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Check their own appetites, and give them all.

Be not the Muse asham'd, here to bemoan
Her brothers of the grove, by tyrant Man
Inhuman caught, and in the narrow cage

From liberty confined, and boundless air.
7 Dull are the pretty slaves, their plumage dull,

Ragged, and all its brightening lustre lost;
Nor is that sprightly wildness in their notes,
Which, clear and vigorous, warbles from the beech
Oh then, ye friends of love and love-taught song,
Spare the soft tribes, this barbarous art forbear;
If on your bosom innocence can win,
Music engage, or piety persuade.

But let not chief the nightingale lament
Her ruined care, too delicately framed
8 To brook the harsh confinement of the cage.

Oft when, returning with her loaded bill,
The astonished mother finds a vacant nest,
By the hard hand of unrelenting clowns
Robbed, - to the ground the vain provision falls ;
Her pinions ruffle, and, low-drooping, scarce
Can bear the mourner to the poplar shade ;
Where, all abandoned to despair, she sings
Her sorrows through the night; and on the bough,

Sole sitting, still at every dying fall
9 Takes up again her lamentable strain

Of winding wo; till, wide around, the woods
Sigh to her song, and with her wail resound.


The Fortune-Teller.-ANONYMOUS.

Mrs. Credulous and the Fortune-Teller. 1 Mrs. C. Are you the fortune-teller, sir, that knows every thing?

F. T. I sometimes consult futurity, madam, but I make no pretensions to any supernatural knowledge.

Mrs. C. Ay, so you say, but every body else say you know every thing; and I have come all the way from Boston to consult you, for you must know I have met with a dreadful loss.

F. T. We are țiable to losses in this world, madam.

Mrs. C. Yes, and I have had my share of them, though 2 I shall only be fifty, come Thanksgiving.

F. T. You must have learned to bear misfortunes with fortitude by this time.

Mrs. C. I don't know how that is, though my dear husband, rest his soul, used to say, “ Molly, you are as patient as Job, though you never had any children to lose as he did.”

F. T. Job was a model of patience, madam, and few could lose their all with so much resignation.

Mrs. C. Ah, sir, that is too true, for even the comparatively small loss I have suffered overwhelms me. 3 F. T. The loss of property, madam, comes home to the bosom of the best of us.

Mrs. C. Yes, sir; and when the thing lost cannot be replaced, it is doubly distressing. When my poor, good man, on our wedding day, gave me the ring, "Keep it, Molly," said he, “till you die, for my sake.” And now that I should have lost it, after keeping it thirty years, and locking it up so carefully all the time, as I did

F. T. We cannot be too careful in this world, madam; our best friends often deceive us. 4 Mrs. C. True, sir, true – but who would have thought

that the child I took, as it were, out of the street, and brought up as my own, could have been guilty of such ingratitude ? She never would have touched what was not her own, if her vagabond lover had not put her up to it.

F. T. Ah, madam, ingratitude is the basest of all crimes.

Mrs. C. Yes, but to think that the impudent wench should deny she took it, when I saw it in the possession of that wretch myself.

F. T. Impudence, madam, usually accompanies crime. 5 But my time is precious, and the star that rules your desti

ny will set, and your fate be involved in darkness, unless I proceed to business immediately. The stars inform me, madam, that you are a widow.

Mrs. C. La! Sir, was you acquainted with my deceased husband?

F. T. No, madam, we do not receive our knowledge by such communications. Thy name is Mary, and thy dwel.

ling place is Boston. 6 Mrs. C. Some spirit must have told you this, for certain.

F. T. This is not all, madam. You were married at the age of twenty years, and were the sole heir of your deceased husband.

Mrs. C. I perceive, sir, you know every thing.

F. T. Madam, I cannot help knowing what I do know. [ must therefore inform you that your adopted daughter, in the dead of night

Mrs. C. No, sir, it was in the daytime.

F. T. Do not interrupt me, madam.-In the dead of 7 night, your adopted daughter-planned the robbery which deprived you of your wedding-ring.

Mrs. C. No earthly being could have revealed this, for I never let my right hand know that I possessed it, lest some evil should happen to it.

F. T. Hear me, madam : You have come all this distance to consult the fates, and find your ring.

Mrs. C. You have guessed my intention exactly, sir.

F. T. Guessed! madam. I know this is your object; and I know, moreover, that your ungrateful daughter has incur8

red your displeasure by receiving the addresses of a worthless man.

