and maintained with much learning and pleas antry on both sides, "Whether, supposing that the flavor of a pig who obtained his death by whipping per flagellationem extremam 1), superadded a pleasure upon the palate of a man more intense than any possible suffering we can conceive in the animal, is man justified in using that method of putting the animal to death?" I forget the decision.

His sauce should be considered.

Decidedly, a

few bread-crumbs, done up with his liver and brains, and a dash of mild sage. But banish, dear Mrs. Cook, I beseech you, the whole onion tribe. Barbecue your whole hogs to your palate, steep them in shalots,2 stuff them out with plantations of the rank and guilty garlic; you cannot poison them, or make them stronger than they are, but consider, he is a weakling a flower.

THE OLD AND THE NEW SCHOOLMASTER

My reading has been lamentably desultory and immethodical. Odd, out-of-the-way old English plays and treatises have supplied me with most of my notions, and ways of feeling. In everything that relates to science, I am a whole Encyclopedia

1 By extreme whipping.

2 A vegetable something like a garlic.

Yet

behind the rest of the world. I should have scarcely cut a figure among the franklins, or country gentlemen, in King John's days. I know less geography than a schoolboy of six weeks' standing. To me a map of old Ortelius1 is as authentic as Arrowsmith. I do not know whereabout Africa merges into Asia; whether Ethiopia lie in one or other of those great divisions; nor can form the remotest conjecture of the position of New South Wales, or Van Diemen's Land. do I hold a correspondence with a very dear friend in the first named of these two Terræ Incognitæ. I have no astronomy. I do not know where to look for the Bear, or Charles's Wain; the place of any star; or the name of any of them at sight. I guess at Venus only by her brightness; and if the sun on some portentous morn were to make his first appearance in the west, I verily believe, that, while all the world were gasping in apprehension about me, I alone should stand unterrified from sheer incuriosity and want of observation. Of history and chronology I possess some vague points, such as one cannot help picking up in the course of miscellaneous study; but I never deliberately sat down to a chronicle, even of my own country. I have most dim apprehensions of the four great monarchies; and sometimes the Assyrian, sometimes the Persian, floats as first, in

1 This geographer published his "Theatrum Orbis Terrarum " in 1570.

my fancy. I make the widest conjectures concerning Egypt and her shepherd kings. My friend M.,1 with great painstaking, got me to think I understood the first proposition in Euclid, but gave me over in despair at the second. I am entirely unacquainted with the modern languages; and, like a better man 2 than myself, have "small Latin and less Greek." I am a stranger to the shapes and texture of the commonest trees, herbs, flowers, not from the circumstance of my being town-born, for I should have brought the same inobservant spirit into the world with me, had I first seen it "on Devon's leafy shores," and am no less at a loss among purely town-objects, tools, engines, mechanic processes. Not that I affect ignorance-but my head has not many mansions, nor spacious; and I have been obliged to fill it with such cabinet curiosities as it can hold without aching. I sometimes wonder how I have passed my probation with so little discredit in the world, as I have done upon so meager a stock. But the fact is a man may do very well with a very little knowledge, and scarce be found. out, in mixed company; everybody is so much more ready to produce his own than to call for a display of your acquisitions. But in a tête-à-tête

1 See p. 1. Mr. Manning, a dear friend of Lamb's, was a mathematical tutor at the University of Cambridge, who had traveled in China. Euclid's book is on geometry.

2 This was first said of Shakespeare.

there is no shuffling. The truth will out. There is nothing which I dread so much as the being left alone for a quarter of an hour with a sensible, well informed man that does not know me. I lately got into a dilemma of this sort.

In one of my daily jaunts between Bishopsgate and Shacklewell, the coach stopped to take up a staid-looking gentleman, about the wrong side of thirty, who was giving his parting directions (while the steps were adjusting), in a tone of mild authority, to a tall youth, who seemed to be neither his clerk, his son, nor his servant, but something partaking of all three.

The youth was dismissed,

and we drove on. As we were the sole passengers, he naturally enough addressed his conversation to me; and we discussed the merits of the fare, the civility and punctuality of the driver; the circumstance of an opposition coach having been lately set up, with the probabilities of its success, -to all which I was enabled to return pretty satisfactory answers, having been drilled into this kind of etiquette by some years' daily practice of riding to and fro in the stage aforesaid, when he suddenly alarmed me by a startling question, whether I had seen the show of prize cattle that morning in Smithfield? Now, as I had not seen it, and do not greatly care for such sort of exhibitions, I was obliged to return a cold negative. He seemed a little mortified, as well as astonished, at my declaration, as (it appeared) he was just come fresh from

the sight, and doubtless had hope to compare notes on the subject. However, he assured me that I had lost a fine treat, as it far exceeded the show

of last year.

We were now approaching Norton Folgate, when the sight of some shop-goods ticketed freshened him up into a dissertation upon the cheapness of cottons this spring. I was now a little in heart, as the nature of my morning avocations 1 had brought me into some sort of familiarity with the raw material; and I was surprised to find how eloquent I was becoming on the state of the Indian market, when, presently, he dashed my incipient vanity to the earth at once, by inquiring whether I had ever made any calculation as to the value of the rental of all the retail shops in London. Had he asked of me what song the Siren sang, or what name Achilles assumed when he hid himself among the women, I might, with Sir Thomas Browne,2 have hazarded a "wide solution." My companion saw my embarrassment, and, the almshouses beyond Shoreditch just coming in view, with great good-nature and dexterity, shifted his conversation to the subject of public charities; which led to the comparative merits of provision for the poor in past and present times, with observations on the old monastic institutions, and charitable orders; but, finding me rather dimly

1 Lamb was for many years a clerk at the India House. "Urn Burial" of Sir Thomas Browne begins with a suggestion of these phrases.

2 The