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And heard great Babylon's doom pronounced by Heaven's

command. j Then, kneeling down to Heaven's Eternal King,

The saint, the father, and the husband prays; Hope “springs exulting on triumphant wing,

That thus they all shall meet in future days;

There ever bask in uncreated rays ;
No more to sigh or shed the bitter tear ;

Together hymning their Creator's praise,
In such society, yet still more dear,
While heaven moves round in an eternal sphere.
6 Compared with this, how poor Religion's pride,

In all the pomp of method and of art,
When men display to congregations wide,

Devotion's every grace--except the heart !
The Power, incensed, the


will desert, 'The

pompous strain, the sacerdotal stole ; But haply, in some cottage far apart,

May hear, well pleased, the language of the soul; And in his book of life the inmates poor enrol. 7 Then homeward all take off their several way;

The youngling cottagers retire to rest : The parent pair their secret homage pay,

And proffer up to Heaven the warm request

That He, who stills the raven's clamorous nest, And decks the lily fair in flowery pride,

Would, in the way His wisdom sees the best, For them and for their little ones provide ; But, chiefly, in their hearts with grace divine preside. 8 From scenes like these old Scotia’s grandeur springs,

That makes her loved at home, revered abroad : Princes and lords are but the breath of kings

"An honest man's the noblest work of God;"

And, certes,* in fair virtue's heavenly road, The cottage leaves the palace far behind;

What is lordling's pomp? A cumbrous load, Disguising oft the wretch of human kind, Studied in arts of hell, in wickedness refined !

* certes, certainly.

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9 O Scotia, my dear, my native soil !

For whom my warmest wish to Heaven is sent ; Long may thy hardy sons of rustic toil

Be blest with health, and peace, and sweet content !

And, oh! may Heaven their simple lives prevent
From luxury's contagion weak and vile !

Then, howe'er crowns and coronets be rent,
A virtuous populace may rise the while,
And stand a wall of fire around their much-loved isle.

10 O Thou! who poured the patriotic tide

That streamed through Wallace's undaunted heart, Who dared to nobly stein tyrannic pride,

Or nobly die, the second glorious part

(The patriot's God peculiarly thou art,
His Friend, Inspirer, Guardian and Reward!)

O never, never, Scotia's realm desert;
But still the patriot and the patriot bard,
In bright succession, raise, her ornament and guard :


Deer Hunter of the West.-AUDUBON. 1 His dress, you observe, consists of a leather hunting

shirt, and a pair of trowsers of the same material. His feet are well moccasined ; he wears a helt round his waist; his heavy rifle is resting on his brawny shoulder; on one side hangs his ball-pouch, surmounted by the horn of an ancient buffalo, once the terror of the herd, but now containing a pound of the best gunpowder; his butcher knife is scabbarded in the same strap, and behind is a tomahawk, the handle of which has been thrust through his girdle.

He walks with so rapid a step, that probably few men 2 could follow him, unless for a short distance, in their anxiety

to witness his ruthless deeds. He stops, looks at the flint of his

gun, its priming, and the leather cover of the lock, then glances his eye towards the sky, to judge of the course most likely to lead him to the game.

The heavens are clear, the red glare of the morning sun gleams through the lower branches of the lofty trees, the dew hangs in pearly drops at the top of every leaf. Already has the emerald hue of the foliage been converted into the

more glowing tints of our autumnal months. A slight 3 frost appears on the fence-rails of his little corn-field. As

he proceeds, he looks to the dead foliage under his feet, in search of the well known traces of a buck's hoof. Now he bends toward the ground, on which something has attracted his attention. See! he alters his course, increases his speed, and will soon reach the opposite hill. Now, he moves with caution, stops at almost every tree, and peeps forward, as if already within shooting distance of the game. He advances again, but how very slowly! He has reached

the declivity, upon which the sun shines in all its glowing 4 splendor; but mark him! he takes the gun from his shoulder,

has already thrown aside the leathern cover of the lock, and is wiping the edge of his flint with his tongue. Now he stands like a monumental figure, perhaps measuring the distance that lies between him and the game, which he has in view. His rifle is slowly raised, the report follows, and he runs.

