from his mulligatawney and his megrims, would flesh bearing tree; nor has the city yet been disco-
envy.
vered in which "the pigs run through the streets
ready roasted, with knives and forks stuck in their
sides." Civilized nations eat meat, but they can
also do without it, living upon milk, grain, and ve-
getables alone, as in India. None but savages live
without those. And common breakfasts, without
any meat in them, have this advantage over others,
that you can look back upon them without any sort
of doubt or disgust, nor are their leavings offensive
to the eye. It is one of the perplexities of man's
present condition, that he is at once carnivorous, and
has very good reason for being so, and relishing his
chop and his steak, and yet cannot always recon-
cile it to the rest of his nature. He would fain
eat his lamb, and pity it too; which is puzzling.
However, there are worse perplexities than these;
and the lambs lead pleasant flowery lives while
they do live. Nor could they have had this taste

We look upon it as a blessing, for our parts, that
we retain a liking for a very crust.
We were
educated at a school, where the food was poorer
than the learning; but the monks had lived in its
cloisters, and left us a spring of delicious water.
Hence we have the pleasure of enjoying a crust of
bread and a draught of water to this day. Often-
times have we "spoilt our ainner," when it has not
come up in time, with a "hunk" of bread, choosing
rather to spoil our dinner than our spirits: and sweet
have been those mouthfuls of the pure staff of life,
and relishing of the corn. To our apprehensions
there is a sort of white taste in bread, analagous to
the colour, and reminding us of the white milkiness
of the wheat. We have a respect, both of self-love
and sympathy, with the poor light-hearted player
in Gil Blas, who went singing along the country
road, dipping his crust in the stream. Sorrow had
no hold on him, with ninety-nine out of her hundred
arms. Carelessly along went he, safe from her worst
handling, in his freedom from wants. She might
have peered out of her old den, and grown softened
at his chaunt. But he went alone too: he had none
to care for; which was a pleasure also. It would be
none to us,-one thing provided. There are pains,
when you get heartily acquainted with them, which
out-value the reverse pleasures. Besides, we must
all get through our tasks, as manfully and cheerfully
as we can; losing, if possible, no handsome pleasure

of existence, if they were not bred for the table.
Let us all do our best to get the world forward, and
we shell see. We shall either do away all we think
wrong, or see better reasons for thinking it right.
Meanwhile, let us dine and breakfast, like good-
humoured people; and not " quarrel with our bread
and butter."

THE WEEK.

cases.

Or do the queens go about, stabbing and making a finish? These appear to be light questions on a subject that might be awful enough, were we bees or wasps but human beings are too fond of drawing analogies between themselves and other creatures,-a practice, very good, where the latter can receive any benefit from it, but to be used with caution in all other We have, in another publication, (the Indicator,-in a paper added to the second edition,) shewn the absurdity of arguing from bee-government to human government,—a process of political reasoning once in great favour with some, who in thinking to advocate the cause of monarchy, forgot the perils they might bring on another part of the state. If men were bees and wasps, they would not only have no sovereigns and mothers except queens, but massacre their nobility, and themselves into the bargain, once a year! But being men, and gifted with reason, they discover that it is a manlier thing to teach and improve one another, than massacre any body. Bees must not guide men. Men are their masters, and must guide them: perhaps will ultimately give them a lift, and so be like gods to them!

As our extract in the present department of our paper is so short this week, we gladly take the opportunity of a beautiful little description of a nook to read in, to make the following striking extract from the Seven Temptations of Mrs. Howitt, a production which we have read through with a pleasure, only bounded by our regret, that the fair writer's conventional opinions of what is good and pious, are not

by the way, and sustaining ourselves by the thought From Wednesday, the 16th to Tuesday, the 22d of July. always in perfect harmony with her natural good

that all will be for the best, provided we do our best for all. It is not the existence of pain that spoils the relish of the world; but the not knowing how to make the most of pleasures, and thereby reducing the pains to their most reasonable size and their most useful account.

You may make a landscape, if you will, out of your breakfast table, better than Mr. Kirk's picture. Here where the bread stands, is its father, the field of corn, glowing in the sun, cut by the tawny reapers, and presenting a path for lovers. The village church (where they are to be married) is on a leafy slope, on one side; and on the other is a woody hill, with fountains. There, far over the water, (for this basin of water, with island lumps of butter in it, shall be a sea) are our friends the Chinese, picking the leaves of their tea-trees,-a beautiful plant; or the Arabs plucking the berries of the coffee-tree, a still more beautiful one, with a profusion of white blossoms and an odour like jassamine. For the sugar (instead of a bitterer thought, not so harmonious to our purpose, but not to be forgotten at due times) you may think of Waller's Sacharissa,* so named from the Latin word for sugar (sacharum) a poor compliment to the lady; but the lady shall sweeten the sugar, instead of the sugar doing honour to the lady; and she was a very knowing as well as beautiful woman, and saw farther into love and sweetness than the sophisticate court poet; so she would not have him, notwithstanding his sugary verses, but married a higher nature.

Bread, milk, and butter are of venerable antiquity. They taste of the morning of the world. Jael, to entertain her guest, "brought forth butter in a lordly dish."

Homer speaks of a nation of milk-eaters, whom he calls the "justest of men." To "break bread" was from time immemorial the Eastern signal of hospitality and confidence. We need not add reasons for respecting it, still more reverend. Bread is the "staff of life" throughout the greater part of the civilized world; and so accordant in its taste with the human palate, that nature, in some places, seems to have grown it ready-made on purpose, in the shape of the Bread Fruit Tree. There is also a Milk-tree; but we no where find a carniferous, or

Sachraissa was Lady Dorothy Sidney, of the great and truly noble family of the Sidneys. She married a sincere, affectionate, and courageous man, Robert Spencer, Earl of Sunderland, who was killed four years afterwards, in a cause for which he thought himself bound to quit the arms of the woman he loved. Her second husband was of the Smythe family. In her old age, meeting Walker at a card table, Lady Sunderland asked him, in good humoured and not un grateful recollection of his fine verses, when he would write any more such upon her; to which the "polite" poet, either from spite or want of address, had the poverty of spirit to reply, "Ob, madam! when your lady ship is as young again."

