Damon and Pythias (or Phintias) are the names of two celebrated Syracusans, which are always joined as the types of true and noble friendship. They were both Pythagoreans, and united to each other in the strictest ties of friendship they had naturally sworn to observe with inviolable fidelity, which was put to a severe trial.

Pythias was condemned to death by Dionysius, the Tyrant of Syracuse (about 405 a. C.), but petitioned for permission to make a journey into his own country to settle the marriage-contract of his sister, promising to procure a friend to take his place, and suffer his punishment, if he would not return after three days. The King granted his request. Damon generously agreed to be his security, and Pythias set out on his journey. The courtiers, and Dionysius in particular, awaited with impatience the event of so delicate and extraordinary an adventure.

Before the dawning of the third day, Pythias had united the sister with the husband, and made speed to return home, in order to arrive in due time. Meanwhile torrents of rain deluged the country, and carried off all bridges. This and other accidents prolonged his voyage; he did not make his appearance in town at the preconcerted time. The Tyrant derided the rash and imprudent zeal by which Damon had bound himself in such a manner; but far from expressing any fear or concern, Damon replied with tranquility in his looks and confidence in his expressions, that he was assured that his friend would return. At last Pythias arrived at the town-gate, where the cross was already raised, and Damon

dragged up. "Stop! hangman !" cried Pythias, “here I am, for whom he was bondsman!" The people were much surprised by the sudden appearance of Pythias. The friends embraced each other, crying from joy and grief.

tears.

There was no eye empty of

The wonderful news was immediately reported to the King; he was struck by sympathy and admiration; softened by the instance of such rare fidelity, he granted Pythias his life, and even desired to be admitted into the union of their friendship.

(b)-The Hare and Many Friends.

Friendship, like love, is but a name,
Unless to one you stint the flame,
True friends are seldom; who depend
On many, rarely find a friend.

A hare who, in a civil way,

Complied with everything, like Gay,*

Was known by all the beastial train
Who haunt the wood or graze the plain;

Her care was never to offend,

And every creature was her friend.

As forth she went at early dawn,
To taste the dew-besprinkled lawn,
Behind she hears the hunter's cries,
And from the deep-mouth'd thunder flies;
She starts, she stops, she pants for breath,
She hears the near advance of death;
She doubles to mislead the hound,
And measures back her mazy round,
Till, fainting in the public way,
Half dead with fear she gasping lay.

What transport in her bosom grew,
When first the horse appear'd in view!
"Let me (says she) your back ascend,
And owe my safety to a friend.
You know my feet betray my flight;
To friendship every burthen 's light."

The horse replied: "Poor honest puss,

It grieves my heart to see thee thus.

Be comforted, relief is near;

For see, the goat is just in rear."

*Gay (the poet of this fable) was of a timid temper, and fearful of giving offence to the

great "-Pope. They disappointed the expectations he put in their promises.

The goat remarked her pulse was high,
Her languid head, her heavy eye :
"My bark (says he) may do you harm,
The sheep's at hand, and wool is warm."
The sheep was feeble, and complain'd
His sides a load of wool sustain'd;
Said he was slow; confess'd his fears;
For hounds eat sheep as well as hares.
She now the trotting calf address'd,
To save from death a friend distress'd;
"Shall I (says he), of tender age,
In this important care engage?
Older and abler pass'd you by;
How strong are those, how weak am I!
Should I presume to bear you hence,
Those friends of mine may take offence;
Excuse me, then! you know my heart;
But dearest friends, alas, must part.

How shall we all lament! Adieu,

For see, the hounds are just in view." -John Gay.

10. Bad Company-The Husbandman and the Stork. Bad company is to be avoided!

The husbandman pitched a net in his field to take the cranes and geese who came to feed upon the new sown grain. Accordingly, he took several, both cranes and geese; and among them a stork, who had pleaded hard for his life, and, among other apologies which he made, alleged that he was neither goose nor crane, but a poor, harmless stork, who performed his duty to his parents to all intents and purposes, feeding them, when they were old, and, as occasion required, carrying them from place to place upon his back. "All this may be true," replies the husbandman, "but as I have taken you in bad company, and in the same crime, you must expect to suffer the same punishment."-Esop.

