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and children to their protection. He lost the battle, and was obliged to seek security for his person in flight.

2. He doubted not, at first, but that he should find a safe asylum among his good friends the Athenians ; but those ungrateful people refused to receive him, and even sent back to him his wife and children, under pretence, that they probably might not be safe in Athens, where the enemy might come and take them,

3. This conduct pierced the heart of Demetrius; for nothing is so affecting to an honest mind, as the ingratitude of those we love, and to whom we have done singular services. Some time afterwards this prince recovered his affairs, and came with a large army to lay siege to Athens.

4. The Athenians, persuaded that they had no pardon to expect from Demetrius, determined to die sword in hand, and passed a decree, which condemned to death those who should first propose to surrender to that prince; but they did not recollect that there was but little corn in the city, and that they would in a short time be in want of bread,

5. Want soon made them sensible of their error; and, after having suffered hunger for a long time, the most reasonable among them said " It would be better that Demetrius should kill us at once, than for us to die by the lingering death of famine. Perhaps he will have pity on our wives and children.” They then opened to him the gates of the city.

6. Demetrius having taken possession of the city, order. ed, that all the married men should assemble in a spacious place appointed for the purpose, and that the soldiery, sword in hand, should surround them. Cries and lamentations were then heard from every quarter of the city; women embracing their husbands, children their parents, and all taking an eternal farewell of each other.

7. When the married men were all thus collected, Demetrius, for whom an elevated situation was provided, reproached them for their ingratitude in the most feeling manner, insomuch that he himself could not help shedding tears. Demetrius for some time remained silent, while the Athenians expected, that the next word he uttered would be to order bis soldiers to massacre them all,

8. It is hardly possible to say what must have been their surprise when they heard that good prince say, "I wish to convince you how ungenerously yuo have treated me; for it was not to an enemy you have refused assistance, but to a prince who loved you, who still loves you, and who wishes to revenge himself only by granting your pardon, and by being still your friend. Returo to your own homes; while you have been here, my soldiers have been filling your houses with provisions.

CUDJOE, THE FAITHFUL AFRICAN

A NEW-ENGLAND sloop trading on the coast

of Guinea, in 1752, left a second mate, William Murray, sick on shore, and sailed without him. Murray was at the house of a black man named Cudjoe, with whom he had contracted an acquaintance during their trade.

2. He recovered; and the sloop being gone, he continued with his black friend till some other opportunity should offer of his getting home. In the mean time a Dutch ship came into the road, and son.e of the blacks.coming on board of her, were treacherously seized and carried off as their slaves.

3. The relations and friends, transported with sudden rage, ran to the house of Cudjoe, to take revenge by killing Murray. Cudjoe stopped them at the door, and demanded what they wanted. The white men, said they, have care ried away our brothers and sons, and we will kill all white men. Give us the white man you have in your house, for we will kill him.

4. Nay, said Cudjoe, the white men who carried away your relations are bad men; kill them when you can take them; but this white man is a good man, and you must not kill him. But he is a white man, they cried; and the white men are all bad men; we must kill them all. Nay, says he, you must not kill a man who has done no harm, only for being white.

5. This man is my friend, my house is his post, I am his soldier, and must fight for him; you must kill me be

fore

fore you can kill kim. What good man will ever come again under my roof, if I let my Hoor be stained with a good man's blood ?

6. The negroes seeing his resolution, and being convinced by his discourse that they were wrong, went away ashamed. In a few day- Murray ventured abroad again with his friend Cudjoe, when several of them took him by the hand, and told him they were glad they had not killed him; for as he was a good meaning, innocent man, their god would have been very angry, and would have spoiled their fishing,

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THE INDIAN CHIEF.