About the close of this week takes place that extraordinary proceeding of government among the bees,

-the massacre of the drones.

"

"After the season of swarming," says Dr. Bevan, "viz. towards the end of July, as is well known, a general massacre of the drones takes place. The business of fecundation being now completed, they are regarded as useless consumers of the fruits of others labours, fruges consumere nati;" love is at once converted into furious hate, and a general proscription takes place. The unfortunate victims evidently perceive their danger; for they are never, at this time, seen resting in one place, but darting in or out of the hive with the utmost precipitation, as if in fear of being seized. Their destruction has generally been supposed to be effected by the workers harassing them till they quit the hive; this was the opinion of Mr. Hunter, who says that the workers pinch them to and fro, without stinging them, and he considers their death as a natural rather than an untimely one. In this, Bonnet seems to agree with Mr. Hunter. But Huber has observed that their destruction is effected by the stings of the workers. He ascertained this by placing his hives upon a glass table. Reaumur seems to have been aware of this, for he has remarked that, "notwithstanding the superiority which the drones seem to have from their bulk, they cannot hold out against the workers, who are armed with a poinard which conveys poison into the wound it makes." The moment this formidable weapon has entered their bodies, they expand their wings, and expire. This sacrifice is not the consequence of a blind indiscriminating instinct, for if a hive be deprived of its queen, no massacre takes place, though the hottest persecution rage in all the surrounding hives. This fact was observed by Bonnet, who supposed the drones to be preserved for the sake of the additional heat which they would generate in the hive during winter; but according to Huber's theory, they are preserved for the purpose of impregnating a new queen. The lives of the drones are also spared in hives which possess fertile workers only, but no proper queen; and likewise in hives governed by a queen whose impregnation has been retarded; but under any other circumstances, the drones all disappear before winter. Not only all that have undergone their full transformations, but every embryo, in whatever period of its existence, shares the same fate. The workers drag them forth from their cells, and after sucking the fluid from the bodies, cast them out of the hive. In all these respects the hive bees resemble wasps, but with this difference; among the latter, not only the males and the male larvæ are destroyed, but all the workers and their larvæ, (and the very combs themselves), are involved in one indiscriminate ruin, none remaining alive during the winter but the queens, which lie dormant in various holes and corners till the ensuing spring, of course, without food, for they store none."

Do

How are the destroyers then destroyed?
they destroy one another? Is the whole of wasp-
land

Bent

On bloody courses, till the rude scene ends,
And darkness is the burier of the dead?

sense and benevolence. The chief actor in the fol

lowing scene is a spendthrift who has alienated his house and lands, and is resolved to get them back again by an inexorable pursuit of money.

SCENE III.

A fine moonlight night-A lonely field in the extremity
of the valley of Torres.-Enter Thomas with an ass,
he takes off the bridle and turns it to graze.
Thomas. There, thou poor, half-starved, patient

animal,

There's grass, rare green grass for thee; eat thy fill,
Would thou couldst take a store for forty days!
This once was mine-I tell thee, it was mine!
I know it inch by inch-yon leafy hedge
Is hazel every twig. I little dreamed
When I was wandering here a happy boy,
The time would come when I should steal in here
A thief o' nights!
Ah! I remember well-

There is a little hollow hereabout,
Where wild-briar roses, and lithe honeysuckle
Made a thick bower; 'twas here I used to come
To read sweet books of witching poetry!
Could it be I? No, no, I am so chang'd,

I will not think this man was once that boy,
The thought would drive me mad! I will but think
I once knew one who call'd this vale his own;

I will but think I knew a merry boy,
And a kind, gentle father, years agone,
Who had their dwelling here; and that the boy
Did love this lonely nook, and used to find
Here the first nests of summer; here did read
All witching books of glorious poetry;
And then, that as the boy became a youth,
And gentle feelings strengthened into passion,
And love became the property of life,
Hither he wandered with a girlish beauty,
Gathering, like Proserpine, sweet meadow flowers;
And that they sate beneath the wild-briar rose,
And that he then did kiss that maiden's cheek
The first time as a lover!-Oh, my God!
That was the heir of Torres,-a brave boy,
A noble hearted boy! he grew a man,
And what became of him? Ha! pass we that--
Would that I knew not what became of him!
[He advances into the hollow.
"Tis even as then! this bower hath little changed,
But hearts have changed since then, and thoughts

have changed,

And the great purpose of a life hath changed!
Oh, that I were a bird among these boughs,
To live a summer life of peace and joy;
To never fret my soul for broken faith;
To have no onward hope, no retrospection!—
Ah! there's the tiny glowworm as of old!
It is a lovely thing. Oh me! how much
That's beautiful and pure have I forgotten!
Years is it since a glow worm crossed my thoughts,
And it was the bright marvel of my boyhood—
A fire, and yet so cold! let's feel it now,
If 'tis as it was then.

[He stoops to pick it up.
Heavens, it is gold!
And here is more! bright, shining, glorious gold!
[He pulls away the moss and roots, and draws out
a small bag of gold coin.

don't know the news I have to tell; my mamma's old uncle is dead, the messenger is now in the house, and you know his estate is settled upon you." This account seemed only to increase his agony, and looking angrily at her, he cried, "There you lie, my dear; his estate is not settled upon me." "I beg your pardon," said she, "I really thought it was, at least you have always told me so." "No," returned he, "as sure as you and I are to be miserable here, and our children beggars hereafter, I have sold the reversion of it this day, and have lost every farthing I got for it at the hazard table." "What all?" replied the lady. "Yes, every farthing," returned he, "and I owe a thousand pounds more than I have got to pay." Thus speaking, he took a few frantic steps across the When the lady had a little enjoyed his perplexity, "No, my dear," cried she, "you have lost Man. Come, come, my friend, these are my but a trifle, and you owe nothing: our brother and I ancient quarters;

by real power. His equipage was sumptuous, and
he used to travel to Tunbridge in a post chaise and
six greys, with outriders, footmen, French horns, and
He
every other appendage of expensive parade.
always wore a white hat; and to apologize for this
singularity, said he did it purely to secure it from
being stolen; his dress was tawdry, and not perfectly
genteel; he might be considered as a beau of several
generations, and, in his appearance, he, in some mea-
sure, mixed the fashions of a former age with those
of his own. He perfectly understood elegant expense,
and generally passed his time in the best company, if
persons of the first distinction deserve that title.