11. Gratitude to Benefactors-Ingratitude.

(a)-Thomas Cromwell.

Francis Frescobald, a Florentine merchant, had gained a plentiful fortune, of which he was liberal-handed to all in necessity; which being well known to others, a young stranger applied to him

for charity. Signor Frescobald, seeing something in his countenance more than ordinary, overlooked his tattered clothes, and, compassionating his circumstances, asked him what he was, and of which country. "I am," answered the young man, "a native of England; my name is Thomas Cromwell. I left my country to seek my fortune; came with the French army, where I was page to a footman, and carried his pike and burganet after him." Frescobald commisserating his necessities, and having a particular respect for the English nation, clothed him genteelly, took him into his house till he had recovered strength by better diet, and, at his taking leave, mounted him on a good horse, with sixteen ducats of gold in his pockets. Cromwell expressed his thankfulness in a very sensible manner, and returned to England, where he was preferred into the service of Cardinal Wolsey.

After the Cardinal's death, he worked himself so effectually into the favor of King Henry VIII., that this one made him a Baron, Viscount, Earl of Essex, and, at last, Lord Chancellor of England.

In the meantime, Signor Francis, by repeated losses by sea and land, was reduced to poverty, and calling to mind, without ever thinking of Cromwell, that some English merchants were indebted to him in the sum of 15,000 ducats, he came to London to procure payment.

Traveling in pursuit of this affair, he fortunately met with the Lord Chancellor, as he was riding to court; who, thinking him to be the same gentleman that had done him such great kindness in Italy, asked him if he was not Signor Frescobald. "Yes, sir," said he, "and your most humble servant.' "No," said the Chancellor,

"you are not my servant, but my special friend, that relieved me in my wants, and laid the foundation of my greatness." He immediately alighted, embraced him with tears of joy, and took him in his company to his house. Frescobald having in a few words given him a true state of his circumstances, he led him to his closet, and opening a coffer, first took out sixteen ducats, delivering them to Frescobald, saying: "My friend, here is the money you lent me at Florence, with ten pieces you laid out for my apparel, and ten more you paid for my horse; but considering that you are a merchant, and might have made some advantage by

this money in the way of trade, take these four bags, in every one of which are four hundred ducats, and enjoy them as free gifts of your friend.

He next caused him to give him the names of all of his debtors, and obliged them to pay their debts in fifteen days. During this time Frescobald lodged in the Chancellor's house, and was repeatedly invited to continue in England, and was offered a loan of 60,000 ducats for four years, if he would trade there; but he desired to return to Florence.

(b) The Gardener and his Dog.

A gardener's dog, frisking about the brink of a well in the garden, happened to fall into it. The gardener very readily ran to his assistance; but as he was endeavoring to help him out, the cur bit him on the hand. The man took his ungrateful treatment so unkindly, that he left him to shift for himself, with this expostulation : "Wicked wretch," quoth he, "are you so unreasonable as to injure the hand that comes to save your life! The hand of me, your master, who has hitherto fed and taken care of you! Die as you deserve; for so mischievous and illnatured a creature is not fit to live."

All obligations you lay upon an ungrateful person are thrown away.-Æsop.

(c) The Hart and the Vine.

A hart, being pursued hard by the hunters, hid himself under the broad leaves of a shady spreading vine. When the hunters were gone by, and given him over for lost, he, thinking himself very secure, began to crop and eat the leaves of the vine. By this means the branches, being put into a rustling motion, drew the eyes of the hunters that way, who seeing the vine stir, and fancying some wild beast had taked covert there, shot their arrows at a venture and killed the hart; who, before he expired, uttered his dying words to this purpose: "Ah! I suffer justly for my ingratitude, who could not forbear doing an injury to the vine that so kindly concealed me in time of danger.”—Æsop.