Let us run also. Shall I speak to him, and ask him the result of his first essay ? Assuredly, reader, for I know him well. “ Pray, Friend, what have you killed ?" for to say,

66 what 5 have you shot at," might imply the possibility of his having

missed, and so might hurt his feelings. “Nothing but a buck.” “And where is it?” “Oh, it has taken a jump or so, but I settled it, and will soon be with it. My ball struck, and must have gone through his heart.” We arrive at the spot, where the animal had laid itself down among the grass, in a thicket of grape-vines, sumachs, and spruce-bushes, where it intended to repose during the middle of the day. The place is covered with blood, the hoofs of the deer have

left deep prints in the ground, as it bounced in the agonies 6 produced by its wound; but the blood that has gushed from

its side discloses the course which it has taken. We soon reach the spot. There lies the buck, its tongue out, its eye dim, its breath exhausted ; it is dead. The hunter draws his knife, cuts the buck's throat almost asunder, and prepares to skin it. For this purpose he hangs it upon the branch of a tree. When the skin is removed, he cuts off the hams, and abandoning the rest of the carcass to the wolves and vultures, reloads his gun, flings the venison,

inclosed by the skin, upon his back, secures it with a 7 strap, and walks off in search of more game, well

knowing that, in the immediate neighborhood, another at least is to be found.

Now, reader, prepare to mount a generous, full blood Virginian hunter. See that your gun is in complete order, for, hark to the sound of the bugle and horn, and the mingled clamor of a pack of harriers ! Your friends are waiting you under the shade of the wood, and we must together go driving the light-footed deer. The

distance over which one has to travel is seldom felt, 8 when pleasure is anticipated as the result: so, gallop

ing we go pell-mell through the woods, to some wellknown place, where many a fine buck has drooped his antlers under the ball of the hunter's rifle.

The servants, who are called the drivers, have already begun their search. Their voices are heard exciting the hounds, and unless we put spurs to our steeds, we may be too late at our stand, and thus lose the first opportunity of shooting the fleeting game as it passes by.

Hark, again! the dogs are in chase, the horn sounds 9 louder and more clearly. Hurry, hurry on, or we shall be sadly behind !

Here we are at last! Dismount, fasten your horse to this tree, place yourself by the side of that large yellow poplar, and mind you do not shoot me! The deer is fast approaching ; I will to my own stand, and he who shoots him dead wins the prize.

The deer is heard coming. It has inadvertently cracked a dead stick with its hoof, and the dogs are now so near it that it will pass in a moment. There 10 it comes ! How beautifully it bounds over the ground! What a splendid head of horns! How easy its attitudes, depending, as it seems to do, on its own swiftness for safety! All is in vain, however: a gun is fired, the animal plunges and doubles with incomparable speed. There he goes! He passes another stand, from which a second shot, better directed than the first, brings him to the ground. The dogs, the servants, the sportsmen are now rushing forward to the spot. The hunter who has shot it is congratulated on his skill or good luck, and the chase begins again in some other part of the woods.


The Wounded Hare.-BURNS.
1 INHUMAN man! curse on thy barbarous art,

And blasted be thy murder-aiming eye;
May never pity sooth thee with a sigh,
Nor ever pleasure glad thy cruel heart !
2 Go live, poor wanderer of the wood and field,

The bitter little that of life remains:

No more the thickening brakes and verdant plains To thee shall home, or food, or pastime yield. 3 Seek, mangled wretch, some place of wonted rest,

No more of rest, but now thy dying bed !
The sheltering rushes whistling o'er thy head,
The cold earth with thy bloody bosom prest.
4 Oft as by winding Nith, I musing wait

The sober eve, or hail the cheerful dawn,

I'll miss thee sporting o'er the dewy lawn,
And curse the ruffian's aim, and mourn thy hapless fate.

LESSON XLVII. Moses's Bargain of green Spectacles.-GOLDSMITH. 1 As we were now, said the Vicar of Wakefield, to hold up our heads a little higher in the world, my wife thought it would be proper to sell the colt, which was grown old, at a neighboring fair, and buy us a horse that would carry single or double upon an occasion, and make a pretty appearance at church, or upon a visit. This, at first, I opposed stoutly; but it was as stoutly defended. However, as I weakened, my antagonist gained strength, till at last it was resolved to part with him.

As the fair happened on the following day, I had in2 tentions of going myself; but my wife persuaded me that I had got a cold; and nothing could prevail upon her to permit me from home. “No, my dear,” said she, “our son Moses is a discreet boy, and can buy and sell to very good advantage ; you know all our great bargains are of his purchasing. He always stands out, and higgles, and actually tires them, till he gets a bargain.”

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