But, perhaps, the reader may demand, what finances were to support all this finery?—or whence the treasures came that gave him such frequent opportunities of displaying his benevolence or his vanity? The secret was to be found in his gaming. Wherever people of fashion came, needy adventurers were generally found in waiting. With such, Bath swarmed; and among this class Nash was certainly to be numbered in the beginning-only with this difference, that he wanted the corrupt heart too commonly attending a life of expedients; for he was generous, humane, and honourable, even though by profession a gamester. But, whatever skill Nash might have acquired by long practice in play, he was never formed by nature for a successful gamester. He was constitutionally passionate and generous. While others made considerable fortunes at the gaming table, he was ever in the power of chance; nor did even the intimacy with which he was received by the great, place him in a state of independence. The considerable inconveniences that were found to result from a permission of gaming, at length attracted the attention of the Legislature; and in the twelfth year of his late Majesty the most prevalent games at that time were declared fraudulent and unlawful.

It was enacted that after the 24th of June, 1745, none should be permitted to keep a house, room, or place for playing, upon pain of such forfeitures as were declared in former acts instituted for that purpurpose.

Na

By this wise and just act, all Nash's future hopes
of succeeding by the tables were blown up. From
that time, we find him involved in continual disputes,
every day calumniated with some new slander, and
continually endeavouring to obviate its effects.
ture had by no means formed him for a beau garçon:
his person was clumsy, too large, and awkward, and
his features harsh, strong, and peculiarly irregular;
yet, even with those disadvantages, he made love,
became a universal admirer of the sex, and was uni-

versally admired. He was possessed, at least, of
some requisites of a lover. He had assiduity, flat-
tery, fine clothes, and as much wit as the ladies he
addressed. Wit, flattery, and finery clothes, he used
to say, were enough to debauch a nunnery. He did
not long continue an universal gallant; but in the
earlier years of his reign, entirely gave up his endea-
vours to deceive the sex, in order to become the
honest protector of their innocence, the guardian of
their reputation, and a friend to their virtue. This
was a character he bore for many years, and support-
ed it with integrity, assiduity, and success; and he not
only took care, during his administration, to protect
the ladies from the insults of our sex, but to guard
them from the slander of each other. He, in the
first place, prevented any animosities that might arise
from place and precedence, by being previously ac-
quainted with the rank and quality of almost every
family in the British dominion. He endeavoured to
make scandal odious, by marking it as the result of
envy and folly united. Whatever might have been
his other excellencies, there was one in which few
exceeded him-his extensive humanity. None felt
pity more strongly, and none made greater efforts to
relieve distress. 'If we were,' says his biographer,
'to name any reigning and fashionable virtue in the
present age, it should be charity. We know not
whether it may not be spreading the influence of
Nash too widely to say, that he was one of the prin-
cipal causes of introducing this noble emulation
among the rich; but certain it is, no private man ever
relieved the distresses of so many as he.'

As Nash grew old, he grew insolent, and seemed not aware of the pain his attempts to be a wit gave others. He grew peevish and fretful; and they who only saw the remnant of a man, severely returned that laughter upon him, which he had once lavished upon others. Poor Nash was no longer the gay, thoughtless, idly industrious person he once was; he now forgot how to supply new modes of entertainment, and became too rigid to wind with care through the vicissitudes of fashion. The evening of his life began to grow cloudy. His fortune was gone, and nothing but poverty lay in prospect. He now began to want that charity which he had never refused to any; and to find that a life of dissipation and gaity is ever terminated by misery and regret. He was now past the power of giving or receiving pleasure, for he was poor, old, and peevish; yet still he was incapable of turning from his former manner of life to True happiness. An old man thus striving after ure, is indeed an object of pity; but a man at

once old and poor, running on in this pursuit, might
excite astonishment.

Anxious, timid, his thoughts still hanging on a receding world, he desired to enjoy a little longer that life, the miseries of which he had experienced so long. The poor unsuccessful gamester husbanded the wasting moments with an increased desire to continue the game; and, to the last, eagerly wished for one yet more happy throw. He died at his house in St. John's Court, Bath, Feb. 3, 1761, aged 87. His death was sincerely regretted by the city, to which he had been so long and so great a benefactor.

In domestic life, among his servants and dependants, where no gloss was required to colour his sentiments and disposition, nor any mask necessary to conceal his foibles, Nash was ever fond of promoting the interests of his servants and dependants, and making them happy. In his own house, no man was, perhaps, more regular, cheerful, and beneficent. His table was always free to those who sought his friendship or wanted a dinner. As his thoughts were entirely employed in the affairs of his government, he was seldom at home but at the time of eating or of rest. His table was well served, but his entertainment consisted principally of plain dishes. He generally arose early in the morning, being seldom in bed after five; and to avoid disturbing the family and depriving his servants of their rest, he had the fire laid after he was in bed, and in the morning lighted it himself, and sat down to read some of his few, but well chosen books. His generosity and charity in private life, though not so conspicuous, was as great as that in public, and indeed far more considerable than his little income would admit of.

SPECIMENS OF CELEBRATED AUTHORS.
COWLEY.

His Preference of a Small Style of Living to a Great.
Abraham Cowley, a political court secretary, son
of a grocer, born at the western corner of Chancery

Lane in Fleet Street, A.D. 1618, and as honest a man
in the ranks of the loyalists to Charles the First, as
Milton was in those of the republicans, was looked
upon, by the leaders of opinion in his time, as the
greatest wit and poet that existed, perhaps that ever
existed. A wit he was, and a poet too, though not
of the great order that was supposed. His most
admired poetry was full of "conceits;" that is to
say, of laboured and far-fetched thoughts, instead of
imagination and feeling; but amidst his less pretend-
ing compositions he has verses that abundantly satisfy
both the taste and heart, and his prose is exquisite.
It is the genuine expression of a sincere, thoughtful,
kindly, and innocent nature. Pope has well touched
upon the difference between what was mortal in his

writings, and what has survived him :—

Forgot his Epic, nay, Pindaric art,

Yet still we love the language of his heart."

