LESSON XCVII.

The Blind Preacher.-WIRT.

1 As I travelled through the county of Orange, my eye was caught by a cluster of horses tied near a ruinous, old, wooden house, in the forest, not far from the road-side. Having frequently seen such objects before, in travelling through these states, I had no difficulty in understanding that this was a place of religious worship. Devotion alone should have stopped me, to join in the duties of the congregation; but I must confess, that curiosity to hear the preacher of such a wilderness, was not the least of my

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motives.

On entering the house, I was struck with his preternatural appearance. He was a tall and very spare old man. His head, which was covered with a white linen cap; his shrivelled hands, and his voice, were all shaken under the influence of a palsy, and a few moments ascertained to me that he was perfectly blind. The first emotions which touched my breast, were those of mingled pity and veneration. But ah! how soon were all my feelings changed! It was a day of the administration of the sacrament, and his subject, of course, was the passion of our Savior. I had 3 heard the subject handled a thousand times; I had thought it exhausted long ago. Little did I suppose, that in the wild woods of America I was to meet with a man, whose eloquence would give to this topic a new and more sublime pathos than I had ever before witnessed.

As he descended from the pulpit, to distribute the mystic symbol, there was a peculiar, a more than human solemnity in his air and manner, which made my blood run cold, and my whole frame to shiver. He then drew a picture of the sufferings of our Savior-his trial before Pilate—his as4 cent up Calvary-his crucifixion—and his death. I knew the whole history; but never, until then, had I heard the circumstances so selected, so arranged, so colored! It was all new; and I seemed to have heard it for the first time in my life. His enunciation was so deliberate, that his voice trembled on every syllable; and every heart in the assembly trembled in unison.

His peculiar phrases had that force of description, that the original scene appeared to be, at that moment, acting

before our eyes. We saw the very faces of the Jews-the 5 staring, frightful distortions of malice and rage. We saw the buffet--my soul kindled with a flame of indignation, and my hands were involuntarily and convulsively clenched. But when he came to touch the patience, the forgiving meckness of our Savior-when he drew, to the life, his blessed eyes streaming in tears to heaven-his voice breathing to God a soft and gentle prayer of pardon on his enemies, "Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do," the voice of the preacher, which had all along faltered, grew fainter and fainter, until his utterance being 6 entirely obstructed by the force of his feelings, he raised his handkerchief to his eyes, and burst into a loud and irrepressible flood of grief. The effect was inconceivable. The whole house resounded with the mingled groans, and sobs, and shrieks of the congregation.

It was some time before the tumult had subsided, so far as to permit him to proceed. Indeed, judging by the usual, but fallacious standard of my own weakness, I began to be very uneasy for the situation of the preacher. For I could not conceive how he would be able to let his audience down 7 from the height to which he had wound them, without impairing the solemnity and dignity of his subject, or perhaps shocking them by the abruptness of the fall. But the descent was as beautiful and sublime, as the elevation had been rapid and enthusiastic.

The first sentence with which he broke the awful silence, was a quotation from Rousseau :-" Socrates died like a philosopher, but Jesus Christ, like a God!" Never before did I completely understand wl.at Demosthenes meant by laying such stress on delivery.

LESSON XCVIII.

Summary Punishment.—WALT ER SCOTT.

1 It was under the burning influence of revenge, that the wife of MacGregor commanded that the hostage exchanged for her husband's safety, should be brought into her presence. I believe her sons had kept this unfortunate wretch out of her sight, for fear of the consequences; but, if it were so

their humane precaution only postponed his fate. They dragged forward at her summons a wretch, already half dead with terror, in whose agonized features I recognised, to my horror and astonishment, my old acquaintance Morris. He fell prostrate before the female chief, with an effort 2 to clasp her knees, from which she drew back, as if his touch had been pollution, so that all he could do in token of the extremity of his humiliation, was to kiss the hem of her plaid. I never heard entreaties for life poured forth with such agony of spirit. The ecstasy of fear was such, that, instead of paralyzing his tongue, as on ordinary occasions, it even rendered him eloquent; and, with cheeks as pale as ashes, hands compressed in agony, eyes that seemed to be taking their last look of all mortal objects, he prayed but for life-for life he would give all he had in the world;3 it was but life he asked--life, if it were to be prolonged under tortures and privations:-he asked only breath, though it should be drawn in the depths of the lowest caverns of their hills.

It is impossible to describe the scorn, the loathing, and contempt, with which the wife of MacGregor regarded this wretched petitioner for the poor boon of existence.

