I CANNOT think it extravagant to imagine that mankind are no less in proportion accountable for the ill use of their dominion over creatures of the lower rank of beings, than for the exercise of tyranny over their own species. The more entirely the inferior creation is submitted to our power, the more answerable we should seem for our mismanagement of it; and the rather, as every condition of nature renders these creatures incapable of receiving any recompense in another life for their ill-treatment in this. Montaigne thinks it some reflection upon human nature itself, that few people take delight in seeing beasts caress or play together, but almost every one is pleased to see them lacerate and worry one another. I am sorry this temper is become almost a distinguishing character of our own nation, from the observation which is made by foreigners of our beloved pastimes, bear-baiting, cock-fighting, and the like. We should find it hard to vindicate the destroying of anything that has life, merely out of wantonness; yet in this principle our children are bred up, and one of the first pleasures we allow them is the licence of inflicting pain upon poor animals; almost as soon as we are sensible what life is ourselves, we make it our sport to take it from other creatures. I cannot but believe a very good use might be made of the fancy which children have for birds and insects. Mr. Locke takes notice of a mother who permitted them to her children, but rewarded or punished them as they treated them well or ill. This was no other than entering them betimes into a daily exercise of humanity, and improving their very diversions to a virtue. I fancy, too, some advantage might be taken of the common notion, that it is ominous or unlucky to destroy some sorts of birds, as swallows or martins; this opinion might possibly arise from the confidence these birds seem to put in us by building under our roofs, so that it is a kind of violation of the laws of hospitality to murder them. As for Robin redbreasts, in particular, it is not improbable they owe their security to the old ballad of the Children in the Wood. However it be, I do not know, I say, why this prejudice, well improved and carried as far as it would go, might not be made to conduce to the preservation of many innocent creatures, which are now exposed to all the wantonness of an ignorant barbarity. There is a passage in the book of Jonas, when God declares his unwillingness to destroy Nineveh, where methinks that compassion of the

Creator, which extends to the meanest rank of his creatures, is expressed with wonderful tenderness-" Should I not spare Nineveh, that great city, wherein are more than six score thousand persons-and also much cattle?" And we have in Deuteronony a precept of great good-nature of this sort, with a blessing in form annexed to it, in those words: "If thou shalt find a bird's-nest in the way, thou shalt not take the dam with the young; but thou shalt in any wise let the dam go; that it may be well with thee, and that thou mayest prolong thy days." To conclude, there is certainly a degree of gratitude owing to those animals that serve us. As for such as are mortal or noxious, we have a right to destroy them; and for those that are neither of advantage or prejudice to us, the common enjoyment of life is what I cannot think we ought to deprive them of.-POPE, The Guardian,'

THE CHILDREN IN THE WOOD.

Now ponder well, you parents deare,
These wordes which I shall write;
A doleful story you shall heare,
In time brought forth to light.
A gentleman of good account
In Norfolk dwelt of late,

Whose wealth and riches did surmount
Most men of his estate.

Sore sick he was, and like to dye,
No help his life could save;
His wife by him as sicke did lye,
And both possest one grave.
No love between these two was lost,
Each was to other kinde,

In love they lived, in love they dyed,
And left two babes behinde :

The one a fine and pretty boy,

Not passing three yeares olde;
The other a girl more young than he,
And made in beautye's molde,
The father left his little son,

As plainlye doth appeare,

When he to perfect age should come,
Three hundred pounds a yeare.

"If you do keep them carefully,
Then God will you reward;
If otherwise you seem to deal,
God will your deedes regard."

With lippes as cold as any stone,
They kist the children small:

"God bless you both, my children deare!" With that the teares did fall.

These speeches then their brother spoke

To this sick couple there;

"The keeping of your children dear,

Sweet sister, do not feare:
"God never prosper me nor mine,
Nor aught else that I have,
If I do wrong your children deare,
When you are layd in grave."

Their parents being dead and gone,
The children home he takes,
And brings them both unto his house,
Where much of them he makes.
He had not kept these pretty babes
A twelvemonth and a daye,
But, for their wealth, he did devise
To make them both awaye.

He bargain'd with two ruffians rude,
Which were of furious mood,
That they should take the children young,
And slay them in a wood.

He told his wife, and all he had,

He would the children send
To be brought up in faire London,
With one that was his friend.

Away then went the pretty babes,
Rejoycing at that tide,
Rejoycing with a merry minde
They should on cock-horse ride.
They prate and prattle pleasantly,
As they rode on the waye,

To those that should their butchers be,
And work their lives' decaye:

So that the pretty speeche they had,
Made murtherers' hearts relent:
And they that tooke the deed to do,
Full sore they did repent.

Yet one of them, more hard of heart,
Did vowe to do his charge,
Because the wretch that hired him
Had paid him very large.

The other would not agree thereto,
So here they fell at strife;
With one another they did fight,

About the children's life:
And he that was of mildest mood
Did slay the other there,
Within an unfrequented wood;

Where babes did quake for feare!

T

He took the children by the hand,
When teares stood in their eye,
And bade them come and go with him,
And look they did not crye:

And two long miles he ledd them thus,
While they for bread complaine:

"Stay here," quoth he, “I'll bring ye bread, When I do come againe."

These pretty babes, with hand in hand,
Went wandering up and downe ;
But never more they sawe the man
Approaching from the town;

Their prettye lippes, with blackberries,
Were all besmeared and dyed,

And when they sawe the darksome night,
They sat them downe and cryed.

Thus wandered these two prettye babes,
Till deathe did end their grief,
In one another's armes they dyed,
As babes wanting relief:

No burial these prettye babes
Of any man receives,

Till robin red-breast painfully

Did cover them with leaves.

And now the heavy wrathe of God
Upon their uncle fell;

Yea, fearful fiends did haunt his house,
His conscience felt an hell:

His barnes were fired, his goods consumed,
His lande were barren made

His cattle dyed within the field,
And nothing with him stayd.

And in the voyage of Portugal
Two of his sonnes did dye;

And, to conclude, himself was brought
Unto much miserye :

He pawned and mortgaged all his land
Ere seven years came about;

And now at length this wicked act

Did by this meanes come out :