The following is one of those Essays in Prose and Verse," which form the portion of his works that Pope alludes to, and which have ever been the delight of lovers of reading, especially those who are fond of taking a country walk with a book in their hand. The paraphrase of Horace at the end of it is not such close and finished writing as the original Latin; but the feeling in it is more true to the subject; and there is a more thorough air of goodness in Cowley than in Horace. Both were courtiers; but Horace was a courtier in the worldly sense. Cowley's heart always retained its boyhood.

"SINCE we cannot attain to greatness," (says the
Sieur de Montaigne), "let us have our revenge by
railing at it." This he spoke but in jest. I believe
he desired it no more than I do, and had less reason:
for he enjoyed so plentiful and honourable a fortune
in a most excellent country, as allowed him all the
real conveniences of it, separated and purged from the
incommodities. If I were but in his condition, I
should think it hard measure, without being convinced
of any crime, to be sequestered from it and made one
of the principal officers of the state. But the reader
may think that what I now say is of but small autho-
rity, because I never was, nor ever shall be, put to the
trial: I can therefore only make my protestation.

If ever I more riches did desire
Than cleanliness and quiet do require;
If e'er ambition did my fancy cheat,
With any wish so mean as to be great;
Continue, Heaven, still from me to remove
The humble blessings of that life I love.

I know very many men will dispise, and some pity
me, for this humour, as a poor spirited fellow; but
I am content, and, like Horace, thank God for
being so.

Dî bene fecerunt, inopis me quodque pusili
Finxerunt animi.
Sat. iv. 17.

I confess I love littleness almost in all things. A little convenient estate, a little cheerful house, a little company, and a very little feast; and if I ever were to fall in love again, (which is a great passion, and, therefore I hope I have done with it), it would be, I think, with prettiness, rather than with majestical beauty. I would neither wish that my mistress, nor my fortune, should be a bona roba, nor, as Homer uses to describe his beauties, like a daughter of great Jupiter for the stateliness and largeness of her person; but, as Lucretius says,

Parvula, pumilio, xapírav μía, tota merum sal. Lucr. iv. 1155. Where there is one man of this, I believe there are a thousand of Senecio's mind, whose ridiculous affectation of grandeur Seneca the elder describes to this effect:-Senecio was a man of turbid and confused wit, who could not endure to speak any but mighty words and sentences, till this humour at last grew into so notorious a habit or rather disease, as became the sport of the whole town; he would have no servants, but huge, massy fellows; no plate or household stuff, but thrice as big as the fashion; you may believe me, for I speak it without raillery, his extravagancy came at last into such a madness, that he would not put on a pair of shoes, each of which was not big enough for both his feet; he would eat nothing but what was great, nor touch any fruit but horse plums and pound pears; he kept a concubine that was a very giantess, and made her walk to always in Chiopins, till, at last, he got the name of Senecio Grandio, which Messala said, was not his cognomen, but his cognomentum; when he declaimed for the three hundred Lacedaemonians, who alone opposed Xerxes's army of above three hundred thousand, he stretched out his arms and stood on tip-toes, that he might appear the taller, and cried out in a very loud voice; "I rejoice, I rejoice!"-We wondered, I remember, what new fortune had befallen his eminence. Xerxes,' says He who took away the sight he, is all mine own.

of the sea, with the canvass sails of so many ships;' and then he goes on so, as I know not what to make of the rest, whether it be the fault of the edition, or the orator's own burley way of nonsense.

This is the character that Seneca gives of this hyperbolical fop, whom we stand amazed at; and yet there are few men who are not in some things, and in some degrees, Grandios. Is anything more common than to see our ladies of quality wear such high shoes as they cannot walk in, without one to lead that they cannot stir to the next room without a page them; and a gown as long again as their body, so or two to hold it up? I may safely say, that all the ostentation of our grandees is, just like a train, of no use in the world, but horribly cumbersome and incommodious. What is all this but a spice of Grandio? How tedious would this be, if we were always bound to it! I do believe there is no king who would not rather be deposed, than endure every day of his reign all the ceremonies of his coronation.

The mightiest princes are glad to fly often from these majestick pleasures, (which is, methinks, no small disparagement to them), as it were for refuge, to the most contemptible divertisements and meanest recreations of the vulgar, nay, even of children. One of the most powerful and fortunate princes of the world, of late, could find out no delight so satisfactory them, and whistling to them. as the keeping of little singing birds, and hearing of What did the emperors of the whole world? If ever any men had the free and full enjoyment of human greatness (nay, that would not suffice, for they would be gods too), they certainly possessed it; and yet one of them who styled himself lord and god of the earth,† could not tell how to pass his whole day pleasantly, without spending constantly two or three hours in catching flies, and killing them with a bodkin, as if his godship had been Beelzebub. One of his predecessors, Nero, who never put any bounds, nor met with any stop to his appetite, could divert himself with no pastime more agreeable, than to run about the streets all night in a disguise, and abuse the women, and affront the men whom he met, and sometimes to beat them, and sometimes to be beaten by them; this was one of his imperial nocturnal pleasures. His chiefest in the day was to sing, and play upon a fiddle, in the prouder of the garlands that were given to his divine habit of a minstrel, upon a public stage: he was voice (as they called it then) in those kind of prizes than all his forefathers were of their triumphs ove, nations; he did not at his death complain that so mighty an emperor, and the last of all the Caesarean race of deities, should be brought to so shameful and miserable an end; but only cried out, 'Alas! what pity it is. that so excellent a musician should perish in this manner. His uncle Claudius spent half his time at playing at dice; and that was the main fruit

Louis XIII. The Duke de Laynes, the constable of France, is said to have gained the favour of this powerful and fortunate prince, by training up singing birds for him. Hurd. ↑ Domitian.

* Beelzebub signifies the Lord of Flies.-Cowley.
'Quatis artifex pereo!'-Suetonius, in his Life of Nero.

of his sovereignty. I omit the madnesses of Caligu-
las delights, and the execrable sordidness of those of
Tiberius. Would one think that Augustus himself,
the highest and most fortunate of mankind, a person
endowed too with many excellent parts of nature,
should be so hard put to it sometimes for want of
recreation, as to be found playing at nuts and bound-
ing stones, with little Syrian and Moorish boys, whose
company he took delight in, for their prating?

