stranger's surprise at this circumstance; as well as that of his fellow-citizens appearing, generally, so extremely indifferent as they did, to their own interests. 28. That they should have so little prudence and forethought as to provide only for their necessities and pleasures for that short part of their existence in which they were to remain in this planet, he could consider as the effect of disordered intellect; so that he even returned their incivilities to himself with affectionate expostulation, accompanied by lively emotions of compassion and amazement. 29. If ever he was tempted for a moment to violate any of the conditions of his future happiness, he bewailed his own madness with agonizing emotions; and to all the invitations he received from others to do any thing inconsistent with his real interests, he had but one answer—“Oh,” he would say, "I am to die-I am to die." LESSON LII. Earthquake in Calabria. 1. In 1638, the celebrated father Kircher, and four others, were on a journey to visit Mount Etna, and the wonders in Calabria, the southern extremity of Italy. Having hired a boat, they left Messina in Sicily, for Euphemia a city in Calabria. Having crossed the strait, they landed at the promontory of Pelorus, where they were detained for some time, by bad weather. 2. At length, wearied by delay, they resolved to prosecute their voyage. But scarcely had they quitted the shore, when all nature seemed to be in motion, and although the air was calm and serene, the sea became violently agitated, covered with bubbles-the gulf of Charibdis seemed whirled round in an unusual manner,-Mount Etna sent forth vast volumes of smoke-and Stromboli belched forth flumes, with a noise like peals of thunder. 3. Alarmed for their safety, they rowed with all possible haste for the shore ;—but no sooner had they landed, than their ears were stunned with a horrid sound, resembling that of an infinite number of carriages driven fiercely forward,-wheels rattling, and thongs crackling. This was followed by a most dreadful earthquake, which shook the place so violently, that they were thrown prostrate on the ground. This paroxism having ceased, they started for Euphemia, which lay within. sight, but looking towards the city, they perceived a frightful dark cloud resting upon the place. Having waited until the cloud had passed away,-wonderful to tell,-no city was there; it had totally sunk ;—and in its place a dismal and putrid lake was seen. All was a melancholy solitude,—a scene of hideous désolation. 4. Proceeding pensively along, in search of some human being for information, they perceived a boy sitting by the shore, who appeared stupified with terror. They asked him concerning the fate of the city;-but he gave them no answer. They intreated,-begged him to tell them ;-he only gazed on the dismal lake ;-they offered him food,-but he heeded it not; they tried to rouse him from his insensibility,—but pointing to the place of the city, with a shriek he fled, and was seen no more. The Wild Boy.-CHARLES W. THOMPSON. 1. He sat upon the wave washed shore, The surges dash-the breakers roar He noticed not the billows roll, 2. They spoke him kindly-but he gazed, They gave him food-he look'd amazed He was as one o'er whom a spell 3. The city of his home and heart, 4. His kindred there, a numerous band, In the broad ruin of the land All-all had met their doom! 5. He sat alone, of all the crowd LESSON LIII. The Starling.-Sterne. 1. BESHREW the sombre* pencil! said I vauntingly-for I envy not its powers, which paints the evils of life with so hard and deadly a coloring. The mind sits terrified at the objects. she has magnified herself and blackened: reduce them to their proper size and hue, she overlooks them. 2. 'Tis true, said I, correcting the proposition-the Bastilet is not an evil to be despised-but strip it of its towers fill up the fosset-unbarricade the doors-call it simply a confinement, and suppose 'tis some tyrant of a distemper-and not of a man- -which holds you in it-the evil vanishes, and you bear the other half without complaint. 6 it 3. I was interrupted in the hey-day of this soliloquy, with a voice which I took to be of a child, which complained, could not get out."-I looked up and down the passage, and seeing neither man, woman, nor child, I went out without further attention. 