* y y % ° %,V ,: $? * V V2> '^0' rt f ^CT r.«* .A ^ ^6* V.4 C .c^civ °^./ ^ ENGLISH EZTEASTS FROM THE BEST CLASSICAL AUTHORS, CONSISTING OF MORAL, AMUSING AND INSTRUCTIVE ANECDOTES, PIECES OF PROSE FROM THE MOST POPULAR WRITERS, SCENES OF COMEDIES, AND A SE LECTION OF POETRY; THE WHOLE PRECEDED BY A NEW METHOD CALCULATED TO FACILITATE THE PRONUNCIATION OF THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE, By S. WARRAND, Teacher of the English language and literature to THEIR IMPE- RIAL HIGHNESSES ; lecturer at the University and Imperial Law-College; Knight of the orders of S l Anne, 2 nd class, S l Sta- nislaus, 2 nd class; and of St Vladimir, 4ti> class. 2nd edition ENLARGED AND IMPROVED. ST. PETERSBURG. Printed by A. Pluchart, and sold by Hauer & C°, booksellers, Nefsky Prospect, Petiliat's house, JW 5: and at Moscow by Urbain & C° PERMITTED TO BE PRINTED on deposing the usual number of copies at the committee of Cen sure. St. Petersburg the 28 October -1840. TO HIS IMPERIAL HIGHNESS THE GRAND DUKE ALEXANDER NICOLAEVITCB, CESAREVITCH AND HEIR APPARENT TO THE THRONE OF ALL THE RUSSIAS. Your Imperial Highness, In presenting a second edition of my ((En- glish Extracts , » I cannot help expressing a hope that the first may have been of some assistance, in facilitating your early lessons in the English language. Should Your Imperial Highness deign to look into this second edition, in which I have made considerable changes, it will doubtless recall to your mind a more interesting branch of your English studies , that of the history of English literature, which it was a most delightful part of my duty to draw up and read with you, in the more advanced stage of your knowledge of our language. I cannot conclude this humble dedication^ with- out offering to Your Imperial Highness, my warmest and most grateful thanks, for the uniform condescension, kindness and attention you have ever deigned to show me, in common with all who had the honour of contributing to your education. I have the honour to be , With the most profound respect and gratitude , Your Imperial Highness's Most devoted, faithful and humble servant, S. WARRAND. TO THE 1 st EDITION Some apology is perhaps necessary on presenting another English Selection to the public. England has its u Elegant Extracts;" France its "Cours de Litterature Anglaise/' by Noel; and Germany its u Handbuch der Englischen sprache und literatur, ' by Ideler and Nolte." Though all these are very excellent works, and highly merit the popularity they enjoy, yet their being exclusively directed to the higher branches of literature, and consequently containing nothing sufficiently easy for beginners , together with their expense, preclude their general introduction into schools. It is therefore to be hoped the following compilation will not be found useless, as its aim is to avoid the above objections ; and as it is calculated, as much as such a work can be , to facilitate the speaking of the English lan- guage, an object which has not been, I believe , attended to in any othei 4 . It is divided into four parts: the first containing a Collection of moral and amusing Anecdotes; the se- cond , Pieces of Prose , from the most classical au- thors; the third, Scenes taken from the best Come- dies; and the fourth, a Selection of Verse : the whole exhibiting (as far as the compass of so small a work will admit) specimens of the best English writers, including those of the present day; and it may thus be considered as a slight introduction to literature. VI I must also add, that one of my principal objects has been to choose such pieces as would interest the scho- lar; whilst I hope it will be found, that I have no- where neglected sound morality , so necessary to be observed in every work destined for the hands of young people. As this volume forms part of a larger work (Cours pratique de langue Anglaise) , it is necessary that I should enter into a fuller explanation with regard to its use, and the object for which it is intended. One of the greatest difficulties to foreigners in ac- quiring our language, has always been the pronun- ciation, and which indeed, until now, has been con- sidered an insurmountable one; but I flatter myself, that if I have not quite conquered this, I have at least rendered it comparatively easy, by the table of sounds prefixed to this volume ; and I dare venture to promise the student , that by a little patience and perseverance during the first lessons, in applying it diligently, according to the directions which precede it, he may acquire as good a pronunciation as the fa- cility granted him by nature , and the age at which he commences, will allow, in one fourth of the time generally devoted to this branch. To this table I have added some rules ; they are but few , as I did not wish to burden the memory of the scholar by those to which there are perhaps almost as many excep- tions as examples. The Collection of anecdotes may be employed for several purposes : if the scholar is quite a beginner, they may be used only as reading lessons , marking carefully the words badly pronounced, and transla- ting them as he goes on: if he has already some little knowledge of the language , he may , after having read one over two or three times , repeat it aloud in the words before him ; or such others as may occur VII to him ; and this may, at the same time, serve as an introduction to exercises of conversation , which his master may vary hy any little questions arising from the subject before him: they may also be committed to memory, and thus furnish his mind with familiar words and phrases, more agreeably than the common books of dialogues. The second part, consisting of Pieces of Prose from our best classical authors, may advantageously serve the scholar, when sufficiently advanced , as subjects and models of composition. The Scenes of Comedies, forming the third part , are intended to be learned by heart. This I have invariably found to be of the highest benefit, as it stores the mind with a great variety of familiar phra- ses and idioms, by far the most difficult thing to ac- quire in any language, and more particularly in the English. The committing of pieces of poetry to memory , has always, I believe, been considered advantageous in the study of a language 5 I have consequently ad- ded a fourth part, consisting of a Selection from our best Poets, a large portion of which has been devoted to those now living, as they seem to occu- py so much, and so deservedly, the attention of all nations. Apart of these only are intended to be learn- ed by heart , and the rest as reading lessons , and samples of our poets; those perhaps at the beginning will be found the fittest for the former purpose; but a good master will select such as are best adapted to the age and taste of his pupil. It had been at first my intention to have added a Vocabulary of the words contained in this volume , similar to that at the end of the one I have arranged for translations from French into English ; but as it VIII will only be used during the lessons, the master will be the best dictionary the pupil can consult. In making the above Selection, I have frequently been obliged to make considerable alterations, by abridging the originals from which the pieces are selected; but the text has always been sacred to me, except in the scene from the "Man of the World, " which I have translated into English from broad Scotch, for reasons which I presume require no ex- planation, and the correction of some few expres- sions which ought not to exist in a work of this nature. PREFACE TO THE 2 nd EDITION The rapid progress which the study of the En- glish language has beenmaking for some years in this capital , and the encreasing desire of a more gene- ral knowledge of our literature - a literature cer- tainly not surpassed by that of any modern nation — has induced me to make very considerable changes in these « Extracts)), which I have now endeavour- ed to reduce to a sort of manual , serving as an in- troduction to English literature, at least in as far as an elementary work of so small a size would allow me to go. For this purpose I have added to the 1 st part a selection of literary anecdotes, in order to render the names of our great writers familiar to the stu- dent ; and in the three other parts , namely Select pieces of Prose, Scenes of Comedies, and Select pieces of Poetry > I have introduced extracts from nearly all our great classics , together with as many from the moderns as my space would permit: thus giving the master an opportunity of naming , and saying a few words on at least a large majority of our best authors. I had at first intended to have classified them, and given a slight notice of each ; but I found that this would not only swell the volume to too great a size, but would also destroy my original plan of pre- senting each piece as much as possible according to its progressive difficulty. I therefore determined to publish these notices apart, at some future period, under another form; when my only hope will be that they may contribute to extend a knowledge of a literature founded on good sense and sound mo- rality; and bear out, what I have already advanced, that we are not surpassed by any modern nation, whether it be in works of morality, in history, poetry _, the drama, philosophy and the sciences, or even in the lighter compositions, as novels etc. tt&atii-i DES SONS DE LA LANGUE ANGLAISE. MANIERE DE S'EN SERVIR. L'ecolier doit lire a table plusieurs fois et