Was it for this that Rome's best blood be spilt,
With so much falsehood, so much guilt?
Was it for this that his ambition strove
To equal Cæsar first; and after, Jove?
Greatness is barren, sure, of solid joys;
'. Her merchandize (I fear) is all in toys;
She would not else, sure, so uncivil be,
To treat his universal majesty,

His new-created Deity

With nuts, and bounding-stones, and boys. But we must excuse her for this meagre entertainment; she has not really wherewithal to make such feasts as we imagine. Her guests must be contented sometimes with but slender cakes, and with the same cold meats served over and over again, even till they become nauseous. When you have pared away all the vanity what solid and natural contentment does there remain, which may not be had with five hundred pounds a year? Not so many servants or horses; but a few good ones, which will do all the business as well; not so 'many choice dishes at every meal; but at several meals all of them, which makes them both the more healthy, and the more pleasant; not so rich garments, nor so frequent changes; but as warm and as comely, and so frequent change too, as is every jot as good for the master, though not for the tailor or valet-de-chambre; not such a stately palace, nor gilt rooms, or the costliest tapestry; but a convenient brick-house, with decent wainscoat, and pretty forest-work hangings. Lastly, (for I omit all other particulars, and will end with that which I love most in both conditions), not whole woods cut in walks, nor vast parks, nor fountains or cascadegardens; but herb, and flower and fruit gardens, which are more useful, and the water every whit as clear and wholesome, as if darted from the breasts of a marble nymph, or the urn of-a river god.

If, for all this, you like better the substance of that former estate of life, do but consider the inseparable accidents of both; servitude, disquiet, danger, and most commonly guilt, inherent in the one; in the other, liberty, tranquillity, security and innocence. And when you have thought upon this, you will confess that to be a truth which appeared to you before but a ridiculous paradox, that a low fortune is better guarded and attended than an high one. If, indeed, we look only upon the flourishing head of the tree, it appears a most beautiful object.

4

Sed quantum vertice ad auras Æthereas, tantum radice in Tartara tendit.* As far up towards heaven the branches grow, So far the root sinks down to hell below.

Another horrible disgrace to greatness is, that it is for the most part in pitiful want and distress; what a wonderful thing this is! Unless it degenerate into vice, and so cease to be greatness, it falls perpetually into such necessities, as drive it into all the meanest and most sordid ways of borrowing, cozenage, and robbery :

Mancipiis locuples, eget æris-Cappadocum rex,t This is the case of almost all great men, as well as of the poor King of Cappadocia; "they abound with slaves, but are indigent of money." The ancient Roman Emperors, who had the riches of the whole world (for their revenue, had wherewithal to live (one would have thought) pretty well at ease, and to have been exempt from the pressures of extreme poverty. But yet with most of them it was much otherwise; and they fell perpetually into such miserable penury, that they were forced to devou and squeeze most of their friends and servants, to cheat with imfamous projects, to ransack and pillage all their provinces. This fashion of imperial grandeur is imitated by all inferior and subordinate sorts of it, as if it were a point of honour. They must be cheated of a third part of their estates, two other thirds they must expend in vanity; so that they remain debtors for all the necessary provisions of life, and have no way to satisfy those debts, but out of the succours and supplies of rapine. As riches increase, (says Solomon), so do the mouths that devour them! The master mouth has no more than before. The owner, methinks, is like Ocnus in the fable, who is perpetually winding a rope of hay, with an ass at the end perpetually eating it.

Out of these inconveniences arise naturally one more, which is, that no greatness can be satisfied or contented with itself; still, if it could mount up a little higher, it would be happy; if it could gain but that point, it would obtain all its desires; but yet at last, when it has got up to the very top of the Pic of Teneriff, it is in very great danger of breaking its neck downwards, but in no possibility of ascending upwards into the seat of tranquillity above the moon.

* Virgil. Georg. II. 291.

+ Horace. 1. Epis. VI. 39.

The first ambitious men in the world, the old giants,
are said to have made an heroical attempt of scaling
heaven in spite of the gods; and they cast Ossa upon
Olympus, and Pelion upon Ossa: two or three
mountains more, they thought, would have done
their business; but the thunder spoilt all their work
when they were come up to the third story:

And what a noble plot was crost!

And what a brave design was lost!

A famous person of their offspring, the late giant
of our nation,* when, from the condition of a very
inconsiderable captain, he had made himself lieute-
nant-general of an army of little Titans, which was
his first mountain, and afterwards, general, which
was his second, and after that, absolute tyrant of three
kingdoms, which was the third, and almost touched
the little heaven which he affected, is believed to have
died with grief and discontent, because he could not
attain to the honest name of king and the old forma-
lity of a crown, though he had before exceeded the
power by a wicked usurpation. If he could have
compassed that, he would, perhaps, have wanted
something else that is necessary to felicity, and pined
away for want of the title of an emperor or a god.
The reason of this is, that greatness has no reality in
nature, being a creature of the fancy, a notion that
exists only in relation and comparison: it is indeed
an idol; but St. Paul teaches us "that an idol is
nothing in the world." There is, in truth, no rising
or meridian of the sun, but only in respect to several
places: there is no right or left, no upper hand in
nature; everything is little, and everything is great,
according as it is diversely compared. There may
be, perhaps, some village in Scotland or Ireland where
I might be a great man; and in that case I should be like
Cæsar, (you would wonder how Cæsar and I should
be like one another in any thing,) and choose rather
to be the first man of the village, than second of
Rome. Our country is called Great Britany, in re-
gard only of a lesser of the same name; it would be
but a ridiculous epithet for it when we consider it
with the kingdom of China. That, too, is but a
pitiful rood of gronnd, in comparison of the whole
earth besides, and this whole globe of earth, which
we account so immense a body, is but one point or
atom in relation to those numberless worlds that are

scattered up and down in the infinite space of the
sky which we behold.

