LESSON XXI.

The Conclusion.

1. My first impulse on hearing this humble tale of afflic tion, was to visit the cottage of the mourner, and adminis ter pecuniary assistance, and if possible, comfort. I found, however, on inquiry, that the good feelings of the villagers had prompted them to do every thing that the case admitted: and as the poor know best how to console each other's sorrows, I did not venture to intrude.

2. The next Sunday I was at the village church; when, to my surprise, I saw the poor old woman tottering down the aisle to her accustomed seat on the steps of the altar. She had made an effort to put on something like mourning for her son; and nothing could be more touching than this struggle between pious affection and utter poverty: a black ribbon or so, a faded black handkerchief, and one or two more such humble attempts to express by outward signs that grief which passes show.

3. When I looked round upon the storied monuments; the stately hatchments; the cold marble pomp, with which grandeur mourned magnificently over departed pride; and turned to this poor widow, bowed down by age and sor row at the altar of her God, and offering up the prayers and praises of a pious, though a broken heart, I felt that this living monument of real grief was worth them all.

4. I related her story to some of the wealthy members of the congregation, and they were moved at it. They exerted themselves to render her situation more comfortable, and to lighten her afflictions. It was, however, but smoothing a few steps to the grave.

5. In the course of a Sunday or two after, she was missed from her usual seat at church, and before I left the neighbourhood, I heard, with a feeling of satisfaction, that she had quietly breathed her last, and gone to rejoin those she loved, in that world where sorrow is never known, and friends are never parted. W. IRVING.

1.

2.

3.

4.

5.

LESSON XXIÍ.

Cruelty to Inferior Animals Censured.

I would not enter on my list of friends, (Though grac'd with polish'd manners and fine sense, Yet wanting sensibility,) the man

Who needlessly sets foot upon a worm.
An inadvertent step may crush the snail,
That crawls at evening in the public path;
But he that has humanity, forewarn'd,
Will turn aside and let the reptile live.

The creeping vermin, loathsome to the sight,
And charg'd perhaps with venom, that intrudes
A visitor, unwelcome, into scenes

Sacred to neatness and repose, th' alcove,
The chamber, or refectory, may die.

A necessary act incurs no blame.

Not so, when held within their proper bounds,
And guiltless of offence, they range the air,
Or take their pastime in the spacious field:
There they are privileg'd. And he that hunts
Or harms them there, is guilty of a wrong;
Disturbs the economy of Nature's realm,
Who, when she form'd, design'd them an abode.
The sum is this: if man's convenience, health,
Or safety interfere, his rights and claims
Are paramount, and must extinguish theirs.
Else they are all-the meanest things that are,
As free to live and to enjoy that life,

As God was free to form them at the first,
Who, in his sovereign wisdom, made them all.

Ye, therefore, who love mercy, teach your sons
To love it too. The spring time of our years
Is soon dishonour'd and defil'd, in most,
By budding ills, that ask a prudent hand
To check them. But alas! none sooner shoots
If unrestrain'd, into luxuriant growth,
Than cruelty.

COWPER.

LESSON XXIII.

Accusation, Defence, Condemnation, and Death of Socrates.

1. Socrates having been accused by his enemies, of whom the best men frequently have the greatest number, and brought to a public trial, on a variety of frivolous and mostly false charges, he was condemned, by a majority of five hundred judges, to suffer death by drinking a decoction of hemlock, which he submitted to, with undaunted firmness and composure.

2. One accusation was, that he denied the fabulous deities adored by his country; which, if true, would have been one of the most magnanimous and glorious deeds he could have been guilty of. He, however, denies the charge, and cites the sacrifices he had made to them, in the temples and in his own house.

3. He was accused of corrupting and leading astray the youth, there being mischievous and abandoned men found among those who had been his pupils. To which he makes the following defence:

4. "I am accused of corrupting the youth, and of instilling dangerous maxims into them, as well as in regard to the worship of the gods, as the rules of government. You know, Athenians, that I never made it my profession, to teach; nor can envy, however violent against me, reproach me with ever having sold my instructions. I have an undeniable evidence for me in this respect, which is my poverty.