a haute voix avec un Anglais, jusqu'a ce qu'il ait appris a connailre tous les sons et les chiffres necessaires a les rappeler; il doit enfaire Vappli- cation dans toutes ses lecons, marquant les syllabes mal pronon- cees avec le chiffre qui correspond au son de la leitre > et parti- culierement dans la lecture et dans tout ce quit doit apprendre par coeur ; — par exemple, dans la phrase suivante: "What shall he do next, les mots what, shall et do seront probablement les seuls qu'il prononcera mal; en consequence il les marquera des chifjres 4, 2 et 6, qui lui indiqueront la vraie maniere de les prononcer. N- B — Les lettres russes correspondent aux sons anglais. A (e) a quatre sons formes en ouvrant davantage la bouche a chaque son: a — ei 2 face figure late tard take male prendre male name nom fate destin A fat gras cat chat hat bag chapeau sac glass verre mad fou a — a far loin bar barre star ah! etoile ah! car char dart dard A E (i) all tout a trois fall chute sons : ball small bal petit bald chawe what quoi E — H me moi tree arbre he she il elle scene scene been ete e — e bed lit best meilleur bled met bent saigne .rencontre f lie net filet XI E [muet) open able table token spoken ouvert capable table gage parle I (ai) a irois sons: i i — an time vice fine mild life mile temps Vice beau doux vie mille i — h pin fit pit begin win epingle acces fosse commencer gagner i — h machine magazine chagrin machine magasin chagrin O (o) a cinq sons: heaven del o 2 no non hope espoir bone OS bold hardi note note globe globe 0- s -0 nor ni for car lord before seigneur avant shore cote snore ronfler o - -0 not non hot chaud clock lot pendule sort trot trotter dog chien 4 o K love son amour fds come venir done fail glove gant dove colombe O - -y move prove mouvoirprouver lose perdre do faire to a mood humeur U (iou) a trois sons : i u- 3 -iy mule mulet mute muet cube cube tune air dispute dispute music musique U dust poussie duck re canard gun fusil mud boue run courir dull triste u — y rude true prude rude vrai prude Y (ouai) a les memes sons que VI, cxcepte au commencement des mots: yes yet you young York oui cependantvous ieizne York W (dobliou): \ j well bien wall week when muraille semaine quand what wine i franqais. i tu — q se prononce tch quand la voyelle precedente est accentuee nature creature nature creature mais pas autrement — opportunity importunity occasion importunite th a deux sons. i TH the then that breathe father thus heathen le done ce respirer pere ainsi pa'ien th think tooth moth bath breath south penser dent teigne bain haleine sua V (vi) comme en franqais. X (ex) x — 3 Xenephon Xenocrates Xenophon Xenoerate x — kc exercise excellence exercice excellence x — r3 exertion exist effort exister x — kih noxious anxious \ll a ce son lorsquil est suivi de deux nuisible inquiet ) voyelles. Z (zed) se prononce comme enfrancais. N. B. Je n'airien ditsur les diphthongues; le moyen dont je mesers dans mes lecons , lorsque l'eleve en rencontre une, e'est d'effacer la voyelle qui ne se prononce pas, et de marquer l'autre d'a- pres le son necessaire; il y a peu de cas ou cela ne suffise pas. o • ANECDOTES, historical, Cttetdrt) anh facetious JUSTICE SUPERIOR TO VALOUR— AGESILA13S. Agesilaus was asked , whether courage or justice was the greater virtue? « There wouId.be no occasion for valour, if all men were just, » replied the king. GARRULITY — ZBNO. Zeno thus addressed a talkative youth: « Nature gave us two ears and one mouth, that we might hear much and taik little. » GAMING. — PLATO. i When Plato reproved a young man for playing at dice, «What, for such a trifle »! exclaimed the youth. uCustom,)) answered Plato, «is no trifle. » THE CITIZEN. A man, avIio had been all his life in Paris, finding himself in an excursion on the banks of the Loire, exclaimed, «Upon my word, a very pretty river for -a country place. -» 1 I ANECDOTES. GOOD EFFECTS OF MEDICINE — MOLIERE. <(IIow are you with your physician? » said a noble- man to Moliere. «We have,» said he,» very agreea- ble conversations together, when I am ill; he gives me medicine, I do not take it, and I get well.» EASY AND DIFFICULT — THALES. Thales being asked, what were the most difficult and the easiest things in the world, replied, «The most difficult is,, to learn to knoAV oneself, and the easiest, to find the actions of others blameable.» ON VOWS — SIGISMOND. The emperor Sigismond being one day asked, what was the surest method of remaining happy in this world, replied, «Only do always in health, what you have often promised to do when you were sick. » SUPERIORITY OF WEALTH. A rich upstart once asked a poor but witty person, if he had any idea what kind of a thing opulence was? • It is a thing,» replied the wit, « which can give a rogue the advantage over an honest man.» / BRAVE ATHENIAN. An Athenian who wanted eloquence, but was very brave, when another had, in a long and very bril- liant speech, promised great affairs, rose up and said; uMen of Athens, all that he fias said, I will do;» ANECDOTES. 