urned it over with one paw, and then turned it with the other. He smelled of it, and seemed desirous of courting a further acquaintance. The keeper, on seeing this, brought a large mess of his own family dinner. But the lion kept aloof, and refused to eat, keeping his eye on the dog, and inviting him, as it were, to be his taster.

At length, the little animal's fears being somewhat abated, and his appetite quickened by the smell of the victuals, he approached slowly, and, with trembling, ventured to eat. The lion then advanced gently, and began to partake, and they finished their meal very quietly together.

From this day, a strict friendship commenced between them, consisting of great affection and tenderness on the part of the lion, and of the utmost confidence and boldness on the part of the dog; insomuch that he would lay himself down to sleep, within the fangs and under the jaws of his terrible patron.

In about twelve months, the little spaniel sickened and died. For a time, the lion did not appear to conceive otherwise than that his favorite was asleep. He would continue to smell of him, and then would stir him with his nose, and turn him over with his paws. But, finding that all his efforts to wake him were vain, he would traverse his cage from end to end at a swift and uneasy pace. He would then stop, and look down upon him with a fixed and drooping regard; and again lift up his head, and roar for several minutes, as the sound of distant thunder.

They attempted, but in vain, to convey the carcass from him. He watched it continually, and would suffer nothing to touch it. The keeper then endeavored to tempt him with a variety of food, but he turned from all that was offered, with loathing.

They then put several living dogs in his cage, which he tore in pieces, but left their members on the floor. His passions being thus inflamed, he would

grapple at the bars of his cage, as if enraged at his restraint from tearing those around him to pieces.

Again, as if quite spent, he would stretch himself by the remains of his beloved associate, lay his paws upon him, and take him to his bosom; and then utter his grief in deep and melancholy roaring, for the loss of his little playfellow, his late friend, the only companion of his den.

For five days, he thus languished, and gradually declined, without taking any sustenance or admitting any comfort, till, one morning, he was found dead, with his head reclined on the carcass of his little friend They were both interred together.

Found in the trap, where he had been confined all night by Dr. Priestly for the sake of making experiments with different kinds of air!

O hear a pensive prisoner's prayer,

For liberty that sighs;

And never let thine heart be shut
Against the wretch's cries!

For here, forlorn and sad, I sit,
Within the wiry grate;

And tremble at th' approaching morn,
Which brings impending fate.

If e'er thy breast with freedom glowed,
And spurned a tyrant's chain,
Let not thy strong oppressive force
A freeborn mouse detain!

O do not stain with guiltless blood
Thy hospitable hearth;

Nor triumph that thy wiles betrayed
A prize so little worth.

The scattered gleanings of a feast
My frugal meals supply;
But if thine unrelenting heart
That slender boon deny,-

The cheerful light, the vital air,
Are blessings widely given;
Let nature's commoners enjoy
The common gifts of heaven.

The well taught philosophic mind
To all compassion gives;
Casts round the world an equal eyc,
And feels for all that lives.

If mind,—as ancient sages taught,—
A never dying flame,

Still shifts through matter's varying forme
In every form the same;

Beware, lest, in the worm you crush,
A brother's soul you find;
And tremble lest thy luckless hand
Dislodge a kindred mind.

Or, if this transient gleam of day
Be all of life we share,
Let pity plead within thy breast
That little all to spare.

So may thy hospitable board

With health and peace be crowned,
And every charm of heartfelt ease
Beneath thy roof be found.

So, when destruction lurks unseen,
Which men, like mice, may share,
May some kind angel clear thy path,
And break the hidden snare.

LESSON FORTY-THIRD.

Lewis XII. of France.

When Lewis XII. had, by employing every engine of violence and policy, accomplished his designs, he fell into a lingering disorder, which warned him of his approaching dissolution. But, although he seemed to expect the stroke of death, with those horrors of mind that result from a consciousness of guilt and apprehensions of punishment, he resolved to support to the last moment his absolute power, and provided, by every possible means, against any attempts which the languid state of his health might encourage his nobles to make against his authority.

Concealing as much as possible his sickness, and causing reports of his convalescence to be daily circulated, he shut himself up in a castle, which he caused to be encompassed with massive bars of iron, of an extraordinary thickness, and at every corner were watchtowers, strongly guarded with soldiers.

The gate was shut, and the bridge drawn up every night; and, throughout the whole day, the captains guarded their posts with the same vigilance as in a place closely besieged. Within this impregnable fortress, Lewis bade defiance to every mode of attack, while all the powers of medicine, every allurement of the sense, and all the inventions of superstition, were employed to promote his recovery.

Sacred relics were brought from various parts, that their effects on his health might be tried; and St. Francis, of Paul, was invited from Calabria, in order to restore by his prayers the shattered frame of the monarch. The powers of music were employed to revive his spirits, and the most beautiful girls were procured to dance in his presence, to the sound of vaus instruments, for his amusement.

In spite, however, of all his precautions and endeavors, death, that irresistible assailant, whose entrance, all his iron bars, strong walls, and wide ditches could not prevent, made Lewis his prey, on the 30th of August, A. D. 1483, in the sixty-first year of his age, and when the twenty-second of his reign wanted only fifteen days of its expiration.

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LESSON FORTY-FOURTH.

What is Life?

A cloudy day, lit up by transient gleams;
The fearful brightness of a shooting star;
The dazzling loveliness of fleeting dreams,
Which frowning phantoms in succession mar,
Such, such is life!

A bowl which sparkles brightly at its brim,
But soon upon the sated palate palls;
A sunbright view, which shadows quickly dim;
A strain, whose music on no echo falls;

Such, such is life!

O for a state more glorious far than this!
Where mutability no more is known;
But souls redeemed, partaking heavenly bliss,
With humble gratitude and praise may own;
This, this is life!

LESSON FORTY-FIFTH.

Charles XII. and his Soldier.

It is well known under what severe discipline the troops of Charles XII. were kept; that they never pillaged towns taken by assault, before they received