The other many inconveniences of grandeur I have
spoken of dispersedly in several chapters; and shall
end this with an ode of Horace, not exactly copied,
but rudely imitated :-

HORACE, B. III. ODE I.
"Odi profanum vulgus," &c.
Hence, ye profane; I hate you all;
Both the great vulgar and the small.

To virgin minds which yet their native whiteness hold,
Not yet discolour'd with the love of gold,

(That jaundice of the soul,

Which makes it look so gilded and so foul),
To you, ye very few, these truths I tell;

The muse inspires my song,-hark, and observe it well.
We look on men, and wonder at such odds

Twixt things that were the same by birth;
We look on kings as giants of the earth,
These giants are but pigmies to the gods.
The humblest bush and proudest oak

Are but of equal proof against the thunder stroke.
Beauty, and strength, and wit, and wealth, and

And all ye men, whom greatness does so please,
Ye feast, I fear, like Damocles:

If ye your eyes could upwards move
(But ye I fear think nothing is above),
Ye would perceive by what a little thread

The sword still hangs over your head':
No tide of wine would drown your cares;
No mirth or music over noise your fears:
The fear of death would you so watchful keep,
As not t'admit the image of it, sleep.
Sleep is a god too proud to wait in palaces,
And yet so humble too, as not to scorn

The meanest country cottages :
His poppy grows among the corn.
The halcyon sleep will never build his nest
In any stormy breast.

'Tis not enough that he does find
Clouds and darkness in the mind;
Darkness but half his work will do:
"Tis not enough; he must find quiet too.
The man, who, in all wishes he does make,
Does only nature's counsel take,
That wise and happy man will never fear
The evil aspects of the year;

Nor tremble, though two comets should appear:
He does not look in almanacs to see

Whether he fortunate shall be;

* Cron.well.

Let Mars and Saturn in the heavens conjoin,
And what they please against the world design,

So Jupiter within him shine.

If of your pleasures and desires no end be found,'
God to your cares and fears will set no bound.
What would content you? who can tell?
Ye fear so much to lose what ye have got,
As if ye liked it well:

Ye strive for more, as if ye liked it not.
Go level hills, and fill up seas,
Spare nought that may your wanton fancy please: :
But, trust me, when you have done all this,
Much will be missing still, and much will be amiss.

THREE GERMAN LEGENDS. 1.-HONESTY IS THE BEST POLICY.

[We have drawn largely this time on the "Lays and Legends of various Nations;" but the new number, being another on "Germany," the most legendary of all nations, naturally tempts us; and our temptation is made virtuous by the excellent morals of what we quote.]

On a sultry Summer evening, Henry, Bishop of Halberstadt, and a foreign Bishop, who had been his guest for a month, were seated on the lawn before the castle of Gruningen. On a table before them stood, in two massive cups, their night drink. From ten o'clock in the morning, when they had seated themselves to their mid-day meat, their conversation had turned upon a mighty wine tun which had been constructed for a Bishop on the banks of the Rhine, and upon the propriety of every noble ecclesiastic having a similar one, for the purpose of giving suitable splendour to his residence. The question at length became so thoroughly exhausted, that the conversation began to flag, and was carried on for the most part slowly and in monosyllables, being from time to time interrupted by the yawnings of both parties.

Fortunately, at this moment Conrad, the shepherd, brought into the court-yard of the castle his welltended flock, which Bishop Henry himself always counted over every evening. 'God greet thee, my 'Good evening to you, Conrad; where lord Bishop.'

is the ram?' Conrad whistled, and a large handsome ram came bounding forth to the shepherd, and then to the Bishop, who stroked him, and fed him with crumbs of bread, which he had laid by on the

table for the purpose. The Bishop then conversed

for a minute or two with the shepherd, and asked him, jocosely, when his wedding was to take place?' Conrad was a little confused by the question, and withdrew, followed by his flock.

When he was gone, the Bishop began expatiating upon the beauty of the ram, which nothing could induce him to part with, and then upon his good shepherd Conrad, who was honesty itself. The foreign Bishop laughed at this declaration; for much travelling, and frequent residence at various princely courts, had filled him with distrust in his fellow-creatures. He maintained that it was impossible to find a really honest servant, at least in the retinue of an ecclesiastic; for they would all deceive their masters, and were all knaves more or less.

Bishop Henry contradicted this with great earnestness, praised the worthy disposition of the people over whom he wielded his crozier, but above all, Conrad the shepherd, who had never told him an untruth, nor deceived him in the most trifling affair. 'What, has Conrad never yet told you a lie,-never deceived you,-never betrayed his master?' said the foreign Bishop sarcasticly. 'No,' answered Henry warmly, in defence of his retainer, 'Conrad never has been, nor ever will be, guilty of such conduct.' No! repeated the foreign Bishop: 'what wager

would you venture upon that?'

After sundry proposals, the Bishops at length agreed to support their opinions by a wager of a wine-tun, which should hold one hundred and fifty butts of wine. And, within three days, Conrad was, without being made aware of it, to be put to the test. This done, they took leave of one another for the night, well pleased to have found a fresh source of amusement for the next few days, and each feeling certain of victory.

The foreign Bishop, however, before retiring to rest, entered, as was his wont, into conversation and council with his servant Peter. This Peter, who was nominally only the servant and professed jester of the Bishop, was in fact much more his secret adviser than many of those who flaunted it in titles and bands; and to him the Bishop looked for advise and assistance in all his difficulties, spiritual and temporal. Peter was accustomed to hear, to see, and occasionally to think for his master, without any body suspecting it; and this he had already done upon the very subject in question.

This evening he was, however, not in a very communicative humour; but the Knave, whom his master had made acquainted with everything, was vexed at heaeart, and it was only his master's promise of a new scarlet cap in case of winning the wager, which at all induced him to open his lips. After many biting remarks upon the cost of a wine tun which would hold a hun

dred and fifty butts of wine, and come to more than half the yearly income of the bishoprick, he at length undertook to discover by what means this Conradthis paragon pattern, and phoenix of honesty, as lord and servant jestingly called him, was to be tempted.

