When Alexander the Great had totally defeated the numerous army of Porus, an Indian Prince of great courage and prudence, the conqueror desired to see his unsuccessful enemy. After much entreaty, Porus consented. Alexander, on his approach, advanced forward, in order to receive him, with some of his train. Having come pretty near him, Alexander stopped to take a view of his noble mien, he being much above the common height: (some histo rians say he was seven feet and a half in stature.) Porus did not seem dejected at his misfortune; but advanced with a resolute countenance, like a valiant warrior, whose courage in defending his dominions ought to acquire him the esteem of the brave prince who had taken him prisoner. Alexander spoke first; and, with an august and gracious air, asked him, "How he desired to be treated?" "Like a king," replied Porus. "But," continued Alexander, "do you ask nothing more ?" "No," replied Porus; "Every thing is included in that single word." Alexander, struck with this greatness of soul, the heroism of which seemed heightened by distress, not only restored him his kingdom, but annexed other provinces to it, and treated him with the highest marks of honour, esteem and friendship. Porus was faithful to him till death.—It is hard to say, whether the victor or the vanquished best deserved praise on this occasion.

Richard the First, king of England, having invested the Castle of Chalons, was shot in the shoulder with an arrow; and an unskilful surgeon, endeavouring to extract the weapon, mangled the flesh in such a manner, that a gangrene ensued. The castle being taken, and perceiving that he should not survive, he ordered Bertram de Gourdon, who had shot the arrow, to be brought into his presence: Bertram being come: "What harm," said the king, "did I ever do thee, that thou shouldst kill me?" The other replied with great magnanimity and courage; "You killed with your own hand my father and two of my brothers, and you likewise designed to kill me. You may now satiate your revenge. I should cheerfully suffer all the torments that can be inflicted, where I sure of having delivered the world of a tyrant, who filled it with blood and carnage." This bold and spirited answer had such an effect on Richard, that he ordered the prisoner to be presented with a hundred shillings, and set at liberty; but Macardec, one of the king's officers, inhumanly had him flayed alive.

At the siege of Namur by the allies, there were in the ranks of the company commanded by captain Pincent, in colonel Frederick Hamilton's regiment, one Unnion, a corporal, and one Valentine, a

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private sentinel. There happened between these two men a dispute about an affair of love; which, upon some aggravations, grew to an irreconcileable hatred. Unnion, being the officer of Valentine, took all opportunities even to strike his rival, and profess the spite and revenge which moved him to it. The sentinel bore it without resistance; but frequently said he would die to be revenged of that tyrant. They had spent whole months in this manner, the one injuring, the other complaining; when in the midst of this rage towards each other, they were commanded upon the attack of the castle, where the corporal received a shot in the thigh and fell, the French pressing on, and he expecting to be trampled to death, he called out to his enemy, Ah, Valentine! can you leave me here?" Valentine immediately ran to him, and, in the midst of a thick fire of the French, took the corporal upon his back, and brought him through all that danger as far as the abbey of Salsine, where a cannon ball took off his head; his body fell under his enemy whom he was carrying off. Unnion immediately forgot his wound, rose up, tearing his hair, and then threw himself upon the bleeding carcas, crying, "Ah, Valentine! was it for me, who have so barbarously used thee, that thou hast died? I will not live after thee." He was not by any means to be forced from the body; but was removed with it bleeding in his arms, and attended with tears by all their comrades who knew their enmity." When he was brought to a tent, his wounds were dressed; but the next day still calling upon Valentine, and lamenting his cruelties to him, he died in the pangs of remorse.

ON TIME.

TIME, that moulders towering monuments into dust, and obliterates the memory of their existence, only serves to picture to our minds bad acts in more horrible forms.-The pleasures of the world may strew flowers over them, but they cannot hide them. Adamant may hold its characters perfect for ages, yet they must wear out at last; but those engraven on the conscience Time does not efface, but with his scythe continually renews, and, at every fresh touch, sinks deeper and deeper-they, as if written there, in rubric, with the heart's blood, can only cease to be when that shall flow no more.

FROM THE LONDON MONTHLY MAGAZINE FOR AUGUST 1815.

THE Theory of Public Morals, seems in England, to be ill understood. Thus, for example, it is often overlooked, that WARS, to

be JUST, ought to be NECESSARY and to be necessary, can only be waged in SELF-DEFENCE. It is equally lost sight of, that GLORY cannot be acquired in UNJUST WARS, and that before glory is ascribed to victors, it is needful to examine the previous question, whether their cause was JUST, and whether the War, in which they were engaged, was necessary, or in self-defence; for WITHOUT JUSTICE, THERE CAN BE NO GLORY. Would it not tend to rescue us from Vulgar Errors, on such important points, if all graduates were examined on questions of Public Law at our Universities?

THE WORLD.

WHEN young people, are too rigidly sequestered from the world, their lively and romantic imaginations paint to them as a paradise of which they have been beguiled; but when they are shown it properly, and in due time, they see it such as it really is, equally shared by pain and pleasure, hope and disappointment.

TEMPERANCE.

