ground in convulsive energy,-or, faint with the loss of blood, his pulse ebbs low, and the gathering paleness spreads itself over his countenance,-or, wrapping himself round in despair, he can only mark, by a few feeble quiverings, that life still lurks and lingers in his lacerated body;or lifting up a faded eye, he casts on you a look of imploring helplessness for that succour which no sympathy can yield him?

7. It may be painful to dwell on such a representation; but this is the way in which the cause of humanity is served. The eye of the sentimentalist turns away from its sufferings, and he passes by on the other side, lest he hear that pleading voice, which is armed with a tone of remonstrance so vigorous as to disturb him.

8. He cannot bear thus to pause, in imagination, on the distressing picture of one individual: but multiply it ten thousand times,—say, how much of all this distress has been heaped together on a single field,-give us the arithmetic of this accumulated wretchedness, and lay it before us with all the accuracy of an official computation,-and, strange to tell, not one sigh is lifted up among the crowd of eager listeners, as they stand on tiptoe, and catch every syllable of utterance which is read them out of the registers of death.

9. O! say, what mystic spell is that which so blinds us to the suffering of our brethren,-which deafens to our ear the voice of bleeding humanity, when it is aggravated by the shriek of dying thousands,-which makes the very magnitude of the slaughter throw a softening disguise over its cruelties and its horrors,-which causes us to eye with indifference the field that is crowded with the most revolting abominations, and arrests that sigh, which each individual would singly have drawn from us, by the report of the many who have fallen, and breathed their last in agony, along with him!

10. I have no time, and assuredly as little taste, for expatiating on a topic so melancholy; nor can I afford, at present, to set before you a vivid picture of the other miseries which war carries in its train,-how it desolates every country through which it rolls, and spreads violation and alarm among its villages,-how, at its approach, every home pours forth its trembling fugitives,-how all the rights of property, and all the provisions of justice must give way Р

before its devouring exactions,-how, when Sabbath comes, no Sabbath charm comes along with it, and for the sound of the church-bell which wont to spread its music over some fine landscape of nature, and summon rustic worshippers to the house of prayer, nothing is heard but the deathful volleys of the battle, and the maddening outcry of infuriated men.

11. How, as the fruit of victory, an unprincipled licentiousness, which no discipline can restrain, is suffered to walk at large among the people,-and all that is pure, and reverend, and holy, in the virtue of families, is cruelly trampled on, and held in the bitterest derision. Were we

to pursue those details, which no pen ever attempts, and no chronicle perpetuates, we should be tempted to ask, what that is which civilization has done for the character of the species. CHALMERS.

LESSON LXXXIV.

The Torrid and Frigid Zones.

1. How oblique and faintly looks the sun on yonder climates, far removed from him! How tedious are the winters there! How deep the horrors of the night, and how uncomfortable even the light of day! The freezing winds employ their fiercest breath, yet are not spent with blowing. The sea, which elsewhere is scarcely confined within its limits, lies here immured in walls of crystal.

2. The snow covers the hills, and almost fills the lowest valleys. How wide and deep it lies, incumbent over the plains, hiding the sluggish rivers, the shrubs, and trees, the dens of beasts, and mansions of distressed and feeble men! See! where they lie confined, hardly secure against the raging cold, or the attacks of the wild beasts, now masters of the wasted field, and forced by hunger out of the naked woods.

3. Yet, not disheartened, (such is the force of human breasts,) but thus provided for, by art and prudence, the kind, compensating gifts of Heaven, men and their herds. may wait for a release. For, at length, the sun, approaching, melts the snow, sets longing men at liberty, and affords them means and time to make provision against the next return of cold.

4. It breaks the icy fetters of the main; where vast seamonsters pierce through floating islands with arms which

can withstand the crystal rock: while others, who of themselves seem great as islands, are, by their bulk, alone armed against all but man; whose superiority over creatures of such stupendous size and force should make him mindful of his privilege of reason, and force him humbly to adore the great Composer of these wondrous frames, the Author of his own superior wisdom.

5. But, leaving these dull climates, so little favoured by the sun, for those happier regions, on which he looks more kindly, making perpetual summer, how great an alteration do we find! His purer light confounds weak-sighted mortals, pierced by his scorching beams. Scarce can they tread the glowing ground. The air they breathe cannot enough abate the fire, which burns within their panting breasts.

6. Their bodies melt. Overcome and fainting, they seek the shade, and wait the cool refreshments of the night. Yet oft the bounteous Creator bestows other refreshments. He casts a veil of clouds before them, and raises gentle gales; favoured by which the men and beasts pursue their labours; and plants, refreshed by dews and showers, can gladly bear the warmest sunbeams.

