5. 'Tis thus that man to man behaves;
Witness the planter and his slaves.
'Tis thus that state oppresses state,
And infant freedom meets its fate.

"Wretch !" cries the stronger, "hold thy tongue,
For thou art weak, and I am strong."

LESSON XXXV.

The Lion and Dog.

1. It was customary for those who were unable to pay sixpence for the sight of the wild beasts in the Tower, to bring a dog or a cat, as a gift to the beasts, in lieu of money to the keeper. Among others, a man had brought a pretty black spaniel, which was thrown into the cage of the great lion.— Immediately the little animal trembled and shivered, crouched, and threw itself on its back, put forth its tongue, and held up its paws, as if praying for mercy.

2. In the mean time, the lion, instead of devouring it, turned it over with one paw, and then turned it with the other. He smelled of it, and seemed desirous of courting a further acquaintance. The keeper, on seeing this, brought a large mess of his own family dinner. But the lion kept aloof, and refused to eat, keeping his eye on the dog, and inviting him, as it were, to be his taster.

3. At length, the little animal's fears being somewhat abated, and his appetite quickened by the smell of the victuals, he approached slowly, and, with trembling, ventured to eat. The lion then advanced gently, and began to partake, and they finished their meal very quietly together.

4. From this day, a strict friendship commenced between them, consisting of great affection and tenderness on the part of the lion, and of the utmost confidence and boldness on the part of the dog; insomuch that he would lay himself down to sleep within the fangs and under the jaws of his terrible patron.

5. In about twelve months, the little spaniel sickened and died. For a time, the lion did not appear to conceive otherwise than that his favorite was asleep. He would continue to smell of him, and then would stir him with his nose, and turn him over with his paws.

6. But, finding that all his efforts to wake him were vain, he would traverse his cage from end to end at a swift and uneasy pace. He would then stop, and look down upon him with a

fixed and drooping regard; and again lift up his head, and roar for several minutes, as the sound of distant thunder.

7. They attempted, but in vain, to convey the carcase from him. He watched it continually, and would suffer nothing to touch it. The keeper then endeavored to tempt him with a variety of food, but he turned from all that was offered, with loathing.

8. They then put several living dogs in his cage, which he tore in pieces, but left their members on the floor. His passions being thus inflamed, he would grapple at the bars of his cage, as if enraged at his restraint from tearing those around him to pieces.

9. Again, as if quite spent, he would stretch himself by the remains of his beloved associate, lay his paws upon him, and take him to his bosom; and then utter his grief in deep and melancholy roaring, for the loss of his little play-fellow, his late friend, the only companion of his den.

10. For five days, he thus languished, and gradually declined, without taking any sustenance or admitting any comfort, till, one morning, he was found dead, with his head reclined on the carcase of his little friend. They were both interred together.

LESSON XXXVI.

Scene from "the Poor Gentleman.”

SIR ROBERT, FREDERICK, AND HUMPHREY.
Enter Frederick, hastily.

Fred. O my dear uncle, good morning! your park* is nothing but beauty.

Sir Rob. Who bid you caper over my beauty? I told you to stay in doors till I got up.

Fred. So you did, but I entirely forgot it.

Sir Rob. And pray what made you forget it?

Fred. The sun.

Sir Rob. The sun! he's mad! you mean the moon I believe.

Fred. O my dear uncle, you don't know the effect of a fine spring morning upon a young fellow just arrived from Russia. The day looked bright, trees budding, birds singing, the park was so gay, that I took a leap out of your old balcony, made your deer fly before me like the wind, and chased them all round the park, to get an appetite while you were snoring in bed, uncle. *Park, a large piece of ground enclosed, in which deer and other beasts of chase are kept.

Sir Rob. Oh, oh! So the effect of English sunshine upon Russian is to make him jump out of a balcony and worry my deer.

Fred. I confess it had that influence upon me.

Sir Rob. You had better be influenced by a rich old uncle, unless you think the sun likely to leave you a fat legacy. Fred. I hate legacies.

Sir Rob. Sir, that's mighty singular. They are pretty solid tokens at least.

Fred. Very melancholy tokens, uncle; they are the posthumous despatches which affection sends to gratitude to inform us we have lost a gracious friend.

Sir Rob. How charmingly the dog argues.

Fred. But I own my spirits run away with me this morning. I will obey you better in future; for they tell me you are a very worthy, good sort of old gentleman.

Sir Rob. Now, who had the familiar impudence to tell you that?

Fred. Old rusty, there.

Sir Rob. Why, Humphrey, you didn't?

Humph. Yes, but I did, though.

Fred. Yes he did, and on that score I shall be anxious to show you obedience, for 'tis as meritorious to attempt sharing a good man's heart, as it is paltry to have designs upon a rich man's money. A noble nature aims its attentions full breast high, uncle; a mean mind levels its dirty assiduities at the pocket.