Mrs. C. Every word is gospel truth!
F. T. This man has persuaded your daughter

Mrs. C. I knew he did, I told her so. But, good sir, can you tell me who has the ring ?

F. T. This young man has it.
Mrs. C. But he denies it, sir.
F. T. No matter, madam, he has it.
Mrs. C. But how shall I obtain it again ?

F. T. The law points out the way, madam—it is my 9 business to point out the rogue, you must catch him.

Mrs. C. You are right, sir—and if there is law to be had, I will spend every cent I own, but I will have it. I knew he was the robber, and I thank you for the information.[going]

F. T. But thanks, madam, will not pay for all my nightly vigils, consultations, and calculations. Mrs. C. O, right, sir. I forgot to pay you.

What am I indebted to you?

10 F. T. Only five dollars, madam.

Mrs. C. There it is, sir. I would have paid twenty rather than not have found the ring.

F. T. I never take but five, madam. Farewell, madam, your

friend is at the door with your chaise. Farewell. [He leaves the room.]

[Enter Friend.] Friend. Well, Mary, what does the fortune-teller say ?

Mrs. C. O, he told me I was a widow, and lived in Boston, and had an adopted daughter, and- -and11 Friend. But you knew all this before, did you not ?

Mrs. C. Yes; but how should he know it? He told me too, that I had lost a ring

Friend. Did he tell you where to find it?

Mrs. C. O yes ! he says that fellow has it, and I must go to law and get it, if he will not give it up. What do

think of that? Friend. It is precisely what any fool could have told you How much did you pay for this precious information ?

Mrs. C. Only five dollars. 12 Friend. How much was the ring worth?

Mrs. C. Why two dollars at least.

Friend. Then you have paid ten dollars for a chaise to bring you here, five dollars for the information that


had already, and all this to regain possession of a ring not worth one quarter the expense!

Mrs. C. O, the rascal! how he has cheated me. I will go to the world's end but I will be revenged.

Friend. You had better go home, and say nothing about it, for every effort to recover your money will only expose your folly.



Punishment of a Liar.-Bible. 1 Now Naaman, captain of the host of the king of Syria,

was a great man with his master, and honorable; because by him the Lord had given deliverance unto Syria : he was also a mighty man in valor; but he was a leper. And the Syrians had gone out by companies, and had brought away captive, out of the land of Israel, a little maid ; and she waited on Naaman's wife. And she said unto her mistress, Would God my lord were with the prophet that is in Samaria! for he would recover him of his leprosy.

And one went in, and told his lord, saying, Thus and 2 thus said the maid that is of the land of Israel. And the

king of Syria said, Go to, go; and I will send a letter unto the king of Israel. And he departed, and took with him ten talents of silver, and six thousand pieces of gold, and ten changes of raiment. And he brought the letter to the king of Israel, saying, Now, when this letter is come unto thee, behold, I have therewith sent Naaman my servant io thee, that thou mayest recover him of his leprosy.

And it came to pass, when the king of Israel had read the letter, that he rent his clothes, and said, Am I God, to 3 kill and to make alive, that this man doth send unto me to recover a inan of his leprosy? Wherefore consider, I

pray you, and see how he seeketh a quarrel against me.

· And it was so, when Elisha, the man of God, had heard that the king of Israel had rent his clothes, that he sent to the king, saying, Wherefore has thou rent thy clothes ? let him come now to me, and he shall know that there is a prophet in Israel. So Naaman came, with his horses and with his chariot, and stood at the door of the house of

Elisha. And Elisha sent a messenger unto him, saying, 4 Go and wash in Jordan seven times, and thy flesh shall come again to thee, and thou shalt be clean.

But Naaman was wroth, and went away, and said, Behold, I thought He will surely come out to me, and stand, and call on the name of the Lord his God, and strike his hand over the place, and recover the leper. Are not Abana and Pharpar, rivers of Damascus, better than all the waters of Israel ? may I not wash in them, and be clean? So he turned, and went away in a rage.

And his servants came near, and spake unto him, and 5 said, My father, if the prophet had bid thee do some great

thing, wouldest thou not have done it ? how much rather, then, when he saith unto thee, Wash, and be clean? Then went he down, and dipped himself seven times in Jordan, according to the saying of the man of God: and his flesh came again like unto the flesh of a little child, and he was clean.

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