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the musket in the other, he descended a second time. When he drew nearer than before, the wolf assuming a still more fierce and terrible appearance, howling, rolling her eyes, snapping her teeth, and dropping her head between her legs, was evidently in the attitude and on the point of springing at him.
13. At this critical instant, he levelled and fired at her head. Stunned with the shock, and suffocated with the smoke, he immediately found himself drawn out of the But having refreshed himself and permitted the smoke to dissipate, he went down the third time.
14. Once more he came within sight of the wolf, who appearing very passive, he applied the torch to her nose; and perceiving her dead, he took hold of her ears, and then kicking the rope (still tied roundhis legs) the people above, with no small exultation, dragged them both out together.
EXTRACT FROM DR. JOSEPH WARREN'S ORA. TION, DELIVERED AT BOSTON, MARCH 5, 1772.
HE voice of your father's blood cries to you from the ground, "My sons, scorn to be SLAVES!" vain we met the frowns of tyrants; in vain we crossed the boisterous ocean, found a new world, and prepared it for the happy residence of liberty; in vain we toiled; in vain we fought; we bled in vain, if you, our offspring, want valor to repel the assaults of her invade.s!
2. Stain not, the glory of your worthy ancestors; but like them resolve never to part with your birthright. Be wise in your deliberations, and determined in your exer tions for the preservation of your liberty.
3. Follow not the dictates of passion: but enlist yourself under the sacred banner of reason; use every method in your power to secure your rights; at least prevent the curses of posterity fm being heaped upon your memories.
4. If you, with united zeal and fortitude, oppose the torrent of oppression; if you feed the true fire of patriotim
burning in your breasts; if you, from your souls, despise the most gaudy dress which slavery can wear; if you really prefer the lonely cottage, whilst blest with liberty, to gilded palaces, surrounded with the ensigns of slavery, you may have the fullest assurance that tyranny, with her whole accursed train, will hide her hideous head in confusion, shame and despair.
5. If you perform your part, you must have the strongest confidence, that the same Almighty Being, who protected your pious aad venerable forefathers, who enabled them to turn a barren wilderness into a fruitful field, who so often made bare his arm for their salvation, will still be mindful of their offspring.
6. May this ALMIGHTY BEING graciously preside in all our councils. May he direct us to such measures as he himself shall approve, and be pleased to bless. May we be ever favored of God. May our land be a land of liberty, the seat of virtue, the asylum of the oppressed, "a name and a praise in the whole earth," until the last shock of time shall bury the empires of the world in undistinguished ruin.
DIALOGUE BETWEEN TWO NEIGHBORS.
OOD morning, neighbor Scrapewell. I have half a dozen miles to ride to day, and should be extremely obliged if you would lend me your gray mare.
Scrapewell. I should be happy, friend Derby, to oblige, you; but am under a necessity of going immediately to the mill with three bags of corn. My wife wants the meal this very morning.
Der. Then she must want it still, for I can assure you the mill does not go to day. I heard the miller tell Will Davis that the water was too low.
that case, I shall be oblo? That is quite unlucky; for in
to gallop off to town for the my head for me, if I should
meal. My wife would comb neglect it.
Der. I can save you this journey. I have plenty of meal at home, and will lend your wife as much as she wants. Scrape. Ah! neighbor Derby, i am sure your meal will never suit my wife. You can't conceive how whimsical she is.
If she were ten times more whimsical than she is, I am certain she would like it; for you sold it to me yourself, and you assured me it was the best you ever had.
Scrape, Yes, yes, that's true, indeed; I always have the best of every thing. You know, neighbor Derby, that no one is more ready to oblige than I am, but I must tell you the mare this morning refused to eat hay; and truly I am afraid she will not carry you.
Der. Oh, never fear! I will feed her well with oats on the road.
Scrape. Oats! neighbor; oats are very dear.
Der. They are so indeed; but no matter for that. When I have a good job in view, I never stand for trifles.
Serape. It is very slippery; and I am really afraid she will fall and break your neck.
Der. Give yourself no uneasiness about that. The mare is certainly sure footed; and, besides, you were just now talking yourself of gallopping her to town.