Sir Rob. (shaking him by the hand.) Jump out of every window I have in the house hunt my deer into high fevers, my fine fellow. Ay, that's right, this is spunk and plain speaking. Give me a man who is always plumping his dissent to my doctrines smack in my teeth

Fred. I disagree with you there, uncle.

Humph. And so do I.

Fred. You, you forward puppy! If you were not so old I'd knock you down.

Sir Rob. I'll knock you down if you do. I wont have my servants thump'd into dumb flattery; I wont let you teach 'em to make silence a toad-eater.

Humph. Come, you are ruffled. Let us go to the business of the morning.

Sir Rob. I hate the business of the morning. Don't you see we are engaged in discussion. I tell you, I hate the business of the morning.

Humph. No, you don't.

Sir Rob Don't I? Why not?
Humph. Because it's charity.

Sir Rob. Pshaw,* then. Well, we must not neglect the business, if there be any distress in the parish; read the list, Humphrey.

(Humphrey takes out a paper and reads.) "Jonathan Huggins of Muck Mead is put in prison."

Sir Rob. Why, it was only last week that Gripe, the attorney,† recovered two cottages for him by law, worth sixty pounds. Humph. And charged a hundred for his trouble; so seiz'd the cottages for part of his bill, and threw Jonathan into jail for the remainder.

Sir Rob. A harpy! I must relieve the poor fellow's distress.
Fred. And I must kick his attorney.

Humph. (reading.) "The curate's horse is dead.”
Sir Rob. Pshaw-there's no distress in that.

Humph. Yes, there is, to a man that must go twenty miles every Sunday to preach, for thirty pounds a year.

Sir Rob. Why won't the vicars give him another nag? Humph. Because 'tis cheaper to get another curate ready mounted.

Sir Rob. Well, send him the black pad which I purchased ast Tuesday, and tell him to work him as long as he lives.What else have we upon the list?

Humph. Somewhat out of the common-there's one lieutenant Worthington, a disabled officer, and a widower, come to lodge at farmer Harrowby's in the village; he is, it seems, very poor, but more proud than poor, and more honest than proud. Sir Rob. And so he sends to me for assistance!

Humph. No, he'd sooner die than ask you or any man for a shilling! there's his daughter, and his dead wife's aunt, and an old corporal that has served in the wars with him—he keeps them all upon half pay.

Sir Rob. Starves them all, I'm afraid, Humphrey.

Fred. (going.) Good morning, uncle.

Sir Rob. You rogue, where are you running now?
Fred. To talk to lieutenant Worthington.

Sir Rob. And what may you be going to say to him?

* Pronounced shaw.

+ Pronounced at-tur'-ne.

Harpy, a fabulous winged monster, noted for its voraciousness and pollution.

Curate, a clergyman employed in the place of a vicar. § Pronounced vic ́-ar, the priest of a parish.

Fred. I can't tell 'till I encounter him, and then, uncle, when I have an old gentleman by the hand who is disabled in his country's service, and struggling to support his motherless child, a poor relation, and a faithful servant, in honorable indigence, impulse will supply me with words to express my sentiments.

Sir Rob. Stop, you rogue, I must be before you in this business.

Fred. That depends upon who can run fastest; so start fair, uncle, and here goes-(runs out.)

Sir Rob. Stop, stop; why, Frederick-a jackanapes-to take my department out of my hands. I'll disinherit the dog for his assurance.

Humph. No, you won't.

Sir Rob. Won't I? Hang me if—but, we'll argue as we go. So, come along, Humphrey.

LESSON XXXVII.

that point

[Exeunt.

Scene between Captain Tackle and Jack Bowlin.

Bowl. Good day to your honor.

Capt. Good day, honest Jack.

Bowl. To-day is my captain's birth-day.

Capt. I know it.

Bowl. I am heartily glad on the occasion.
Capt. I know that too.

Bowl. Yesterday your honor broke your sea-foam pipe. Capt. Well, sir booby, and why must I be put in mind of it? it was stupid enough to be sure, but hark ye, Jack, all men at times do stupid actions, but I never met with one who liked to be reminded of them.

Bowl. I meant no harm, your honor. It was only a kind of introduction to what I was going to say. I have been buying this pipe-head and ebony-tube, and if the thing is not too bad, and my captain will take such a present on his birth-day, for the sake of poor old Jack

Capt. Is that what you would be at-Come, let's see.

Bowl. To be sure, it is not sea-foam; but my captain must think, when he looks at it, that the love of old Jack was not mere foam neither.

Capt. Give it here, my honest fellow.

Bowl. You will take it?

Capt. To be sure I will.