on thus for half an hour, whilst the blushing recipient of all these honours knows how untrue much of it is, and how he would have run away if he could, or how he owes all his success to a sharp-sighted wife, who backed him up, jeered him, consoled him, comforted him, worried him, and bullied him at home into the very pathway of golden success.

The reason for all this is, that such smooth words persuade us that we are much cleverer, or better, or better-looking, than we really are; and if they do not quite succeed in doing so, they at least put us into a good humour with ourselves. If we sift the matter, we shall find that God has implanted in us all a most powerful and useful moral agent, called love of approbation or praise; and that a compliment is very like the real and genuine thing, which even the veriest Timon amongst us likes. If used for base purposes, it is base; if used for simple good-humour and good-nature, it is one of the most delightful things in the world. The only men who dislike compliments are satirists; not the good-natured, but the ill-natured sort ; and they cannot well make out whether the compliment be sincere or not. Hence the often-quoted line, the author of which so few people know

"Praise undeserved is censure in disguise."

One of our modern satirists used to turn quite rusty, and would become acid in temper, when any one praised him warmly. "As for compliment, and that sort of thing," he wrote, "I do not understand it. It quite shuts my mouth: I do not know what to answer." He had been so used to sneer and roast

other people, that he was always fearful that others were basting him with the same sharp sauce.

Hammond's definition of a compliment, that it is applying a higher title to a man than he deserves, is very well understood everywhere, and nowhere better than amongst the Celtic races in France, Ireland, and Spain. Does not every shopkeeping Englishman remember how in France (formerly) he has been called "mi-lord?" Will not a garçon at the Trois Frères, or a shopman on the Boulevards, address your French friend, who is merely a lawyer or doctor, as M. le Comte? In Spain are there not many Dons and Hidalgos who have no right to the title, save that which is from the complimentary lips of the keeper of the podesta? And as one lands at Kingston, and walks towards the Dublin railway, how many car-boys will address you as "Giniral dear," or "Noble captain," or ask the "meejor" if he wants a "kyar” and a mare that will go any pace? Does not the young blushing ensign like to be mistaken for a captain, and the old navy lieutenant for an admiral? And do we not all like this somewhat? Are we not tickled? If we meet a respectable working man, whose back is bent and whose hands are hard with toil, is it so very strange that he should prefer to be called a gentleman? In America, where there is a great external equality, every one is a gentleman: a barber will say to his customer, "Sit down a minute, and I will call a gentleman to shave you ;" and the gentleman-servant is careful to inform the gentleman-scavenger that he must clear away the unsightly heap of house-dirt and refuse which stands before the

door.

Perhaps this is going a little too far; but we are sure of this-that it is better to sin in that way than to use the stupidly proud and supercilious airs which some of us do towards our servants and tradesmen. If we pay honest money, we want honest service, and there the matter ends. We do not demand fulsome compliments, nor do we assert that we have a right to humiliate any one. A little plain goodnature, and a true desire to conciliate people, will go further than the most complimentary speech ever uttered, because it will last longer, from being natural and true.

|APPY is the man, says a proverb, who can tell all his dreams; and, following out the spirit of this saying, Izaak Walton, when he would tell us of the innocence of "a fair and happy milkmaid," adds, that she was so pure and clear in her thoughts and mind that "even her dreams were pleasing unto God." The climax of this sentence is very beautiful, but there are probably very few of us who can deserve such praise. Even the great Milton was haunted with bad dreams; and he reasons out the matter, declaring that

"Evil into the mind of man

May come and go, so unapproved, and leave
No spot or stain behind."

Now, probably there is hardly a man, or a woman, living, of twenty years of age, who has not had wrong and vicious dreams-dreams of violence, murder, and other sins-dreams which make the sleeper start into life from the arms of Death's twin-brother, Sleep, and hastily thank God that the vision was untrue.

Of the various mental phenomena which are common to man, not one has met with more general attention than dreaming. There is always an interest attached to it, and for ever there will be something to say upon it. Sister and brother, husband and wife, father and child, tell their dreams to each other. Silly as the incidents may be, there is always something interesting. Wild as the dream may be, it may come true. So it was that upon dreams and their interpretation the soothsayer laid the basis of his juggling power; and by their true interpretation the patriarch of Scripture rose from the slave of a soldier to the throne of a tetrarch. But although in this and various other instances we must accord great weight to the actual dream under consideration, we need not consider that, as a rule, dreams are to be valued. When the chief baker and butler tell Joseph, “We have dreamed a dream, and there is no interpreter of it," Joseph at once answers, "Do not interpretations belong to God?" With this proviso and limit (a very important and significant one) all dreams recorded in Scripture must be taken, and not a few of those which are unrecorded, but instances of which may recur every day. If the Almighty gives an interpretation, then we may be sure that he sent the dream. If we have a vision in the night, when our lids are closed, which is "mendax, inane, fallax, vanum, leve" (lying, empty, deceptive, shallow, and light), terms so liberally applied to dreams by the Romans, then we may be certain that our dreams arise from very natural causes-some of which we are about to examine.