น.

CHAPTER LXXIX.

DIVERTING INSTANCE OF INDIAN RETALIATION.

Α

Ta time when the American Indians did not know the Europeans, a travelier penetrated into their country, made them acquainted with fire arms, and fold them muskets and gun-powder; then went a hunting and got great plenty of game, and of course many furs. Another traveller went thither fome time after with amunition; but the Indians being still provided, they did not care to barter with the Frenchman, who invented a very odd trick, in order to fell his pow der, without much troubling his head with the confequences that might refult from his impofure to his countrymen. He thought he had done a great action in deceiving these poor people.

2. As the Indians are curious, they were defirous of knowing how powder, which they called grain, was made in France. The traveller made them believe that it was fown, and that they had crops of it as of indigo or millet in America. The Indians were pleased with the difcovery, and fowed all the gun-powder which they hed left, which obliged them to buy that of the Frenchman, who got a confiderable quantity of beaver skins for it, and afterwards went down the river to the Illinois, where M. de Tonti commanded.

3. The Indians went from time to time to fee if the powder had come up; they had placed a guard there to hinder the wild beasts from fpoiling the field; but they foon found out the Frenchman's trick. It must be obferved that the Indians can be deceived but once, and they always remember it. Accordingly they were refolved to be revenged upon the first Frenchman that fhould come to them.

4. Soon after, the hopes of profit excited the traveller to fend his partner among these fame Indians with goods proper for their commerce; they foon found that this man was affociated with the Frenchman who had impofed upon them; however, they diffembled the trick which his predeceffor had played. They gave him the public hut, which was in the middle of the village, in which he

might depofit his bales, and when they were all laid out to view, the Indians came in confufedly, and all those who had been foolish enough to fow gun-powder, took away fome goods; fo the poor Frenchman was rid of all his bales at once, but without any equivalent from the Indians.

5. He complained much of thefe proceedings, and laid his grievances before the great chief, who answered him very gravely, that he fhould have juftice done him, but for that purpofe he must wait for the gun powder harvest, his fubjects having fown that commodity by the advice of his countryman; that he might believe upon the word of a fovereign, that after the harvest was over, he would order a general hunt; and that all the skins of wild beats that would be taken fhould be given him in return for the important fecret which the other Frenchman had taught them.

CHAPTER LXXX.

HOTSPUR'S SOLILOQUY ON THT CONTENTS OF A LET

BUT

TER.

UT for mine own part my lord, I could be well contented to be there, in refpect of the love I bear your houfe." He could be contented to be there! Why is he not then? In refpect of the love he bears your houfe; he fhows in this, he loves his own barn better than he loves your houfe. Let me fee fome more "The purpose you undertake is dangerous." Why that's certain; 'tis dangerous to take a cold, to fleep, to drink; but I tell you, my lord fool, out of this nettle danger, we pluck this flower fafety." The purpose you undertake is dangerous; the friends you have named uncertain; the time itself unforted; and the whole plot too light for the counterpoife of fo great an oppofition." Say you fo, fay you fo? I fay unto you again, you are a fhallow cowardly hind, and you lie. What a lack-brain is this! our plot is a good plot as ever was laid; our friends true and conftant; a good plot, good friends, and full of expectation; an excellent plot; very good friends, What a frofty fpirited rogue is this! Why

Peny y lord of York commends the plot, and the general Course of the action. By this hand, if I were now by this rascal, I could brain him with his lady's fan. Is

here not my father, my uncle, and myfelf; lord Edmund Mortimer, my lord of York, and Owen Glendower? Is there not, befides, the Douglas? Have I not all their letters to meet me in arms by the ninth of the next month; and are there not fome of them fet forward already? What a pagan rafcal is this! an infidel! Ha! you fhall fee now, in very fincerity of fear and cold heart, will he to the king, and lay open all our proceedsings. O! I could divide myself and go to buffets, for moving fuch a dish of skimmed milk with fo honorable an action. Hang him! let him tell the king. We are prepared. I will fet forward to night.

CHAPTER LXXXI.

THE DEATH OF THE CHRISTIAN.

