears o'erflow 5 My heart his sighs returns. 2. I hear the thirsty cry ; The famish'd beg for bread : O let my spring its streams supply 5 My hand its bounty shed.— 3. And shall not wrath relent, — *—"-" ^-^ i • •-• ■ - T k. • • •r*' *• » ■ »* «■*»»» ^f *j\,\ w Asia My brother crying, ** I repent, Nar will offend ag^in ?" ■I- li m I ^i ■■41 ";?» m mi m i i k t^^. xH We mi '♦^ Introduction, fyc. 4. How else on sprightly wing, Can hope bear high my pray'r, Up to thy throne, my God, my King, To plead for pardon there ? SECTION XV. The ignorance of man. 1. Behold yon new-born Infant griev'd With hunger, thirst, and pain ; That asks to have the wants reliev'd It knows not to complain. Aloud the speechless suppliant cries, And utters, as it can, The woes that in its bosom rise, And speak its nature — man. That infant, whose advancing hour Life's various sorrows try, (Sad proof of sin's transmissive pow'r!) That infant, Lord, am I. 2. Part 2. SCOTT. 4. A childhood yet my thoughts confess, Though long in years mature ; Unknowing whence I feel distress. And where, orVhat, its cure. 5 . Author of good ! to thee I turn : Thy ever-wakeful eye Alone can all my wants discern 5 Thy hand alone supply. 6. O let thy fear M'ithin me dwell ; Thy love my footsteps guide : That love shall ail vain loves expel; That fear all fears beside. 7. And oh ! by error's force subdu'd. Since oft my stubborn will Prepost'rous shuns the latent good And grasps the specious ill ; 8. Not to my wish, but to my want, Do thou thy gifts apply j Unask'd, what good thou knowest grant 5 What ill, though ask'd, deny. merrick. Part 2. Chep,' 5. Promiscuous Pieces. SECTION XVI. 7^16 happy choice. 143 1. Besei' with snares on ev'ry hand, In life's uncertain path I stand: Father Divine ! dilluse thy light, To guide my doubtful footsteps right 2. Engage this frail, and wav'ring heart, Wisely to choose the better part j To scorn the trilles of a day, For joys that never fade away. 3. Then let the wildest storms arise j 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. SECTION XVII. The frill of the leaf 1. See the leaves around us falling, ^ Dry and wither'd to the ground 5 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, alas! the truth we tell. Virgins, much, too much presuming, On your boasted white and red ; View us late in beauty blooming, Number'd now among the dead. 4. Youths, though yet no losses grieve you, Gay in health, and many a grace 5 Let not cloudless skies deceive you j Summer gives to autumn place. 5. Yearly in our course returning, Messengers of shortest stay ; Thus we preach this truth concerning, Heav'n and earth shall pass away DODDRIDGE. 2. ,3. i K m m I & m i ■■*r; M ■4V •^ Introduction, 4rc» 6. On the tree of life eternal, Man, let all thy hopes be staid ; Which alone, for ever vernal. Bears a leaf that shall not fade." SFXTION XVIII. Trust in the gnodncss of Ood. 1. Why, O my soul, wiiy thus deprest, And whence this anxious fear ? Let former favours fix thy trust, And check the risiniif tear. 2. When darkness and uhen sorrows rose, And press'd on ev'rv side. Did not the Lord sustiiin thy steps, And was not God thy guide ? S. 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 tins 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 I SECTION XIX. The Christian race. I. Awaae, my soul, stretch ev'ry nerve, And press with vigour on : A heav'nlv race dem.ands th^ zfiftl- And an immortal crown. Part 3. C^9f 3. DR. HORKS. 3. • 4. e, 5* 1 COTTON. (X^t^ 5. Promismoua Pieces, M 3. A cloud of witnesses around, Hold thee in full survey : Forget the steps already trod, And onward urge thy way. 3. *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 nrw lustre boast. When victors' wreaths, and monarchs' gems, Shall blend in common dust. 5. My soul, with sacred ardour fir'd, 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 heav'nly flame I Quit, oh quit this mortal frame: Trembling, hoping, ling'ring, flying, Oh the pain, the bliss of dying I Cease, fond nature, cease thy strife, And let me languish into life. 3. 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! Heav*n opens on my eyes I my ears With sounds seraphic ring : Lend, lend your wings! I mount! I fly! O Grave! where is thy victory ? O Death ! where is thy sting ? N rC?j£* 4 m R-r^: 146 Introduction^ fye. 'Pm'if^ I 1^, ^1 ir.'^' m SECTION XXI. Epitaph on a poor and virtuous man. 1. Stop, reader, here, and deign to look On one without a name ; Ne'er enter'd in the ample book Of fortune, or of fame. 2. Studious of peace, he hated strife j Meek virtues fiU'd his breast : His coat of arms, " a spotless life j'* "An honest heart," his crest. 3. Quarter'd therewith was innocence ; And thus his motto ran : "A conscience void of all offence Before both God and man." 4. In the great day pf wrath, though pride Now scorns his pedigree, ; Thousands shall wish they'd been allied To this great family. SECTION XXII. Love to enemies. 