MILDNESS is a restraint upon anger, fear upon guilt; but temperance is a restraint upon all the passions :-' -There is not one of them to which it may not be recommended as an universal medium; it unites society, and preserves decency and decorum in the world; -it is not the wayward child of fancy, but the descendant of virtue and peace.

BENEFICENCE.

PIETY, practised in solitude, like a flower that blooms in the des ert, may give its fragrance to the winds of heaven, and delight those unimbodied spirits that surveys the works of God, and the actions of men, but it bestows no assistance on earthly beings; and however free from taints of impurity, yet wants the sacred splendor of beneficence.

PRUDENCE.

You have a son; let me advise you, while the smartings of the moment dictate the counsel of frugality, to instil into his tender mind the lasting impression of a liberal prudence, without which virtue is continually harrassed by necessity; pleasure has but an uninterrupted enjoyment, and life becomes a chequered scene of agitation and distress.

USE OF MONEY.

THE circumspect use of money, not from any avaricious principle, but from the wise practice of applying means to ends, will keep a man in that state of independence, which is the rock of life. On that foundation he can stand firm, return the haughty look, smile at the supercilious frown, give truth its due force, and scorn the embroidered lie.

THE WIDOW.

HAIL! thou fostering nurse of the wretched; the divine accents of whose tongue pour balm into the bleeding wounds of misery; -Thou, whom poets have defined to be clad in bright ethereal robes, and with eyes, whose lustre resembles the dew-drop, when brightened by the ray of Phoebus !-Thou, who leadest Charity to the spot were Poverty, pinched by hunger, "bides the pelting of the pitiless storm" of adversity!-To thee, O Pity! I call and may thy soft vibrations never be wanting to infuse in my breast the emotions of Philanthropy.

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"Pity the misfortunes of a poor distressed widow !" exclaimed a feeble voice to the busy crowds as they passed her. I turned round and fixed my eyes on the supplicant, who was clothed in rags, and lay stretched on the cold pavement. Her languid head was supported by the palm of her right hand, while her left held out the remains of a hat, to receive the bounty of some generous stranger; a few grey hairs scattered around her temples, bespoke her fast advancing towards the last stage of life! and a tear that trickled down her furrowed cheek told me, in silent, though expressive language, that the journey, had been a wearisome one; yet, though on her countenance was visibly portrayed the traces of heavy care, never did the palate of graceful Corregio, give to sorrow a more resigned aspect, than I traced in the features of this poor outcast of society; she was, to use the language of the poet of nature, "Patience smiling at grief." Of the many who passed her, few, very few, seemed to feel the impulse of pity, and deign to bestow the fostering boon of charity; and wilt thou too, Yorick, (said a something in my bosom, as I surveyed the miserable object before me) wilt thou, who hast so oft felt for the wants of thy fellow-creatures more than thy own, refuse now thy scanty pittance? No! a nobler sentiment than avarice now animates my feelings. I took out my purse, and threw the little it contained into the lap of the poor widow; her eyes, as she raised them to me, seemed to beam

with gratitude, but the inward tumults of her heart denied her utterance. "Never," said I, resuming my walk, "may I think the purchase dear; if, by bestowing a few pence on the unfortunate, it enables me to place a smile in their dejected features."

AMUSEMENT.

66 WHAT WILL THIS WORLD COME TO !"

THERE is no expression in more general use than "what will this world come to!" Old or young, rich or poor, sick or well, all, all are wondering what the world will come to."

The antiquity of it (the expression) cannot be disputed, for I have not the least doubt, when our first parents were driven from Paradise, Eve's exclamation, as she hooked arms with her partner, was, Adam, my dear, "what will this world come to !"

Intelligence is received at a female party that Mr. Debonair, a handsome young fellow of twenty-two, is married to the old and ugly widow Wrinkle of sixty-five. Lard preserve me! simpers one lady, dear me! lisps another, how strange! whispers a third, and, to cap the climax, a fourth ejaculates, "what will this world come to !"

Chance introduced me one evening to a large company of ladies and gentlemen. After the customary ceremony of bowing and scraping was concluded, I set myself down in a corner of the room by the side of an intimate friend; nearly opposite to me sat a young lady whose attractions had collected most of the beaux around her, and who was conversing in an affable manner (but without the least shew of affectation) withal, nor did she scream or fall into pretended convulsions when a daring wight pressed his lips to hers. Miss Prudy Prim (a virgin lady some half dozen years past her grand climacteric) tossing her head and shaking her fan about in a most violent manner, expressed her amazement, that such indelicate proceedings should be allowed in genteel company, then turning up her eyes, added, in a hypocritical tone, "what will this world come to!" A severe reproof was on the eve of issuing from my lips, but like lady Townly in the play, I gulped and swallowed it, for let a female do as she will, it is not a man's business to insult her.

To conclude, in spite of wonderings or prognostications,the world has remained nearly six thousand years in much the same state as ever it was, the same vices and follies are still in existence, and mankind are now as prone to evil as they were in former days.

For my part I consider myself in duty bound to enjoy every pleasure placed within my reach, else, why are they given me? not merely as a temptation to sin? surely not.

Let the misanthrope rove by moonlight, or no light, by the side of "the meandering stream" or "recline beneath the ancient elm," there pour forth his griefs, whine and sigh as long as he likes. I'l