CRUELTY TO ANIMALS.

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· SECTION XIX.

I. 87. CRUELTY TO ANIMALS. T WOULD not enter on my list of friends, 1 Though graced with polished manners and fine sense (Yet wanting sensibility), the man Who needlessly sets foot upon a worm. An inadvertent' step may crush the snail That crawls at evening in the public path; But he that has humanity, forewarned,

Will tread ăsīde, and let the reptile live.
2. The creeping vermin, loafhsome’ to the sight,

And charged perhaps with venom, that intrudes,
A visitor unwelcome, into scenes
Sacred to neatness and repose, the ăl'cove,'
The chămber, or refectory,' may die :

A necessary act incurs no blame.
3. Not so, when, held within their proper bounds,

And guiltlèss of offense, they rănge the air,
Or take their pastime in the spācious field.
There they are privileged ; and he that hunts
Or harms them there, is guilty of a wrong,
Disturbs the economy of Nature's realm,

Who, when she formed, designed them an åböde. 4. The sum is this : If man's convenience, health,

Or safety interfere, his rights and claims
Are paramount, and must extinguish theirs.
Else they are all—the meanèst things that are-
As free to live, and to enjoy that life,
As God was free to form them at the first,

5. Ye, therefore, who love mercy, teach your sons

To love it too. The spring-time of our years
Is soon dishonored, and defiled in most,
By budding ills that ask å prudent hand
To check them. But, alas! none sooner shoots,
If unrestrained, into luxuriant growth,

Than cruelty, most devilish of them all. 6. Mercy, to him that shows it, is the rule

And righteous limitation of its act,
By which Heaven moves in pardoning guilty man;
And he that shows none, being ripe in years,
And conscious of the outrage he commits,
Shall seek it, and not find it, in his turn!

• WILLIAM COWPER

II.
88. SENSIBILITY.

QINCE trifles make the sum of human things,
D And half our misery from our foibles' springs;
Since life's best joys consist in peace and ease,
And though but few can serve, yet all may please ;
O let the ungentle spirit learn from hence,

A small unkindness is a great offense. 2. To spread large bounties, though we wish in vain,

Yet all may shun the guilt of giving pain.
To bless mankind with tides of flowing wealth,
With rank to grace them, or to crown with health,
Our little lot denies; yet liberal' still,
God gives its counterpoise : to every ill ;
Nor let us murmur at our stinted powers,

When kindness, love, and concord may be ours. 3. The gift of ministering to others' ease,

To all her sons impartial Heaven decrees;
The gentle offices of patient love,

LOVE OF COUNTRY AND OF HOME.

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The mild foroearance at a brother's fault,
The angry word suppressed, the taunting thought:
Subduing and subdued the petty strife,
Which clouds the color of domestic life;
The sober comfort, all the peace which springs
From the large aggregate' of little things ;
On these small cares of daughter, wife, and friend,
The almost sacred joys of Home depend :
There, Sensibility,' thou best mayst reign,-
Home is thy true, legitimate: domain.“

HANNAH MORE.

III.

89. LOVE OF COUNTRY AND OF HOME.

M HERE is a land, of every land the pride,

1 Beloved by heaven o’er all the world beside ;
Where brighter suns dispense serener light,
And milder moons imparadise’ the night :
A land of beauty, virtue, valor, truth,

Time-tutored age, and love-exalted youth.
2. The wandering măriner, whose eye explores

The wealthiest isles, the most enchanting shores,
Views not a realm so bountiful and fair,
Nor breathes the spirit of a purer air ;
In every clime, the magnet ® of his soul,

Touched by remembrance, trembles to that pole :
3. For in this land of heaven's peculiar grace,

The heritage of nature's noblèst race,
There is a spot of earth supremely" blest,
A dearer, sweeter spot than all the rest,

* Ag'gre gāte, the sum or amount. portions or parts; distribute.

