saw that sight, the fountain of his tears was stanched, and he never wept more. He died insane; and, in his last moments, often called on the name of his father, in terms that wrung tears from the hardest hearts.

LESSON ONE HUNDRED AND THIRTIETH.

Tears of Scotland.

Mourn, hapless Caledonia, mourn
Thy banished peace, thy laurels torn!
Thy sons, for valor long renowned,
Lie slaughtered on their native ground;
Thy hospitable roofs no more
Invite the stranger to the door;
In smoky ruins sunk they lie,
The monuments of cruelty.

The wretched owner sees, afar,
His all become the prey of war;
Bethinks him of his babes and wife,
Then smites his breast, and curses life.
Thy swains are famished on the rocks
Where once they fed their wanton flocks;
Thy ravished virgins shriek in vain;
Thy infants perish on the plain.

What boots it then, in ev'ry clime,
Through the wide-spreading waste of time,
Thy martial glory, crowned with praise,
Still shows with undiminished blaze-
Thy towering spirit now is broke,
Thy neck is bended to the yoke:
What foreign arms could never quell,
By civil rage and rancor fell.

LESSON ONE HUNDRED AND THIRTY-FIRST.

Massacre of Miss M'Crea.

It seems that this unfortunate young lady was betrothed to a Mr. Jones, an American refugee, who was with Burgoyne's army: and, being anxious to obtain possession of his expected bride, he despatched a party of Indians to escort her to the British army. Where were his affection and gallantry, that he did not go himself, or, at least, that he did not accompany his savage emissaries!

Sorely against the wishes and remonstrances of her friends, she committed herself to the care of fiends;strange infatuation in her lover, to solicit such a confidence! stranger presumption in her, to yield to his wishes! what treatment had she not a right to expect!

The party set forward, and she on horseback; they had proceeded not more than half a mile from Fort Edward, when they arrived at a spring, and halted to drink. The impatient lover had, in the meantime, despatched a second party of Indians, on the same errand; they came, at the unfortunate moment, to the same spring, and a collision immediately ensued, as to the promised reward.

Both parties were now attacked by the whites; and, at the end of the conflict, the unhappy young woman was found tomahawked, scalped, and (as is said) tied fast to a pine-tree just by the spring. Tradition reports, that the Indians divided the scalp, and that each party carried half of it to the agonized lover.

This beautiful spring still flows, limpid and cool, from a bank near the road side. The tree, which is a large and ancient pine, "fit for the mast of some tall admiral," is wounded, in many places, by the balls of the whites, fired at the Indians; they have been dug out as far as they could be reached, but others still remain in this ancient tree, which seems a striking

emblem of wounded innocence, and the trunk, twisted off at a considerable elevation by some violent wind, that has left only a few mutilated branches, is a happy, although painful memorial of the fate of Jenne M'Crea.

Her name is inscribed on the tree, with the date 1777; and no traveller passes this spot, without spending a plaintive moment in contemplating the untimely fate of youth and loveliness. Persons are still living who were acquainted with Miss M'Crea, and with her family.

The murder of this interesting young lady, occurring as it did, at the moment when General Burgoyne, whose army was then at Fort Anne, was bringing with him to the invasion of the American states, hordes of savages, whose known and established mode of warfare was that of promiscuous massacre, electrified the whole continent, and, indeed, the civilized world, producing a universal burst of horror and indignation. General Gates did not fail to profit by the circumstance; and, in a severe, but too personal remonstrance, which he addressed to General Burgoyne, charged him with the guilt of the murder, and with that of many other similar atrocities.

His real guilt, or that of his government, was, in employing the savages at all in the war; in other respects, he appears to have had no concern with the transaction. In his reply to General Gates, he thus vindicates himself: "In regard to Miss M'Crea, her fall wanted not the tragic display you have labored to give it, to make it as sincerely lamented and abhorred by me, as it can be by the tenderest of her friends. The fact was no premeditated barbarity.

"On the contrary, two chiefs who had brought her off for the purpose of security, not of violence to her person, disputed which should be her guard; and, in a fit of savage passion in one from whose hands she was snatched, the unhappy woman became the victim

Upon the first intelligence of this event, I obliged the Indians to deliver the murderer into my hands; and though, to have punished him by our laws on principles of justice, would have been, perhaps, unprecedented, he certainly should have suffered an ignominious death, had I not been convinced, by my circumstances and observation, beyond the possibility of a doubt, that a pardon, under the terms which I presented, and they accepted, would be more efficacious than an execution, to prevent similar mischiefs "

LESSON ONE HUNDRED AND THIRTY-SECOND.
Virtue and Happiness.

One night, when balmy slumbers shed
Their peaceful poppies o'er my head,
My fancy led me to explore

A thousand scenes unknown before.
I saw a plain extended wide,

And crowds poured in from every side;
All seemed to start a different game,
Yet all declared their views the same:
The chase was Happiness, I found;
But all, alas! enchanted ground.

As Parnell says, my bosom wrought
With travail of uncertain thought;
And, as an angel helped the dean,
My angel chose to intervene.

The dress of each was much the same;
And Virtue was my seraph's name.
When thus the angel silence broke;
Her voice was music as she spoke.

"Take Pleasure, Wealth, and Pomp away,
And where is happiness?" you say.

""Tis here-and may be yours-for know,
I'm all that's happiness below.
To vice I leave tumultuous joys;
Mine is the still and softer voice,
That whispers peace when storms invade,
And music through the midnight shade.

"Come, then, be mine in ev'ry part,
Nor give me less than all your heart;
When troubles discompose your breast,
I'll enter there a cheerful guest:
My converse shall your cares beguile,
The little world within shall smile,
And then it scarce imports a jot,
Whether the great world frowns or not.

"And when the closing scenes prevail,
When wealth, state, pleasure, all shall fail;
All that a foolish world admires,
Or passion craves, or pride inspires:
At that important hour of need,
Virtue shall prove a friend indeed!
My hands shall smooth thy dying bed,
My arm sustain thy drooping head:
And when the painful struggle 's o'er,
And that vain thing, the world, no more,
I'll bear my favorite son away

To rapture, and eternal day.

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LESSON ONE HUNDRED AND THIRTY-THIRD

An upright Prisoner.

Among the prisoners taken by the Americans at the battle of Hoosac, commonly called the battle of Bennington, was an inhabitant of Hancock, in the county of Berkshire, a plain farmer, named Richard