Ask you what provocation I have had ?The strong antipathy of good to bad. When Truth or Virtue an affront endures, The affront is mine, my friend, and should be yours: Who thinks a coxcomb's honour like his sense; Mine, as a friend to every worthy mind; And mine as man who feel for all mankind. F. You're strangely proud-P. So proud, I am no slave : So impudent, I own myself no knave: So odd, my country's ruin makes me grave. Safe from the bar, the pulpit, and the throne, LESSON CLXXIX. Dialogue between Prince Edward and his Keeper.-MISS BAILLIE Ed. WHAT brings thee now? it surely cannot be The time of food: my prison hours are wont To fly more heavily. Keep. It is not food: I bring wherewith, my lord, Hath grieved me, when I've thought of you o' nights; Ed. And let it enter! it shall not be stopped. I will not have it stopped. Keep. My lord, the winter now creeps on apace : Hoar frost this morning on our sheltered fields Lay thick, and glanced to the up-risen sun, Which scarce had power to melt it. Ed. Glanced to the up-risen sun! Ay, such fair morns, When every bush doth put its glory on, Like a gemmed bride! your rusticks now Their careless way, unheeding. Alas, how many glorious things there be Keep. Yes, good my lord, the cold chill year advances, Therefore I pray you, let me close that wall. Ed. I tell thee no, man; if the north air bites, Bring me a cloak. Where is thy dog to-day? Ed. Bring him, I pray thee, when thou comest again, Who has not injured me. LESSON CLXXX. A Summer Evening meditation.—MRS. BARBAULD. The dazzled sight, but with mild maiden beams Through the Hesperian gardens of the west, How deep the silence, yet how loud the praise L A tongue in every star, that talks with man, Has closed his golden eye, and, wrapt in shades, Sits like an exiled monarch: fearless thence But Ŏ thou mighty mind! whose powerful word Have the broad eye-lids of the morn beheld thee? Support thy throne? Oh! look with pity down Of terrour clad; not with those thunders armed LESSON CLXXXI. The blind Preacher: Extract from a letter of the British Spy.-WIRT. Richmond, October 10, 1803. I HAVE been, my dear S...... on an excursion through the counties which lie along the eastern side of the Blue Ridge. A general description of that country and its inhabitants may form the subject of a future letter. For the present, I must entertain you with an account of a most singular and interesting adventure, which I met with, in the course of the tour. It was one Sunday, as I travelled through the county of Orange, that 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 motives. On entering, 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 shaking 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 how soon were all my feelings changed! The lips of Plato were never more worthy of a prognostick swarm of bees, than were the lips of this holy man! It was a day of the administration of the sacrament; and his subject, of course, was the passion of our Saviour. I had 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 topick a new and more sublime pathos, than I had ever before witnessed. As he descended from the pulpit, to distribute the mystick symbols, there was a peculiar, a more than human solemnity in his air and manner, which made my blood run cold, and my whole frame shiver. He then drew a picture of the sufferings of our Saviour; his trial before Pilate; his ascent 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 coloured! 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 uni son. His peculiar phrases had that force of description, |