5. "Always equally ready to communicate my thoughts either to the rich or poor, and to give them entire leisure to question or answer me, I lend myself to every one who is desirous of becoming virtuous; and if amongst those who hear me, there are any who prove either good or bad, neither the virtues of the one, nor the vices of the other, to which I have not contributed, are to be ascribed to me.

6. "My whole employment is to persuade young and old against too much love for the body, for riches, and all other precarious things, of whatever nature they be, and against too little regard for the soul, which ought to be the object of their affection: for I incessantly urge to you, that virtue does not proceed from riches, but on the contrary, riches from virtue; and that all the other goods of human

F

life, as well public as private, have their source in the same principle.

7. And what is the cause, that when others are under a necessity to procure their delicacies from abroad, at an exorbitant rate, I can indulge in pleasures far more exquisite, by recurring to the reflections of my own mind? If to speak in this manner be to corrupt youth, I confess, Athenians, that I am guilty and deserve to be punished. Pass on me what sentence you please, Athenians, but I can neither repent nor change my conduct."

8. On hearing his final sentence, addressing himself to the judges with a noble tranquillity, "I am going," said he, "to suffer death by your order, to which nature had condemned me from the first moment of my birth; but my accusers will suffer no less from infamy and injustice by the decrees of truth."

9. While in prison, Socrates was notified by his friends that his jailor was bribed, and that it was in his power to escape the fatal destiny which awaited him, which he was pressingly urged to do. But he sternly rejected the proposition, on the principle that it would be unjust and shameful to violate and evade the laws of the republic, even in their cruel excesses; having repeatedly pledged himself to inviolable fidelity, by the most solemn engagements.

10. "It has always been a maxim with us," says he, "that it is never allowable, upon any pretence whatsoever, to commit injustice, not even in regard to those who injure us, nor to return evil for evil, and that when we have once engaged our word, we are bound to keep it inviolably; no interest being capable to dispense with it."

11. Some time after the death of Socrates, the Athenians became sensible of their shameful outrage, which appeared in all its horrors. Athens was in universal mourning and consternation. The accusers were called to an account, and condemned to death, banishment, and treated with every kind of contumely; so that some of them killed themselves.

12. Although Socrates discovered extraordinary sagacity in the perception of moral truth, it appears from his construing his penetrating prompt judgment into a personal genius, or demon, that he had not divested his mind of the influence of the fantastic chimeras that were generally prevalent in those dark ages of ignorance and superstition.

Another evidence of this, is, his faith in oracles, in sacrifices to imaginary fabulous deities, in a multiplicity of gods, &c.

13. The excellent instructions which Socrates delivered to the Athenians, in relation to the practical moral duties, entitled him to their respect and gratitude; but they still remained idolatrous, and "too superstitious," until, five hundred years after him," PAUL stood in the midst of Mar's hill," and declared unto them the God “that dwelleth not in temples made with hands!" ROLLIN.

LESSON XXIV.

Some account of Rip Van Winkle.

1. Rip Van Winkle was one of those happy mortals, of foolish well-oiled disposition, who take the world easy, eat white bread or brown, which ever he got with least thought or trouble, and would rather starve on a penny than work for a pound. If left to himself he would have whistled life away, in perfect contentment; but his wife kept continually dinning in his ears about his idleness, his carelessness, and the ruin he was bringing on his family.

2. Morning, noon, and night, her tongue was incessantly going, and every thing he said or did was sure to produce a torrent of household eloquence. Rip had but one way of replying to all lectures of the kind, and that, by frequent use, had grown into a habit. He shrugged his shoulders, shook his head, cast up his eyes, but said nothing. This, however, always provoked a fresh volley from his wife, so that he was fain to draw off his forces, and take to the outside of the house-the only side which, in truth, belongs to a henpecked husband.

3. Rip's sole domestic adherent was his dog Wolf, who was as much henpecked as his master; for Dame Van Winkle regarded them as companions in idleness, and even looked upon Wolf with an evil eye, as the cause of his master's so often going astray. True, it is, in all points of spirit befitting an honourable dog, he was as courageous an animal as ever scoured the woods-but what courage can withstand the ever-during and all-besetting terrors of a woman's tongue?