4. In my return back through the passage, I heard the same words repeated twice over; and looking up, I saw it was a Starling hung in a little cage-"I can't get out-I can't get out,” said the Starling. *Pronounced Som'-ber, gloomy, dull, sad. Pronounced Bas-teel, an old castle in Paris, built between 1369 and 1383, and used as a state prison. It was demolished in 1789. Pronounced Foss, a ditch, 5. I stood looking at the bird; and to every person who came through the passage, it ran fluttering to the side towards which they approached it, with the same lamentations of its captivity "I can't get out," said the Starling. 6. God help thee! said I, but I will let thee out, cost what it will; so I turned about the cage to get at the door; it was twisted and double twisted so fast with wire, there was no getting it open without pulling the cage to pieces-I took both hands to it. 7. The bird flew to the place where I was attempting his deliverance, and thrusting his head through the trellis, pressed his breast against it as if impatient.-I fear, poor creature! said I, I cannot set thee at liberty-"No," said the Starling."I can't get out, I can't get out," said the Starling. 8. I never had my affections more tenderly awakened; nor do I remember an incident in my life, where the dissipated spirits, to which my reason had been a bubble, were so suddenly called home. 9. Mechanical as the notes were, yet so true in tune to nature were they chanted, that in one moment they overthrew all my systematic reasonings upon the Bastile; and I heavily walked up stairs, unsaying every word I had said in going down them. 10. Disguise thyself as thou wilt, still, slavery !—still thou art a bitter draught! and though thousands in all ages have ade to drink of thee, thou art no less bitter on that mau account. 11. 'Tis thou, Liberty-thrice sweet and gracious goddess,— whom all in public or in private worship, whose taste is grateful, and ever will be so, till nature herself shall change-no tint of words can spot thy snowy mantle, or chymic power turn thy sceptre into iron-with thee to smile upon him as he eats his crust, the swain is happier than his monarch, from whose court thou art exiled. 12. Gracious Heaven! Grant me but health, thou great Bestower of it, and give me but this fair goddess as my companion-and shower down thy mitres,* if it seems good unto thy divine Providence, upon those heads which are aching for them. 13. The bird in his cage pursued me into my room; I sat down close by my table, and leaning my head upon my hand, • Mitre, a kind of crown, or ornament, worn on the head by Bishops on solemn occasions. I began to figure to myself the miseries of confinement; I was in a right frame for it, and so I gave full scope to my imag ination. 14. I was going to begin with the millions of my fellow creatures born to no inheritance but slavery; but finding, however affecting the picture was, that I could not bring it near me, and that the multitude of sad groupes in it did but distract me—I took a single captive, and having first shut him up in his dungeon, I then looked through the twilight of his grated door to take his picture. 15. I beheld his body half wasted away with long expectation and confinement, and felt what kind of sickness of the heart it is which arises from hope deferred. Upon looking nearer, I saw him pale and feverish in thirty years the western breeze had not once fanned his blood-he had seen no sun, no moon, in all that time-nor had the voice of friend or kinsman breathed through his lattice-his children—but here my heart began to bleed-and I was forced to go on with another part of the portrait. 16. He was sitting upon the ground upon a little straw, in the furthest corner of his dungeon, which was alternately his chair and bed; a little calender of small sticks were laid at the head, notched all over with the dismal days and nights he had passed there he had one of these little sticks in his hand, and with a rusty nail he was etching another day of misery to add to the heap. 17. As I darkened the little light he had, he lifted up a hopeless eye towards the door, then cast it down-shook his head, and went on with his work of affliction. I heard his chains upon his legs, as he turned his body to lay his little stick upon the bundle-He gave a deep sigh-I saw the iron enter into his soul-I burst into tears-I could not sustain the picture of confinement which my fancy had drawn. LESSON LIV. Alcander and Septimius.—GOLDSMITH. 1. ALCANDER and Septimius were two Athenian students, whose taste for the arts and sciences became the foundation of their future friendship, and they were scarcely ever seen apart. Although Alcander's breast was animated by that tender sentiment, a still more lively one found entrance, and the fair |