3 USELESS HURRY. A soldier, who was being led to death, seeing a crowd of people running towards the place of exe- cution , cried to them, «Do not be in such a hurry, for nothing can be done without me.» REAL POWER — DUKE OF ORLEANS. The Duke of Orleans, on being appointed Regent of France, insisted on possessing the power of par- doning. «I have no objection,)) said he, «to have my hands tied from doing harm, but I will have them free to do good. » MAGNANIMOUS ANSWER — SIGISMOND. Some courtiers reproached SJgismond, that instead of destroying his conquered, fees^, he admitted them to favour. «Do I not ;,» replied the monarch, « effectually destroy my enemies, when I make them my friends?)) GALLANT REMARK— FONTENELLE. The Ducbess of Maine once asked Fontenelle, what was the difference between a watch and a woman? He immediately answered, without the least hesitation, «A watch points out the time, but your highness makes us forget it.» i A LEGACY RY ANTICIPATION. A nobleman, a man of wit, making his will, be* queatbed legacies to all his domestics for their long and faithful services. «As to my steward,)) added he, ANECDOTES. ((I shall leave him nothing, he has served me more than forty years. » TRUE COURAGE. A man , relating the different misfortunes he had met with, added , « And what would you have done in such misery?» «I would have put an end to my life,)> said the other, vauntingly. «I did still more,» replied the first, «I dared to live on.» . FENELON AND BOSSUET. It was disputed in company, which of these emi- nent persons had been of the greatest use to religion; when a lady decreed, with great acuteness and ele- gance : «Bossuet makes you understand your reli- gion, and Fenelon makes you love it, » SLOW POISON — FONTENELLE. A doctor maintained before Fontenelle , who was then nearly a hundred years old, and who was very fond of coffee, that it was a slow poison. «It must be very slow, » said Fontenelle, « for I have drunk it, nearly every day, for more than eighty years past. » CESAR. When Caesar was advised by his friends to be more cautious of the security of his person, and not to walk among the people without arms or any one to defend him, he replied, «He that lives in fear of death, feels its torture every rrloment; I will die but once. » ■ ANECDOTES. O A MISTAKE IN VALUE. A peasant who thought that the value of a watch consisted in its size, bought the largest he could find; and seeing a small repetition watch lying beside it, he said to the master of the shop, «But you must give me this into the bargain. » GOOD QUALITIES ILL APPLIED. Agesilaus* seeing a malefactor endure the greatest torments with wonderful constancy, cried out with indignation, - — «What an audacious villain is this, who dares employ patience, courage, and magnani- mity, in such an infamous and dishonest cause. » PLEBEIAN PLEASANTRY. A man, who was very fat, coming late in the eve- ning to a fortified city, and meeting with a country- man, asked him if he could get in at the gate. «I be- lieve so,» said the peasant, looking at him jocosely, « for I saw a waggon of hay go in this morning. )> SOME COMFORT. i An author, endowed with more philosophy than is generally attributed to the irritable race, on reading some ill- written pamphlets against him, exclaimed^ mNo.w I ought to thank these gentlemen , for proving to the public, that others can write worse than myself. » USE OF PHILOSOPHY — PLATO. Dionysius the younger, being banished from his throne at Syracuse, was asked bv a % Greek, « What use 6 ANECDOTES. the philosophy of Plato had been to him? » He answer- ed, «It has taught me to look on my change of fortune wilhout surprise, and to bear it without complaint. LORD RUSSEL. Lord Russel , who was beheaded in the reign of Charles I, when on the scaffold, delivered his watch to Dr. Burnet, with this fine expression: «Here, take this, it shows time; I am going into eternity, and shall no longer have any need of it. DOUBLE PRICE — SOCRATES. A great talker, wishing to study rhetoric under So- crates, this philosopher asked him double the price of what he received from others. Upon his asking him the reason of this, Socrates answered, ((Because 1 shall have to teach youfo speak, and to hold your tongue. » THE VISIT -r- BOILEAU. Boileau was one day visited by a noble and unpro- fessional person, who reproached him with not hav- ing returned his first visit. »You and I, » said the sa- tirist, « are in different positions; I lose my time when I pay a visit, you only get