No sooner did the sun arise, than Peter set to work to bring about the object decided upon on the previous evening; and before noon he was enabled to tell his master that Conrad had a sweetheart, the pretty Lisette, but who would hear nothing of his passion till he had a house of his own to take her to, so poor were they both. The industrious Peter had himself already spoken to Lisette, and found her both ready and willing to assist in the scheme which he had devised. And all that he now had to ask from his master was a small sum of money to ensure the winning of this huge wine-tun. The bishop gave him what he desired, and seated himself in good heart at the table.

Peter then returned to the pretty Lisette, shewed her the money which he had got, and they discoursed together about a cottage which a poor widow in the neighbourhood had long wanted to dispose of; and Peter ended by promising to give Lisette the purchase-money for it, as soon as she had brought what he wished for.

On the following morning Lisette set to work in a spot past which Conrad must necessarily drive his flock. No sooner did Conrad see her in the distance, than he flew to her, accompanied by his favourite ram, and repeated to her all that he had previously told her, over and over again, to gain her consent to their marriage. But to all this Lisette answered him very coolly-that she had heard it a thousand times before, and if he had nothing more to say to her about a house of his own to take her to, that he knew very well what her determination was.

Conrad was about to take his leave with a troubled heart, when a half friendly glance from Lisette made him turn round and ask her, why she always behaved so coolly towards him, and what he should do to please her? Well, for the novelty of the thing, let us see whether you will do anything that I ask you,' said Lisette (the bishop's favourite ram had thrust himself between her and Conrad, and was eating bread out of her hand;) will you, then, give me this ram, that I may sell it?'

Conrad's heart fell when he heard this request. Sorrowfully he replied, Everything in the world besides, but not that. If the bishop were not to feed my ram every evening, I should be sure to meet with some disaster. Take the ten best sheep of the flock, take the whole fifty of them that belong to me, but leave me the ram.'

'Well,' said Lisette; 'what a pattern of a man you are! But begone with your fifty sheep! Well! you are a pretty bridgroom, indeed, to refuse me such a trifle! You would certainly be a very goodnatured husband when the honeymoon was over! Go, go to the bishop, let him feed your pet ram; and you may kiss his great toe into the bargain!'

Thus did they contend for awhile together. Conrad wept for very sorrow. Lisette, at least, acquainted him that she had sold the ram for the little cottage which they had both so often wished for, and that she must give it up that day, let it cost what it might, for she had passed her word to that effect, and would not be convicted of a falsehood, be the consequences what they might; she then dropped a few tears, to think that anything should have marred the unexpected joy she felt, at being able to purchase a snug dwelling, in which both themselves and their children might live so happy together; and then again enquired whether sheep did not die every day; whether they were never lost or stolen; and whether the wolf never ate any of the numbered flocks?

Love at length gained the victory. Conrad clapped his hands, and promised that before noon the ram should be her's; whereupon, Lisette gave Conrad her hand and promise, that in a month's time she would become his wife; and added a kiss to the bargain, as a sort of earnest money.

Lisette made the best of her way back to the village, and Conrad watched her as long as he could see her. The joy of his betrothing was, however, sorely troubled at the thoughts of the enquiries of his powerful, but at the same time, kind hearted master, in whose service he had hitherto conducted himself with such propriety, and who was so very fond of this favourtie

beast.

And he stood alone in the field where Lisette had been occupied, with his eyes fixed on the earth. At last he thrust his crook into the ground, hung his cloak over it, placed his bonnet on the top of it, and then began a series of soliloquies, or dialogues, whichsoever they may be called, in which he was occasionally assisted by the action of the ram.

'God greet you, my lord Bishop!'-'Good even to you, Conrad; but where's the ram?' 'Ram, lord Bishop! why the ram is lost. I mean it has really strayed away.-(The beast, just as he was speaking, thrust himself between his master's feet, as if to eye the strange image before which he kept bowing so respectfully). Conrad, Conrad!' with a shake of the head, he is accustomed to be fed so regularly, I am sure he would not stray away-that

won't do!'

A second dialogue, in which Conrad described the

ram as having been stolen, was interrupted by a
powerful blow with which the beast returned his
master's bow. You would not suffer yourself to be
taken very easily, so that won't do.'

He continued for a full half hour conversing with
himself in this manner, ending every excuse with a
shake of the head, and a 'Conrad! that won't do!'
'And yet,' added he, 'I must part with the poor
brute before noon, for I have promised to do so, and
if Lisette does not give him to the person to whom
she has sold him, she will be a cheat, and can never
be my wife!'

At last he jumped for joy into the air, crying out,
'Honesty is the best policy! That will do that
will do !' He drew on his cloak, clapped his cap
upon his head, and drove forward his herd. And
yet, before noon, he handed over his favourite with
a deep sigh to Lisette, who exchanged him for the
purchase money of the cottage, without troubling
her brains much upon the subject.

The evening was appointed for the trial of Conrad's honesty a trial of which he had not the slightest suspicion. The bishops were, as usual, seated at their night drink, expecting the arrival in the palace court-yard of the shepherd, who was to decide their wager. They spoke but little, for each was anxious to leave to his friend the honour and expense of constructing the huge wine-tun.

Peter, the secret councillor, was in high spirits; and laughing to himself, rejoiced beforehand at the victory and success of his well laid plan. For he had the pet sheep in his possession, and felt sure that Conrad would never venture to speak the plain truth, whereby he would be certain to draw down upon himself the anger and high displeaaure of his all powerful master, and get dismissed from his service.

Thus thought Peter, the secret adviser. In the meanwhile, Conrad drove his herd into the palace court, right before the bishops. Peter smiled, for he read, or he fancied he read, fear and anxiety in the countenance of the shepherd.

This evening, however, no favourite ram gambled before Bishop Henry, to eat the bread from his hand. 'Where is the ram? enquired the bishop, with a significant glance. Conrad answered with a firm voice, I have sold it!-there, the truth is outhonesty is the best policy. That is my favourite saying, as you know, my lord bishop; and, by God's grace, my favourite saying it shall continue to be!"

Peter's visage lengthened considerably, but bishop Henry called out, 'Wny have you sold it without speaking to me? I would rather have paid ten times the sum it fetched. Don't you know that?'