She gave a brief command in Gaelic to her attendants, two of whom seized upon the prostrate suppliant, and hurried him to the brink of a cliff which overhung the flood. 4 He set up the most piercing and dreadful cries that fear ever uttered-I may well term them dreadful, for they haunted my sleep for years afterwards.

I was so much moved by this horrid spectacle, that, although in momentary expectation of sharing his fate, I did attempt to speak in his behalf; but, as might have been expected, my interference was sternly disregarded. The victim was held fast by some, while others, binding a large heavy stone in a plaid, tied it round his neck, and others again, eagerly stripped him of some part of his dress. 5 Half-naked, and thus manacled, they hurried him into the lake, there about twelve feet deep, drowning his last deathshriek with a loud halloo of vindictive triumph, over which, however, the yell of mortal agony was distinctly heard. The heavy burden splashed in the dark blue waters of the lake, and the Highlanders, with their pole-axes and swords, watched an instant, to guard, lest, extricating himself from

the load to which he was attached, he might have struggled to regain the shore. But the knot had been securely bound; the victim sunk without effort; the waters which his fall had disturbed, settled calmly over him, and thẻ unit of that life for which he had pleaded so strongly, was forever withdrawn from the sum of human existence.

I have always observed, that women, in all countries, are civil, obliging, tender, and humane; that they are inclined to be gay and cheerful, timorous and modest, and that they do not, like man, hesitate to perform a generous action. Not haughty, arrogant, or supercilious, they are full of courtesy, and fond of society; more liable in general to err than man, but in general, also, more virtuous, and performing more good actions than he. To a woman, whether civilized or savage, I never addressed myself in the language of decency and friendship, without receiving a decent and friendly answer. With man it has been often otherwise. In wandering through the barren plains of inhospitable Denmark; through honest Sweden, and frozen Lapland, rude and churlish Finland, unprincipled Russia, and the wide-spread regions of the wandering Tartar; if hungry, dry, cold, wet, or sick, the women have ever been friendly to me, and uniformly so; and to add to this virtue, (so worthy to be called benevolence,) their actions have been performed in so free and kind a manner, that if I were dry, I drank the sweetest draught, and if hungry, ate the coarsest morsel, with a double relish.-Ledyard.

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LESSON XCIX.

Pestalozzi's School at Stantz.

[Pestalozzi, the celebrated teacher and philanthropist, was a native of Zurich in Switzerland; and of a highly respectable parentage. A benevolent desire to elevate the character and condition of the children of abject poverty in his neighborhood, by conferring upon them the benefits of early instruction, and of correct habits of industry, led him to establish a poor-school, at which pupils from the lowest

ranks of the indigent and suffering were collected, and taught the common branches of education, in connexion with agriculture and the mechanic arts. Narrow means, and the want of support from the more wealthy but less benevolent, brought him into pecuniary em2 barrassment; "but" says his biographer," he struggled with ill fortune, divided his bread with his scholars, and lived himself like a mendicant, that he might teach mendicants to live like men."

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In 1798, he was invited, and partially assisted by the government, to establish a school for poor children, at Stantz, then lately ravaged by fire during the revolutionary war. His own interesting account of that enterprise is as follows:]

"My first task, was to gain the confidence of my pupils, and to attach them to me; this main point once attained, all the rest appeared to me easy. The deserted state in which I found myself, all painful as it was, and 3 the absolute want of assistance, were precisely what contributed the most to the success of my enterprise. Cut off from the rest of mankind, I turned all my cares and all my affections to the children: to me they were indebted for all the relief they received. I partook alike of their pains and their pleasures; I was every where with them when they were well, and when they were sick I was constantly at their bed-side. We had the same nourishment, and I slept in the midst of them, and from my bed either prayed with them or taught them something." With all the difficulties of his position, to which at one period, sickness was added, Pestalozzi struggled for many months. "In 1799," continues Pestalozzi, "my school contained nearly 80 pupils, the greater part of whom announced good dispositions, and some even first-rate abilities. Study was to them quite a novelty, and they attached themselves to it with indefatigable zeal, as soon as they began to perceive their own progress. The very children who before had never had a book in their hands, applied from morning till night; and when I have asked them, after supper, My 5 children, which would you rather do, go to bed, or learn a little longer?' they would generally reply, that they would rather learn. The impulse was given, and their development began to take place with a rapidity that surpassed my most sanguine hopes. In a short time were seen above seventy children, taken almost all from a state of poverty, living together in peace and friendship, full of affection for one another, and with a cordiality that rarely exists among brothers and sisters in numerous families. I had never