rid of your's when you do so. BUCHANAN AND JAMES I. Buchanan, the author of the history of Scotland^ was tutor to the pedantic James I. When he was once reproached for having made the King a pedant, he replied, «that it was the best he could make of him » ANECDOTE S, / ADDISON ON HIS DEATH-BED. Addison, wishing to reform the young Earl of Warwick, sent for him when on his death-bed; and, when the young man desired to hear his last injunctions, he only said : « I have sent for you that you might see how a Christian can die». LORD CHESTERFIELD. The last words of Lord Chesterfield are exem- plary of his life; as if he were to preach polite- ness even on his death-bed. His valet, opening his curtain, announced M r Dayroles. «Give Dayroles a chair.» said his lordship. He never spoke more. NEVER MIND ME — ARISTOTLE. A garrulous fellow, who was speaking with Aris- totle, observed that the philosopher made no answer to what he was saying: «I am troublesome, perhaps, » said he, «and turn your attention from more serious thoughts.)) «No,» answered the philosopher, «go on, for I am not listening to you. )> i PROGRESS OF AVARICE -# SWIFT, BOLING- BROKE, Dean Swift, in a conversation with Lord Boling- broke concerning economy, told his lordship, it was always good to have money in the head^ though not in the heart. «Dear doctor, » replied Bolingbroke, «he that has money in his head ? cannot prevent its des- cending into his heart. » O ANECDOTES. THE IMPATIENT PATIENT. An officer, being wounded in the knee by a mus- ket-ball, the surgeons made many incisions. Losing patience at last, he asked them , why they carved and cut him so cruelly ? « We are seeking for the ball, » said they. « Why did you not speak before, » said the officer, « I have it in my pocket. » INCREDULITY. A gentleman, telling a very strange and impro- bable story , and observing one of the company look as if he doubted the truth of what he asserted, said, «Zounds, sir., I saw the thing happen. » « If you did, » answered the gentleman, «'I must believe it; but I should not, if i had seen it myself. » MILITARY BON MOT. When the Duke of Bedford approached within a league of Verneuil, before which the French were en- camped, he sent a herald to offer them battle; and at the same time bid them tell' Douglas , that he was coming to take a morsel with him. Douglas coolly replied, «That he should find the cloth laid. » DOMINICO. Dominico, the harlequin, going to see Louis XIV, at supper, fixed his eyes on a dish of partridges. The king, who was fond of his acting, said, «Give that dish to Dominico. » « And the partridges too, Sire?» Louis, penetrating his art, replied, «and the partridges too.» The dish was gold. ANECDOTES. 9 TWO SIDES. - CROMWELL. After Cromwell's first coinage, an old adherent of the royal party, seeing one of the new pieces, having on one side the inscription, «God with us,» and on the other, the arms of the republic of England, said, «it may be seen by this, that God and the republic are not on the same side. » MOCK GRAVITY. — LOCKE. Locke, the philosopher, was mild and engaging in his manners, cheerful and gay in his exterior, and despised that affected appearance of gravity which so many assume. He used to say « that gra- vity is a mystery of the body , invented to con- ceal the defects of the mind.» GREAT MINISTERS. — WALLER, JAMES II. Waller having one day asserted before James II, that he thought queen Elisabeth the greatest wo- man in the world, the king said, «'I wonder you should think so , though it must be confessed she had a wise council.)) «And when, sire», replied Waller. « did vou ever know a fool choose a wise one? » y° THE HAT. A bishop was tormented by the desire of being a cardinal. He envied the good health of his treasurer and said, «How do you manage to be always well, whilst I am always ill ? » The treasurer answered, « My lord, the reason is, that you have always a hat in your head^ and I have always my head in a hat. » 2 10 ANECDOTES. ROYAL COMPLIMENT. — HENRY IV. The deputies from the parliament of Paris waited on Henry IV, to congratulate him on a victory in which Marshal Byron had distinguished himself. The King, pointing to Byron, addressed the deputies: « Gentlemen, I beg your attention to Marshal Byron, a person I present with equal pleasure to my friends and to my enemies. » COMPLAISANCE IN A PAINTER. A painter, taking the portrait of a lady, perceived that while he was working at her mouth , she was twisting her features in order to render it smaller, and put her lips into the most extreme contraction. «Do not trouble yourself so much, madam », said the painter, «for, if you choose, I will draw your face without any mouth at all. » PROSELYTISM. When one of the kings of France solicited M.Bou- gier, who was a protestant, to conform to the Roman Catholic religion, promising him, in return, a com- mission or a government, «Sire,» replied he , «if I could be persuaded to betray my God for a marshal's staff , I might be induced to betray my king for a bribe of much less value. » A QUESTION ANSWERED. An officer in the French service, having a favour conferred on him by Louis XIV , felt such awe in the presence of his sovereign, that he trembled vio- ANECDOTES. 