• Sěn'si bil' i ty, delicacy of feel- Se rēn'er, clearer;more soothing ing; that feeling which leads us to ? Im păr' a dise, make very happy; perceive and feel the troubles and render like Paradise. misfortunes of others.

8 Măg'net, the loadstone; that * Le gît' i mate, rightful ; lawful. which attracts.

+ Do māin', dominion; empire; Hěr'it age, inheritance; portion: territory over which one's authority an estate devolved by succession. extends.

10 Su prēme' ly, in the highest • Dis pěnse', deal or divide out in degree.

Where man, creation's tyrant, casts aside
His sword and scepter, păgeantry and pride,
While, in his softened looks, benignly' blend

The sire, the son, the husband, father, friend.
4. Here woman reigns; the mother, daughter, wife,

Strews with fresh flowers the nărrow way of life,
In the clear heaven of her delightful eye,
An angel-guard of loves and graces lie ;
Around her knees domestic duties meet,
And fireside pleasures gambol’ at her feet.
Where shall that land, that spot of earth be found?
Art thou a man? a patriot?' look around;
Oh! thou shalt find, howe'er thy footsteps roam,
That land thy country, and that spot thy home.

JAMES MONTGOMERY.

IV.
90. THE WIFE.

PART FIRST. T HAVE õiten had occasion to remark the fortitude with I which women sustain the most overwhelming reverses of fortune. Those disasters which break down the spirit of a man, and prostrate him in the dust, seem to call forth all the energies of the softer sex, and give such intrepidity and elevation to their character, that at times it approaches to sublimity.

2. Nothing can be more touching than to behold a soft and tender female, who has been all weakness and dependence, and ălīve to every trivial roughness, while treading the prosperous paths of life, suddenly rising in mentalo force to be the comforter

| Be nign' ly, graciously; kindly. person to meet danger with coolness

? Găm' bol, dance and skip about and courage, or to bear pain or misin sport; play in frolic, like boys fortune without murmuring or losand lambs.

the hi the oak, aná which has bitterèst blasts

and support of her husband under misfortune, and abiding, with unshrinking firmness, the bitterèst blasts of adversity."

3. As the vine, which has long twined its graceful foliäge ăbout the oak, and been lifted by it into sunshine, will, when the hardy plant is rifted' by the thunderbolt, cling round it with its caressing tendrils,' and bind up its shattered boughs, so it is beautifully ordered by Providence, that woman, who is the mere dependent and ornament of man in his happier hours, should be his stay and sõlace when smitten with sudden calamity ; winding herself into the rugged recesses of his nature, tenderly supporting the drooping head, and binding up the broken heart.

4. I was once congratulating ă friend, who had ăround him a blooming family, knit together in the strongest affection. “I can wish you no better lot,” said he, with enthusiasm, “than to have a wife and children. If you are prosperous, there they are to share your prosperity ; if otherwise, there they are to comfort you.”

5. And, indeed, I have observed that a married man, falling into misfortune, is more apt to retrieve* his situation in the world than a single one ;—partly because he is more stimulated to exertion by the necessities of the helpless and beloved beings who depend upon him for subsistence; but chiefly because his spirits are soothed and relieved by domestic endearments, and his self-respect kept ălīve by finding, that, though all abroad is darkness and humiliation, yệt there is still a little world of love at home, of which he is the monarch. Whereas a single man is apt to run to waste and self-neglect,—to fancy himself lonely and abandoned, and his heart to fall to ruin, like some deserted mansion, for want of an inhabitant.

6. These observations call to mind a little domestic story of which I was once a witness. My intimate friend, Leslie, had narried a beautiful and accomplished girl, who had been brought up in the midst of fashionable life. She had, it is true, no for

une; but that of my friend was ample, and he delighted in the anticipation of indulging her in every elegant pursuit, and administering to those delicate tastes and fancies that spread a

* Ad ver’si ty, that which opposes plant by which it clings to any. desire or success ; distress.