HE Chritian, and he alone, can triumph amidft

Tthe agonies of diffolving nature, in

a well

grounded hope of future felicity. There is a genuine dignity in the death of a real believer. It is not the vanity of an Auguftus Cæfar, who called his fubjects around him; and after reminding them that he had liv ed in glory, bid them applaud him after death.

2. It is not the heroic ftupidity of an Andre, who ostentatiously defired the fpectators of his catastrophe to witnefs that he died as a brave man. It is not the thoughtless courage of a profeffed Hero, in the heat of Spirits, and amidst the confufion of battles, rufhing almost headlong upon certain destruction. It is not the

hard infenfibility of an Indian Warrior, exulting in the midst of furrounding flames, provoking his tormentors. and finging a merry fong of death. He meanly retreats from evils, which Chriftian heroifm would qualify to o vercome by his exertions, or to endure with patience.

3. The votaries of fame may acquire a fort of infenk. bility to death and its confequences, But he alone

whofe peace is made with God, and who enjoys the light of his Saviour's countenance, can walk with compofure through the gloomy valley of the fhadow of death, and fear no evil. See the polished Chesterfield, after a life of pleasure, proudly endeavoring to act the philofopher in death. In fpite of his refinements in the art of diffimulation, an anxious horror of conscience burft forth, and evinced, that as he had lived a polite deceiver, fo he died a philofophical bypos ite.

4. On the other hand, behold the amiable, the virtu ous, the pious Addifon, in his dying fcene. How humble, and at the fame time, how dignified he appears That modefty, that tranquility of mind, that cheerful patience and refignation which were eminently characteriftic of his life and writings never forfook him to the laft moment of his life. His fetting fun fhone bright. The evening of his life was pleasant and ferene. Supported by the teftimony of a good confcience, and a lively faith in his Redeemer, as he lay on his death-bed, he could look the advancing king of terrors in the face with a fmile, and welcome him as a meffenger of glad tidings.

5. Obferve him, ye admirers of fortitude; view him in that critical moment, which emphatically tries men's fouls; and learn with what fuperior dignity and peace of mind a Chriftian can die. Who would not adopt the language of Balaam, "Let me die the death of the righteous, and let my laft end be like his ?" Is this your real with then you must live the life of the righteous, for eternity, with all its pleafing, dreadful scenes, is fufpended upon our prefent conduct.

1.

I

CHAPTER LXXXII.

THE POOR OLD MAN.

AM dark, faid the old man, and have loft the only bleffing heaven had left me; fhe lies buried in this grave, and every hour of my future life will waft a prayer to the Supreme Director, to haften the period of my last repose beneath the fame fod.

2. Have your days been always wretched, faid I; and have your eyes never beheld the light of the fun? Alas! Sir, faid he, my early days were happy, and my maturer days were not embittered by any poignant forrow; it is true I rose up early and fat up late, but it was to give bread and comfort to a numerous family, to whom I had hoped to leave comfortable portions, and an honor. able name.

3. But it pleafed Heaven to take from me five out, of feven children to itself, in the courfe of two years. My wife, who was the best of women, funk beneath the mif fortune; the drooped like a flower, and never held up her head again till fhe died. I became almost broken hearted, and foon after loft my fight. My fon, to whofe care I entrusted the favings of my induftrious years, with a degree of infenfibility no human mind could conceive, left me, not only to my former forrows, but, taking my little treasure with him, added poverty and want to the number of them.

4. Heaven, however, after making me the victim of its wrath, left me one confolation: My tender and affectionate Laura, my dutiful child, was permitted yet awhile to remain by my fide. Her youth and innocence, and my age and infirmity, have won the tender pity of all who knew us, and raised us friends among thofe who knew us not before the days of our forrow. The quiver of fortune was not yet exhausted against me, one fatal arrow was left!

5. Laura and I fat on a funny bank together, and while I revolved in filence, the dark paffages of life, through which I had been ordained to pass, Laura sept. The burning rays of noon lighted up a fever in her veins. In a few days he died, and left me more than difconfolate. I wept again; but now truft I fhall weep no more : Here am I led every day to fit an hour upon Laura's grave-upon her grave which will foon be mine; alas ! again I feel the tears upon my cheek. When, gracious Heaven! when will the fountains be dried up for ever?