11 lently , which being observed by the monarch, he asked him, if he was accustomed to tremble in that manner ? «Not before your Majesty's enemies, » was the reply. THE GREAT BOOK AND THE LITTLE ONE. A coxcomb , wishing to excite ridicule on the ignorance of a young nobleman of the court of Louis XIV, said to this prince, «A very large book might be made of what this nobleman does not know.» The king assuming a severe tone, replied, «and a very little book might be made of what you do. » HUMANITY. In 1776, during the severe cold in the month of January , the Duke de la Rochefoucault, going from Versailles, and seeing his two lackeys shiv- ering with cold } made them get into his coach. This act of .humanity was much praised at court. «I was very sorry, » replied the duke, «that I could not take in the coachman and horses too.« i HOT AND COLD. A certain nobleman, being accused of a crime, which led to the stake, fled. He was however tried, and burned in effigy. During this time he was crossing one of the highest mountains of the Pyrenees , covered with snow and ice. He said afterwards, «I was never so cold in my life, as whilst they were burning me^ » \°l ANECDOTES. REMARK OF DEMOSTHENES. When the Athenian ambassadors returned from Macedon, they expatiated much on the beauty of Alexander's person, and his power of drinking a large quantity of wine. The Grecian orator heard these reports with indignation, observing, «lhat the first topic of praise became a woman , and that the second contained the quality of a spunge. » A PENNYWORTH OF WIT. A poor fellow, begging from the Duke of North- umberland, said; «he hoped he would give him something, as they were of the same family, being both descended from Adam. » « Certainly, » said the Duke; « there is a penny for you; and if all the rest of your relations will give you as much^ you'll be a richer man than I am by far.» JUSTICE. — ! VOLTAIRE. Voltaire, having lampooned a nobleman, was one night, on his way home, intercepted by him, and handsomely cudgelled for his licentious wit. Upon which he applied to the Duke of Orleans, who was then regent, and begged him to do him jus- tice in the affair. «Sir,» replied the Regent smi- ling, «it has been already done. » THE REBUKE. — Dr. JOHNSON. Dr. Johnson was in company with a very talk- ative lady, of whom he appeared to take very little notice. She, in pique, said to him. «Why doctor, I believe you are not very fond of the ANECDOTES. 13 company of ladies ?» «You are mistaken, madam, » replied he, \ i JFRIENDS AT COURT. The Archbishop of Toledo, standing at a win- dow, and seeing a peasant beat his ass most un- mercifully^ opened the casement, and cried out, « Have done , have done, you scoundrel, else I shall have you whipped.)) The peasant answer-* ed, « Your pardon, good master, I did not know my ass had friends at court. » 14 ANECDOTES. THE KING UPON ALL FOURS, -r HENRY IV. The Spanish ambassador one day entered the room in which Henry IV. was crawling upon all fours,, with his infant son upon his back. The king stopped, and looking at the ambassa- dor, said to him, <«Pray, sir, have you any chil- dren?)) <(Yes, Sire, several, » «Weli then, I shall not leave off, but complete my round. » THE PRECAUTION. A man, who was in the habit of travelling a great deal, complained to his friend, that he had often been robbed, and was quite afraid of stirring abroad; on which the other advised him to carry pistols with him on his journeys. «Oh, that would be still worse, » replied the hero, ((the, thieves would rob me of them also.» A MARSHAL AND A MONARCH. Marshal Villars having quarrelled with the mi- nisters of Louis XIV, occasion was soon found to send him to join the army, then on a very dan- gerous duty in Germany. When he came to take leave of the king, he said ; « Sire, I leave you surrounded by my enemies , while I go to a place where I shall be surrounded by jour's. » PUNISHMENT OF A BAD HUSBAND. -STERNE. Sterne, who used his wife very ill, was one day talking to Garrick, in a fine sentimental style, in praise of conjugal love. ((The husband, » said Sterne, « who behaves unkindly to his wife , deserves ANECDOTES. 