1. When Christ, among the sons of men, In humble form was found. With cruel slanders, false and vain, He was encompass'd round. 2. The woes of men, his pity mov'd j Their peace, he still pursu'd ; They render'd hatred for his love, And evil for his good. 3. Their malice rag'd without a cause, Yet, with his dying breath. He pray'd for murd'rers on his cross, And bless'd 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 I .'>i . Qivp. US- oTPaf Hod- a soul like his. To love our enemies. WATTS. Chap* 5. Promiscuous Pieces. UT 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 iium'rous host! Awake, my soul, or thou art lost. 2. Here giant danger threat'ning stands, Must'ring his pale terrific bands j There pleasure's silken b^inners spread, And willing souls are captive led. 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 5 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 heav'nly truth and hcav'nly love. 6. The terror and the charm repel. And pow'rs of earth, and pow'rs of hell : ,, ; The Man of Calvary triumph'd here ; Why should his faithful followers fear ? »AiiBAULD. SECTION XXIV. The Divine Being knoms and sees every thing. 1. Lord, thou hast search'd and seen me through. Thine eye beholds, with piercing view, My rising and my resting hours. My heart and llesh, with all their pow'rs. 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 op'ning lips they break. 3. Within thy circling pow'r I stand 5 On ev'ry side I find thv hand i Awake, asleep, at home, abroad, I am surrounded still with God. m 1^3 ik i 5'Ar i ml 3 m M PI' I-* Introduction, ^c* 4. Amazing knowledge, vast, and great ! What large extent! what lofty height I My soul, with all the pow'rs I boast, Is in the boundless prospect lo^t. 5. O may these thoughts possess my breastj Where'er I rove, where'er I rest ! Nor let my weaker passions dare Consent to sin, for God is there. — 6. Could I so false, so faithless prove. To quit thy service and thy love. Where, Lord, could I thy presence shun, Or from thy dreadful glory run ? 7. If up to heav'n I take my flight, 'Tis there thou dwell'st enthron'd in light ', Or dive to hell, there vengeance reigns, And Satan groans beneath thy chains. 8. If, mounted on a morning ray 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 veil of night j One glance of thine, one piercing ray, Would kindle darkness into day. 10. vOJvl 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. Jill 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 beam'd his njontide ray? 2. Say, didst thou e'er attentive view The ev'ning cloud, or morning dew ? Or. affpr rain the xva^'r^'' Kaw Rise in the east, a beauteous show ? Pari 2. Par/ 3. Cwjp* 5. Promiscuous Pieces, i«f 3. When darkness had o'erspread the skies, Hast thou e'er seen the moon arise j And with a mild and placid light, Shed lustre o'er the face of night ? 4. Hast thou e'er wander'd o'er the plain, And view'd the fields, and waving grain ; The flow'ry 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, rous'd 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 ; While the bellowing thunder's sound Roll'd rattling through the heav'ns profound ? 7. Hast thou e'er felt the cutting gale, The sleety show'r, the biting hail : Beheld bright snow o'erspread the plains j 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 survey'd That all around thee are display'd ? And hast thou never rais'd thine eyes To HIM who caus'd these scenes to rise ? 11. *Twas GOD who form'd 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 : N2 i m i I [ill I,'.? VO Introduction, ^c. Part% . ' ■ I ■ ■ 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 Goifor his ivonderfid works. I.My God! uU nature owns thy sway, Thou i>;iv'st the nig-iit, and thou the^day ; When all thy lov'd creation wakes, When Morning-, rich in lustre, breaks, And bathes in dew the op'ning- ilow'r. 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 array'd, The Ev'ning slowly spreads her shade ; That soothing shade, that grateful gloom, Can, more than day's cnlivhiing bloom, Still ev'ry fond and vain desire. And calmer, purer thoughts inspire; From earth the pensive spirit free. And lead the sotten'd heart to thee. 3. In ev'ry scene thy hands have dress'd, In ev'ry form by thee impress'd, Upon the mountain's awful head, Or where the shelt'ring woods are spread 5 In ev'ry 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 sooth, 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 wond'ring soul to praise 5 And be the joys that most we prize. The joys that from thy favour rise! Williams. SECTION XXVII. The happy end. 1. When life's tempestuous storms are o'er, How ca.Im he meets the friencll^ vh