I do with this fellow? I have neither sword nor pistol; and his shade seems to be twice as strong as mine.

Mercury. You must answer his questions. It was your own desire to have a conversation with him. He is not well-bred, but he will tell you some truths which you must hear in this place. It would have been well for you if you had heard them above. He asked of you what you could do besides eating and dancing?

Duellist. I sang very agreeably.

Savage. Let me hear you sing your death-song, or the war-whoop. I challenge you to sing;-the fellow is mute. -Mercury, this is a liar.-He tells us nothing but lies. Let me pull out his tongue.

Duellist. The lie given me !-and, alas! I dare not resent it. Oh, what a disgrace to the family of the Pushwells!

Mercury. Here Charon, take these two savages to your care. How far the barbarism of the Mohawk will excuse his horrid acts, I leave Minos to judge; but what excuse can the Englishman plead? The custom of duelling? An excuse this, that in these regions cannot avail. The spirit that made him draw his sword in the combat against his friend, is not the spirit of honor; it is the spirit of the furies, of Alecto herself. To her he must go, for she has long dwelt in his merciless bosom.

Savage. If he is to be punished, turn him over to me. I understand the art of tormenting. Sirrah,* I begin with this kick, as a tribute to your boasted honor. Get you into the boat, or I will give you another. I am impatient to have you condemned.

Duellist. Oh my honor, my honor, to what infamy art thou fallen!

LESSON XXXIV.

The Mice.-FENELON.

A MOUSE, weary of living in the continual alarm attendant on the carnage committed among her nation by Mitis and Rodilardus, thus addressed herself to the tenant of a hole near her own.

"An excellent thought has just come into my head:-I

*Pron. Sar-rah.

read in some book which I gnawed a few days ago, that there is a fine country, called the Indies, in which mice are in much greater security than here. In that region, the sages believe that the soul of a mouse has been that of a king, a great captain, or some wonderful saint, and that after death it will probably enter the body of a beautiful woman or mighty potentate. If I recollect rightly, this is called metempsychosis. Under this idea, they treat all animals. with paternal charity, and build and endow hospitals for mice, where they are fed like people of consequence. Come then, my good sister, let us hasten to a country, the customs of which are so excellent, and where justice is done to our merits." Her neighbor replied, "But, sister, do not cats enter these hospitals? if they do, metempsychosis must take place very soon, and in great numbers; and a talon or a tooth might make a fakir, or a king; a miracle we can very well do without." "Do not fear," said the first mouse, "in these countries order is completely established; the cats have their houses as well as we ours, and they have their hospitals for the sick separate from ours." After this conversation, our two mice set out together, contriving the evening before she set sail, to creep along the cordage of a vessel that was to make a long voyage.

They got under weigh, and were enraptured with the sight of the sea, which took them from the abominable shores on which cats exercise their tyranny. The sail was pleasant, and they reached Surat, not like merchants, to acquire riches, but to receive good treatment from the Hindoos. They had scarcely entered one of the houses fitted up for mice, when they aspired to the best accommodation. One of them pretended to recollect having formerly been a Bramin on the coast of Malabar, and the other protested that she had been a fine lady of the same country, with long ears; but they displayed so much impertinence, that the Indian mice lost all patience. A civil war commenced, and no quarter was given to the two Franks who pretended to impose laws on the others; when, instead of being eaten by cats, they were strangled by their own brethren. From this it is evident, that it is useless to go far in search of safety; as, if we are not modest and wise, we only go into danger; and if we are so, we may be secure at home.

LESSON XXXV.