15 to have his house burned over his head. » « If you think so», remarked Garrick, «I hope you have taken care to get your's ensured. » AN ALPHABETICAL PUN. A gentleman and his friend passing through the Old Bailey, soon after the institution of the new drop, were stopped by an immense crowd, and on enquiring into the cause, were told, that in a few minutes one Vowel was to be hanged. «I wonder what Vowel that can be , » cried one of them, alt is neither u nor 1, » replied the other, so let us pass on. » AMERICAN CURIOSITY. — FRANKLIN. So inquisitive are the Americans, that Dr. Frank- lin tells us, when he travelled in that country, and wished to ask his way from any one he met, he found it expedient to save time, by beginning with, «My name is Benjamin Franklin, by trade a printer, am come from such a place , and am going to such a place , and now , which is my road?» A tilNT. A haughty Italian prince, famed for his pride and ill humour, walking up to* one of the windows, with a foreign envoy, said to him; « Do you know, sir, that one of my ancestors formerly forced an ambassador to leap from this window into the street ?» «Did he?» replied the minis- ter; ((perhaps it was not then the custom for ambassadors to wear swords.)) 16 ANECDOTES. TURKISH GALLANTRY. Lady C — was one day rallying the Turkish ambassador concerning its being permitted in the Koran to each Mussulman to have several wives. «'Tis- true, madam, » replied the Turk, «and it permits it , that the husband may y in several, find the various accomplishments which many English woraen # like your ladyship^ are singly possessed of. » PUPIL. OF ZENO. A youth^. named, Eretrius, was for a conside* rable time a follower of Zeno. On his return home, his father asked him what he had learned? The boy replied, «that would hereafter appear, » On this, the father being enraged, beat his son; who bearing it patiently^ and without complain- ing,! said, «This have I learned, patiently to endure a father's anger. » TALLOW, The celebrated bishop of Nimes, was the son of a tallow-chandler. A proud duke once endeav- oured to mortify the prelate, by saying that he smelled of tallow; to which the bishop re- plied; «My lord, I am the son of a tallow- chandler, it is true j and if your lordship had been born the same, you would have remained a tallow-chandler all the days of your life. » THE DOCTOR AND HIS PATIENTS. At the estate of the Earl of Shannon in Ire- land, one of the company , who was a physi- ANECDOTES. 17 eian, strolled out before dinner into the church- yard. Dinner being served up , and the doctor not returned, some of the company were ex- pressing their surprise, where he could be gone to. «Oh,» says a gentleman, «he is but just stepped out, to pay a visit to some of his old patients.)) A TERRIBLE FRIGHT. A man of fashion, travelling in Spain, was shown the Escurial, and the stupendous convent of St. Jerome. The prior told him, that this build*- ing was erected, in consequence of a vow made by Philip j at the battle of St. Quintra , in case he was victorious. « The king, » replied the traveller drily, looking round the immense edi- fice, «must have been terribly frightened.)) DELICATE REPROOF. An unfashionable bishop was offered an abbey by Cardinal Dubois, who declined it in the most polite terms,, alledging that he could not recon- cile it to his conscience , to hold two benefices. The Cardinal , astonished at this unusual objec- tion, said, «You should be canonized.)) «I wish, my lord,» answered the bishop, that I deserved it, and that you had the power. » THE DOCTOR DOCTORED. A rich and generous merchant , having recover- ed from an illness by the aid of a physician, who looked very thin and pale, thus addressed him; «Now, doctor, let me prescribe for your disease.)) THE LIAR REBUKED. A young man of rank, just returned from the grand tour, and who exerted the traveller's pri- vilege of embellishing the truth with the flowers of invention, with a great deal of freedom, was one day recounting the number of presents he had received from different foreign princes , particu- 6 42 ANECDOTES. larly a very grand bridle, given him by the French king. «It is so elegantly ornamented with gold and precious stones, » said he, «that I cannot think of putting it into the mouth of my horse ; what shall I do with it?» continued he, addressing him- self to an old veteran in the army. «Put it in your own, my lord» replied the officer. CUNNING ANSWER. The Emperor Augustus, wishing to joke with a poet, who had several times presented him ver- ses in his praise; «It is just, » said the monarch, «lhat I should recompense you for your verses, » and gave him at the same time an epigram of his own composition. The poet read it, and imme- diately taking out his purse, in which were some pieces of gold; «I wish,» said he^ presenting them to the emperor, «I had greater sums to offer you, in order to pay such fine verses as they deserve.» This cunning raillery had its effect; it pleased Augustus, who made him a handsome present. TRUE RANK. — LOUIS XI. Louis XL not only invited the nobility of his court to eat with him, in order to attach them to him more strongly_, but even strangers from whom he could learn any thing, and sometimes merchants, for he gave a particular attention to commerce. A merchant named Master John , flattered by this distinction, determined to ask him for letters of nobility, which the king granted, but from that time took no further notice of him. Master John testified his surpriseo «Go,» said Louis^ «I formerly ANECDOTES. 