The following poem is founded on a traditionary story

which is common on the borders of the great fall of Niagara, although differing in some unimportant particulars,

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HE rain fell in torrents, the thunder roll'd deep,
And silenc'd the catarac's roar;
But neither the night nor the tempest could keep

The warrior chieftain on shore.
2. The war shout has sounded, the stream must be cross'd;

Why lingers the leader afar!
'Twere better his life than his glory be lost;

He never came late to the war.
3. He seiz'd a canoe as he sprung from the rock,

But fast as the shore fled his reach,
The mountain wave seem'd all his efforts to mock,

And dash'd the canoe on the beach.
4. Great Spirit, he cried, shall the battle be given,

And all but their leader be there?
May this struggle land me with them or in heaven!

And he push'd with the strength of despair.
5. He has quitted the shore, he has gained the deep,

His guide is the lightning alone,
But he felt not with fast, irresistible sweep,

The rapids were bearing him down.
6. But the catarac's roar with the thunder now vied;
O what is the meaning of this!
10*

He

He spoke and just turned to the catarac's side,

As the lightning flash'd down the abyss.
7. All the might of his arm to one effort was given,

At self-preservation's command;
But the treacherous oar with the effort was riven,

And the fragment remaind in his hand. 8. Be it so, cry'd the warrior, taking his seat,

And folding his bow to his breast;
Let the cataract shroud my pale corpse with its sheet,

And its roar lull my spirit to rest. 9. The prospect of death with the brave I have borne.

I shrink not to bear it alone;
I have often fac'd death when the hope was forlorn,

But I shrink not to face him with none. 10. The thunder was hush'd, and the battle field staind,

When the sun met the war-wearied eye,
But no trace of the boat, nor the chieftain remaind,

Though his bow was still seen in the sky.

DIALOGUE ON DRESS AND ASSURANCE.

George. OW are you Dick? why what's the matter, boy? whose sins are you lamenţing now?

Richard. Yours, George. I cannot but tremble for you when I consider what must be the inevitable consequence of your present line of conduct.

G. Pshaw, Dick! now don't, my good fellow, distress yourself on my account, for I am determined to enjoy life, and I should be sorry to have my enjoyment the source of pain to an old friend.

R. What do you mean by enjoyment?

G. Enjoyment! Why plenty of all the good things of this world, and a comfortable sit down now and then with one's friends.

R. But do you not recollect that your resources are by no means equal to your dress and other extraordinary expenses?

G. We bloods look to our dress for resources, and not to our resources for dress as you do,

R.

R. Can you do this honestly?

G. Hon-est-ly, (drawling it out) we have no such word in our vocabulary.

R. So it should seem. But tell me how do you contrive to keep up such an appearance of wealth and fashion, when I can barely subsist. What is the chief requisite?

G. Assurance, my dear. Lay in a good stock of as surance, and

yon

have a mine at your disposal, R. But will assurance clothe me?

G. Yes, and feed you too. Hark ye, Dick, if your clothes be worn out or unfashionable, go to a tailor, and order a suit of the best cloth, to be sent to your lodgings. Say nothing about the price, mind you, say nothing about that, none but the vulgar who intend to pay, ever say any thing about the price.

R. Well, but must not I pay for them?

G. Pay for them, no, man. When prieklouse calls for his money, order another suit. Try this expedient till he refuses to work for you, then swear at him for a troublesome puppy, and forbid him

your house.
R. Clothes, however, are not all I shall need.

G. That's true, Dick, but they will procure every thing else. What's a man without clothes? A smooth shilling that hardly passes for what it really weighs, while every body gives currency to one fresh from the mint Clothes, Dick, are a sine qua non with us bloods.

R. How so, every body appears to laugh at your fastionable trim, and wonder how you dare appear so ridiculous.

G. Yes, and yet the same people do us homage. No door is closed against a fine coat, few tradesmen enquire how we came by it, and where is the lady who does not prefer it to an old, unfashionable one, let who will be in it?

R. But still I should appear awkward in company.
G. Not if

you

have assurance. An impudent fellow may do a thousand awkward things, which would ruin a modest man. Nay, Dick, we sometimes have our blunders imitated. You recollect the story of Lord Spencer, who losing the skirts of his coat accidentally, had assurance enough to wear what was left on his shoulders, and obtained the honor of introducing the garment which bears his name:

R. He

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