SHAFTESBURY.

LESSON LXXXV.

Anecdote of King Alfred.

1. Alfred had reduced his enemies, the Danes, to the utmost extremity. He hearkened, however, to new proposals of peace; and was satisfied to stipulate with them, that they would settle somewhere in England, and would not permit the entrance of more ravagers into the kingdom.

2. But, while he was expecting the execution of this treaty, which it seemed the interest of the Danes themselves to fulfil, he heard that another body had landed, and, having collected all the scattered troops of their countrymen, had surprised Chippenham, then a considerable town, and were exercising their usual ravages all around them.

3. This last incident quite broke the spirit of the Saxons, and reduced them to despair. Finding that, after all the miserable havoc which they had undergone in their persons and in their property; after all the vigorous actions which they had exerted in their own defence, a new band, equak

ly greedy of spoii and slaughter, had disembarked among them; they believed themselves abandoned by Heaven to destruction, and delivered over to those swarms of robbers, which the fertile north thus incessantly poured forth against them.

4. Some left their country, and retired into. Wales, or fled beyond sea: others submitted to the conquerors, in hopes of appeasing their fury by a servile obedience. And, every man's attention being now engrossed in concern for his own preservation, no one would hearken to the exhortations of the king, who summoned them to make, under his conduct, one effort more in defence of their prince, their country, and their liberties.

5. Alfred himself was obliged to relinquish the ensigns of his dignity, to dismiss his servants, and to seek shelter in the meanest disguises, from the pursuit and fury of his enemies. He concealed himself under a peasant's habit, and lived some time in the house of a neat-herd, who had been intrusted with the care of some of his cows.

6. There passed here an incident which has been recorded by all the historians, and was long preserved by popular tradition; though it contains nothing memorable in itself, except so far as every circumstance is interesting, which attends so much virtue and dignity reduced to such distress.

7. The wife of the neat-herd was ignorant of the condition of her royal guest; and observing him one day busy, by the fireside, in trimming his bow and arrows, she desired him to take care of some cakes which were toasting, while she was employed elsewhere in other domestic affairs.

8. But Alfred, whose thoughts were otherwise engaged, neglected this injunction; and the good woman, on her return, finding her cakes all burnt, rated the king very severely, and upbraided him, that he always seemed very well pleased to eat her warm cakes; though he was thus negligent in toasting them.

9. By degrees, Alfred, as he found the search of the ene my become more remiss, collected some of his retainers, and retired into the centre of a bog, formed by the stagnating waters of the Thone and Parret, in Somersetshire.

10. He here found two acres of firm ground; and, building a habitation on them, rendered himself secure by its fortifications, and still more by the unknown and inaccessi

ble roads which led to it, and by the forests and morasses with which it was every way environed. This place he called Ethelingay, or the Isle of Nobles; and it now bears the name of Athelney.

11. Alfred lay here concealed, but not inactive, during a twelvemonth; when the news of a prosperous event reached his ears, and called him to the field. He left his retreat; but, before he would assemble his subjects in arms, or urge them to any attempt, which, if unfortunate, might, in their present despondency, prove fatal, he resolved to inspect himself the situation of the enemy, and to judge of the probability of success.

12. For this purpose he entered their camp under the disguise of a harper, and passed, unsuspected, through every quarter. He so entertained them with his music and facetious humours, that he met with a welcome reception; and was even introduced to the tent of Guthrum, their prince, where he remained some days.

13. He remarked the supine security of the Dancs, their contempt of the English, their negligence in foraging and plundering, and their dissolute wasting of what they gained by rapine and violence. Encouraged by these favourable appearances, he secretly sent emissaries to the most considerable of his subjects, and summoned them to a rendezvous, attended by their warlike followers, at Brixton, on the borders of Selwood forest.

14. At the appointed day, the English joyfully resorted to their prince. On his appearance, they received him with shouts of applause; and could not satiate their eyes with the sight of this beloved monarch, whom they had long regarded as dead, and who now, with voice and looks expressing his confidence of success, called them to liberty and to vengeance.

The

15. He instantly conducted them to Eddington, where the Danes were encamped; and, taking advantage of his previous knowledge of the place, he directed his attack. against the most unguarded quarter of the enemy. Danes, surprised to see an army of English, whom they considered as totally subdued, and still more astonished to hear that Alfred was at their head, made but a faint resistance, notwithstanding their superiority of number, and were soon put to flight with great slaughter.

16. The remainder of the routed army, with their prince,