Scrape. Well then, to tell you the plain truth, though I wish to oblige you with all my heart, my saddle is torn quite in pieces, and I have just sent my bridle to be mended. Der. Luckily, I have both a bridle and a saddle hanging up at home.
Scrape. Ah! that may be; but I am sure your saddle will never fit my mare.
Der. Why then I'll borrow neighbor Clodpole's.
Scrape. Clodpole's! his will no more fit than yours does. Der. At the worst then, I will go to my good friend, Squire Jones. He has half a score of them; and I am sure he will lend me one that will fit her.
Scrape. You know, friend Derby, that no one is more willing to oblige his neighbors than I am. I do assure you the beast should be at your service with all my heart; but she has not been curried, I believe, for three weeks
past. Her foretop and mane want combing and cutting very much. If any one should see her in her present plight, it would ruin the sale of her.
Der. O! a horse is soon curried, and my son Sam shall dispatch her at once.
Scrape. Yes, very likely; but I this moment recollect the creature has no shoes on.
Der. Well, is there not a blacksmith hard by?
Scrape. What, that tinker of a Dobson! I would not trust such a bungler to shoe a goat. No, no; none but uncle Tom Thumper is capable of shoeing my mare.
Der. As good luck will have it, then, I shall pass right by his door.
Scrape. [Calling to his son.] Timothy, Timothy, Here's neighbor Derby, who wants the loan of the gray mare to ride to town to-day. You know the skin was rubbed off her back last week a hand's breadth or more. [He gives Tim a wink]. However, I believe she's well enough by this time. You know, Tim, how ready I am to oblige my neighbors. And, indeed, we ought to do all the good we can in this world. We must certainly let neighbor Derby have her, if she will possibly answer his purpose. Yes, yes; I see plainly by Tim's countenance, neighbor Derby, that he's disposed to oblige you. I would not have refused you the mare for the worth of her. If I had, I should have expected you would have refused me in your turn. None of my neighbors can accuse me of being backward, in doing them a kindness.-Come, Timothy, what do you say?
Tim. What do I say, father! Why, I say, Sir, that I am no less ready than you to are to do a neighborly kindness. But the mare is by no means capable of performing the journey. About a hand's breadth, did you say, Sir! Why the skin is torn from the poor creature's back, of the bigness of your great brimm'd hat. And, besides, I have promised her, as soon as she is able to travel, to Ned Saunders, to carry a load of apples to the market.
Scrape. Do you hear that neighbor? I am very sorry matters turn out thus. I would not have disobliged you for the price of two such mares. Believe me, neighbor Derby, I am really sorry for your sake, that matters turn out thus
Der. And I as much for yours, neighbor Scrapewell; for to tell you the truth, I received a letter this morning from Mr. Griffin, who tells me if I will be in town this day, he will give me the refusal of all that lot of timber, which he is about cutting down upon the back of Cobble hill; and I intended you should have shared half of it, which would have been not less than fifty dollars in your pocket. But
Scrape. Fifty dollars, did you say?
Der. Ay, truly did I; but as your mare is out of order, l'il go and see if I can get old Roan, the blacksmith's horse.
Scrape. Old Roan! My mare is at your service, neighbor. Here, Tim, tell Ned Saunders he can't have the mare. Neighbor Derby wants her; and I won't refuse so good a friend any thing ho asks for.
Der. But what are you to do for meal?
Scrape. My wife can do without it this fortnight, if you want the mare so long.
Der. But then your saddle is all in pieces.
Scrape. I meant the old one. I have bought a new one since, and you shall have the first use of it.
Der. And you would have me call at Thumper's and get her shod?
Scrape. No, no; I had forgotten to tell you, that I let neighbor Dobson shoe her last week by way of trial; and to do him justice, I must own he shoes extremely well.
Der. But if the poor creature has lost so much skia from off her back
Scrape. Poh, poh! That is just one of Tim's large stories. I do assure you it was not at first bigger than my thumb nail; and I am certain it has not grown any since.
Der. At least, however, let her have something she will eat, since she refuses hay.
Scrape. She did, indeed, refuse hay this morning; but the only reason was that she was cramm'd full of oats. You have nothing to fear, neighbor; the mare is in perfect trim and she will skim you over the ground like a bird.‚I wish you a good journey and a profitable job.