Nice good wife, that never goes out,
Keeping house while I frolic about.
Chee, chee, chee!

7. Soon as the little ones chip the shell,
Six wide mouths are open for food;
Robert of Lincoln bestirs him well,
Gathering seeds for the hungry brood.
Bob-o'-link, Bob-o'-link,

Spink, spank, spink;

This new life is likely to be

Hard for a gay young fellow like me.
Chee, chee, chee!

8. Robert of Lincoln at length is made
Sober with work, and silent with care;
Off is his holiday garment laid,
Half forgotten that merry air,
Bob-o'-link, Bob-o'-link,
Spink, spank, spink.

Nobody knows but my mate and I
Where our nest and our nestlings lie.
Chee, chee, chee.

9. Summer wanes; the children are grown; Fun and frolic no more he knows 15 Robert of Lincoln's a humdrum crone; Off he flies, and we sing as he goes Bob-o'-link, Bob-o'-link, Spink, spank, spink;

When

you can pipe that merry old strain,

Robert of Lincoln, come back again,

16 Chee, chee, chee !

"

5. ADAM AND EVE'S AFFECTION.-SATAN'S FLATTERY.-Milton.

Now morn, her rosy steps in the Eastern clime
Advancing, sowed the earth with Orient pearl,
When Adam waked; so 'customed, for his sleep
Was airy light from pure digestion bred,

And temperate vapors bland, which the only sound
Of leaves and fuming rills, Aurora's fan
Lightly dispersed, and the shrill matin song,
Of birds on every bough: so much the more
His wonder was to find unwakened Eve
With tresses discomposed, and glowing cheek,
As through unquiet rest. He, on his side
Leaning half raised, with looks of cordial love,
Hung over her enamored; and beheld
Beauty, which, whether waking or asleep,
Shot forth peculiar graces; then, with voice.
Mild, as when Zephyrus on Flora breathes,
Her hand soft touching, whispered thus: "Awake,
My fairest, my espoused, my latest found,
Heaven's last best gift, my ever new delight!
Awake; the morning shines, and the fresh field
Calls us; we lose the prime, to mark how spring
Our tended plants, how blows the citron grove,
What drops the myrrh, and what the balmy reed,
How nature paints her colors, how the bee
Sits on the bloom, extracting liquid sweet."
Such whispering waked her, but with startled eye
On Adam, whom embracing, thus she spake :
"O sole, in whom my thoughts find all repose,
My glory, my perfection! glad I see

Thy face, and morn returned; for I this night

(Such night till this, I never passed) have dreamed,
If dreamed, not, as I oft am wont, of thee,
Works of day past, or morrow's next design,
But of offence and trouble, which my mind
Knew never till this irksome night. Methought
Close at mine ear one called me forth to walk
With gentle voice; I thought it thine; it said,
Why sleep'st thou, Eve? now is the pleasant time,
The cool, the silent, save where silence yields
To the night-warbling bird, that now awake
Tunes sweetest his love-labored song; now reigns
Full-orbed the moon, and with more pleasing light
Shadowy sets off the face of things; in vain,
If none regard; heaven wakes with all his eyes,
Whom to behold but thee, nature's desire?
In whose sight all things joy, with ravishment
Attracted by thy beauty still to gaze.

LESSON L.

1. ON THE BRITISH TREATY, 1796.-Fisher Ames.

If any, against all these proofs, should maintain that the peace with the Indians will be stable without the Western posts, to them I will urge another reply. From arguments calculated to produce conviction, I will appeal directly to the hearts of those who hear me, and ask whether it is not already planted there? I resort especially to the conviction of the Western gentlemen, whether, supposing no posts and no treaty,

the settlers will remain in security? Can they take it upon them to say, that an Indian peace under these circumstances, will prove firm? No, sir, it will not be peace but a sword. It wil be no better than a lure to draw victims within the reach of the tomahawk. On this theme my emotions are unutterable. If I could find words for them, if my powers bore any proportion to my zeal, I would swell my voice to such a note of remonstrance that it should reach every log house 1 beyond the mountains. I would say to the inhabitants, Wake from your false security! your cruel dangers, your more cruel apprehensions, are soon to be renewed. The wounds, yet unhealed, are to be torn open again. In the day-time, your path through the woods will be ambushed. The darkness of midnight will glitter with the blaze of your dwellings. You | are a father, the blood of your sons shall fatten your cornfields! You | are a mother, the war-whoop shall wake the sleep of the cradle !

2. THE SAME SPEECH.-Continued.

On this subject you need not suspect any deception on your feelings it is a spectacle of horror, which cannot be overdrawn. If you have nature in your hearts, they will speak a language, compared with which, all I have said, or can say, will be poor and frigid.

Who will accuse me of wandering out of the subject? Who will say that I exaggerate the tendencies of our measures? Will any one answer by a sneer, that all this is idle preaching? Will any one deny that we are bound and I would hope to good purpose-by

the most solemn sanctions of duty, for the vote we give? *****

By rejecting the posts, we light the savage fires, we bind the victims. This day we undertake to render account to the widows and orphans whom our decision will make ;-to the wretches that will be roasted at the stake; to our country, and, I do not deem it too serious to say, to conscience and to God. We are answerable; and if duty be any thing more than a word of imposture, if conscience be not a bugbear, we are preparing to make ourselves as wretched as our country.

There is no mistake in this case. There can be none. Experience has already been the prophet of events, and the cries of our future victims have already reached us. The Western inhabitants are not a silent and uncomplaining sacrifice. The voice of humanity issues from the shade of the wilderness. It exclaims. that, while one hand is held up to reject this treaty, the other grasps a tomahawk. It summons our imagination to the scenes that will open. It is no great effort of the imagination to conceive that events so near are already begun. I can fancy that I listen to the yells of savage vengeance and the shrieks of torture! Already they seem to sigh in the Western wind! already they mingle with every echo from the moun

tains!

3. MORAL REFLECTIONS FROM A VIEW OF WINTER.-Thomson.

"Tis done! dread winter spreads his latest glooms, And reigns tremendous o'er the conquered year. How dead the vegetable kingdom lies!