'Lord Bishop,' said Conrad, 'pray hear me. Lisette has betrayed me, as Eve before her betrayed Adam; and a knave has betrayed Lisette, as the Evil One of old did Eve. If he will give me my ram again, I will not say who he is. (Peter turned away full of rage, for gone was his money, gone his promised cap of scarlet, and all hopes of a drinking bout, which he had calculated upon at the end of the business). Lisette had sold the beast without first speaking to me about it, otherwise it would not have happened. But as she had done so, I felt bound to give him up, how much soever I might be grieved at doing so, otherwise she would have told a lie, and would not have been what she is now to be--my wife. That is the real truth, lord bishop; so now do with me as you please. What is done, is done, but do not punish Lisette; a weak head is soon betrayed by a serpent.'

Bishop Henry would have scolded him, but the strange bishop said, with a troubled side glance to Peter, who was making off from the scene, I have lost my wager: that was the proof.'

And bishop Henry chided not. The pleasure of winning the wager consoled him; but the honesty of Conrad delighted him more than gaining the winetun, and he acknowledged the power of love.

'Verily,' cried the two bishops, 'Honesty is the best policy.' And Bishop Henry said, 'As a reward for thine honesty, I will be at the charge of thy wedding, and the half of the flock shall be thine." 'And,' continued the other bishop, 'thou art welcome to thy ram again, and thou shalt still keep the cottage, as a christening present to thy first child!'

And the bishop who lost the wager caused the large wine-tun to be built, which formerly brought so many travellers to Groningen, and which is now on the Spigelsberg, near Halberstadt.

II. HANS JAGUENTEUFEL.

It is commonly believed that if any person is guilty
of a crime for which he deserves to lose his head, he
will, if he escape punishment during his life time, be
condemned after his death to wander about with his
head under his arm.

In the year 1644, a woman of Dresden went out
early one Sunday morning into a neighbouring wood
for the purpose of collecting acorns. In an open
space, at a spot not very far from the place which is
called Lost Water, she heard somebody blow a very
strong blast upon a hunting horn, and immediately
afterwards a heavy fall, as though a large tree had
fallen to the ground. The woman was greatly alarmed,
and concealed her little bag of acorns among the
grass; shortly afterwards the horn blew a second

time, and on looking round she saw a man without a head, dressed in a long grey cloak and riding upon a grey horse; he was booted and spurred, and had a bugle horn hanging at his back. As, however, he rode past her very quietly, she regained her courage, went on gathering the acorns, and when evening came, returned home undisturbed.

Nine days afterwards, the woman returned to that spot for the purpose of again collecting the acorns, and as she sate down by the Fosterberg, peeling an apple, she heard behind her a voice, calling out to her, 'Have you taken a whole sack of acorns, and nobody tried to punish you for doing so?' 'No,' said she, 'the foresters are very kind to the poor, and they have done nothing to me; the Lord have mercy on my sins!' And with these words she turned about, and there stood he of the grey cloak, but this time he was without his horse, and carried his head, which was covered with curling brown hair, under his arm. The woman shrunk from him in alarm, but the Spirit said, 'You do well to pray to God to forgive you your sins, it was never my good lot to do so.' And thereupon he related to her how he had lived about one hundred and thirty years before, and was called Hans Jaquenteufel, as his father had been before him; and how that his father had often besought him not to be hard upon poor people, and that he had paid no regard to the advice that his father had given to him, but had passed his time in drinking and carousing, and all manner of wickedness. For which he was now condemned_to wander about the world as an evil spirit.

III THE GREEN ROBE.

There were once three brothers, of whom the eldest ones always despised the youngest; and when they went out in the world to seek their fortunes, they drove him out of their company, saying, "We have no need of you, you must travel by yourself." So they left him, and he was forced to wander alone. And he came to a very high mountain, on the top of which was a circle of trees, and he was almost starved; he sat down under these trees, and began to weep. Scarcely had he seated himself before he heard a loud noise, and immediately the Evil One came to him, dressed in a green robe, and with a cloven hoof, and asked him what he was crying for. Then he told him all his misfortunes, and how his brothers had abandoned him. When the Evil One heard this, he said, 'Well, I can assist you; put on this green robe, it has pockets, which will always keep full of gold, let you use it as fast as ever you may; but upon this condition, that for seven years, you neither wash yourself, comb yourself, nor say your prayers. If you die during these seven years, you will be mine; if not, you will be free from your bargain, and be a rich man all the days of your life.” His necessities obliged him to agree to these terms; so he put on the green robe, and when he put his hands in his pockets, he found them quite full of gold.

Now he went forth into the world with his wonderful robe; and for the first year it was well enough, for he could purchase whatever he wanted, and passed off tolerably well among his fellow-creatures, but the second year did not go off quite so pleasantly; his hair had grown so long that nobody knew him, and he had grown so frightful that he could scarcely find any person who would let him into their houses. Every year matters grew worse; but he gave great alms to the poor, that they might pray for him, that he might not die, and fall into the power of the Tempter during the seven years. It was during the fourth year that he came to an inn, the landlord of which would not take him in-till he saw what large sums of gold he took from his pockets,-then he was glad enough of his company. During the night, Green Robe heard some one moaning bitterly in the next room; and when he went to hear what was the matter, he found an old man, who bade him go his ways, for he could not assist him. So he asked the old man what he wanted. He said he had no money, and that because he was in the landlord's debt, he detained him until he paid it. Then,' said Green Robe to him, I have money enough-I'll soon pay it;' and he did so, and delivered the old man.

Now it happened that this old man had three beautiful daughters; so he asked him to go home and marry one of them, in return for his kindness. He went; but when they arrived there, and the eldest saw him, she declared that she would never marry so frightful an object; and the second flew from her home, rather than do so; while the youngest said,'Dear father, since you have promised as much, and this man helped you in the time of need, I will do what you desire of me.' Then Green Robe took a ring from his finger, broke it in half, gave her the one half, and retained the other for himself; and in her half he wrote his name, and in his half her's, and said they must take good care of them. After staying with her a little, he departed saying, 'Now I must leave you for three years. Be faithful unto me for this period, and I will then return and marry you; but if I come not back again in three years, you are free, for I shall be dead; but in the meantime, pray for me that my life may be preserved.'

During these three years, the two elder sisters mocked and laughed at the youngest, saying that she was going to have a bear for her husband, instead of