The Lord and the Judge.-LOMONOSOV.*

THE God of gods stood up-stood up to try
The assembled gods of earth. How long," he said,
"How long will ye protect impiety,
And let the vile one raise his daring head?
'Tis yours my laws to justify-redress
All wrong, however high the wronger be;
Nor leave the widow and the fatherless
To the cold world's uncertain sympathy.
'Tis yours to guard the steps of innocence,
To shield the naked head of misery;

Be 'gainst the strong, the helpless one's defence,
And the poor prisoner from his chains to free."
They hear not-see not-know not-for their eyes
Are covered with thick mists-they will not see;
The sick earth groans with man's iniquities,
And heaven is tired with man's perversity.
Gods of the earth! ye Kings! who answer not
To man for your misdeeds, and vainly think
There's none to judge you ;-know, like ours, your lot
Is pain and death:-ye stand on judgment's brink.
And ye like fading autumn-leaves will fall;
Your throne but dust-your empire but a grave-
Your martial pomp a black funereal pall—
Your palace trampled by your meanest slave.
God of the righteous! O our God! arise,
O hear the prayer thy lowly servants bring:
Judge, punish, scatter, Lord! thy enemies,
And be alone earth's universal king.

A certain man a house would build ;
The place is with materials filled ;
And every thing is ready there-
Is it a difficult affair?

Yes! till you fix the corner-stone;
It wont erect itself alone..

Day rolls on day, and year on year,
And nothing yet is done-
There's always something to delay
The business to another day.

And thus in silent waiting stood
The piles of stone and piles of wood
Till Death, who in his vast affairs
Ne'er puts things off-as men in theirs—
And thus, if I the truth must tell,
Does his work finally and well-
Winked at our hero as he past,

Your house is finished, Sir, at last;
A narrower house-a house of clay-
Your palace for another day!”

LESSON XXXVII.

Hope triumphant in death.-CAMPBELL. UNFADING Hope! when life's last embers burn, When soul to soul, and dust to dust return, Heaven to thy charge resigns' the awful hour! Oh! then thy kingdom comes, Immortal Power! What though each spark of earth-born rapture fly The quivering lip, pale cheek, and closing eye! Bright to the soul thy seraph hands convey The morning dream of life's eternal day— Then, then, the triumph and the trance begin! And all the Phoenix spirit burns within!

Oh! deep-enchanting prěl'ude to repose, The dawn of bliss, the twilight of our woes! Yet half I hear the parting spirit sigh, It is a dread and awful thing to die! Mysterious worlds, untravell❜d by the sun! Where Time's far-wandering tide has never run, From your unfathom'd shades, and viewless spheres, A warning comes, unheard by other ears.

'Tis Heaven's commanding trumpet, long and loud,
Like Sinai's thunder, pealing from the cloud!
While Nature hears, with terror-mingled trust,
The shock that hurls her fabric to the dust;
And, like the trembling Hebrew, when he trod
The roaring waves, and called upon his God,
With mortal terrors clouds immortal bliss,
And shrieks, and hovers o'er the dark abyss!

Daughter of Faith, awake, arise, illume
The dread unknown, the chaos of the tomb!
Melt, and dispel, ye spectre-doubts, that roll
Cimmerian darkness on the parting soul!
Fly, like the moon-ey'd herald of Dismay,
Chas'd on his night-steed by the star of day!
The strife is o'er-the pangs of Nature close,
And life's last rapture triumphs o'er her woes.
Hark! as the spirit eyes, with eagle gaze,
The noon of Heaven, undazzled by the blaze,
On heavenly winds that waft her to the sky,
Float the sweet tones of star-born melody;
Wild as that hallowed anthem sent to hail
Bethlehem's shepherds in the lonely vale,
When Jordan hush'd his waves, and midnight still
Watch'd on the holy towers of Zion hill!

Soul of the just! companion of the dead! Where is thy home, and whither art thou fled? Back to its heavenly source thy being goes, Swift as the comet wheels to whence he rose ; Doom'd on his airy path awhile to burn, And doom'd, like thee, to travel, and return.Hark! from the world's exploding centre driven, With sounds that shook the firmament of Heaven, Careers the fiery giant, fast and far,

-

On bickering wheels, and adamantine car;
From planet whirl'd to planet more remote,
He visits realms beyond the reach of thought;
But, wheeling homeward, when his course is run,
Curbs the red yoke, and mingles with the sun!
So hath the traveller of earth unfurl'd
Her trembling wings, emerging from the world;
And, o'er the path by mortal never trod,
Sprung to her source, the bosom of her God!