43 looked on you as the first of your class, you are now the last, and it would be an insult to the others,, if I still did you the same favour. » LOUIS XIV AND MAZARIN. When Louis XIV. came to the throne, he was re- markably obstinate, and it could not be known, whe- ther he took advice of any one. He had no public council, nor any private counsellor. One day being hunting, on a very small horse, Cardinal Mazarin several times repeated, « What a very strong horse that must be. )> «Why so, my good Cardinal?)) re- plied the king. « Because, sire,» answered his emi- nence, «it not only carries your majesty, but the *whole body of your privy council.)) From that mo- ment the king took the hint , and consequently the advice, and became one of the greatest monarchs of his time. INGRATITUDE. — SHERIDAN. A day or two after the performance of M r She- ridan's «School for Scandal,)) the author conver- sing with a friend, who was present, the first night it was played, on the manner in which it was received, asked him how M r Cumberland look- ed, ((For,» added he »I hear he was in a side-box. » «He was,» replied his friend, «and looked exactly like a statue, never stirring a muscle, nor giving the slightest indication of a laugh from beginning to end.» ((No,» replied Sheridan, «that was deuced ungrateful of him, for he had a tragedy come out last week, and I did nothing but laugh the whole time of its representation. » 44 ANECDOTES. DUTIES OF A JUDGE AND COUNSEL. In the trial of the Dean of St. Asaph, M r Erskine put a question to the jury , relative to the mean- ing of their verdict. Mr. Justice Buller objec- ted to its propriety. The counsel reiterated his question , and demanded an answer. The judge again interposed his authority in these emphatic words: «Sit down,, Mr. Erskine \ know your duty, or I shall be obliged to make you know it.» Mr. Erskine, with equal warmth, replied, «I know my duty, as well. as your lordship knows yours. I stand here as the advocate of a fellow-citizen, and / will not sit down. » The judge was silent, and the ad- vocate persisted in his question. SPENSER AND SIR WALTER RALEIGH. When the poet Spenser was living in Ireland, on a beautiful estate, given him by Queen Elisabeth, his friend Sir Walter Raleigh came to pay him a visit, and afterwards persuaded him to accompa- ny him to London, in order to publish his Fairy Queen. Campbell finely remarks on this interesting interview: «When we conceive Spenser reciting his compositions to Raleigh, in a scene so beauti- fully appropriate, the mind casts a pleasing retros- pect over that influence which the enterprise of the discoverer of Virginia , and the genius of the author of the « Faerie Queene» have respectively produced on the fortune and language of England. TRUE CONTENT. — BERKELEY. The very ingenious and amiable bishop Berkeley, of Clyne , in Ireland , was so perfectly satisfied ANECDOTES. 45 with his income in that diocese, that when offer- ed by the Earl of Chesterfield (then lord lieute- nant) a bishopric much more valuable than the one he possessed, he declined it with these words: '< I love my neighbours and they love me 5 why then should I begin, in my old days, to form new con- nections, and tear myself from those friends, whose kindness is to me the greatest happiness I can enjoy?» Acting in this instance like the celebrated Plutarch, who being asked, why he resided in his native city so obscure and so little? «I stay,» said he, «lest it should grow less.» A BARGAIN. Sir Peter Lely, a famous painter in the reign of Charles 1, agreed for the price of a full-length portrait , which he was to draw for a rich alder- man of London, who was not indebted to nature either for shape or face. When the picture was finished, the alderman endeavoured to beat down the price, alleging that if he did not purchase it, it would lay on the painter's hands. «You mistake,)) replied Sir Peter, «for I can sell it at double the price I demand.» «How can that be,» says the al- derman, «for it is like nobody but myself?)) «But I will draw a tail to it, and then it will be an excel- lent monkey.)) Mr. alderman, to prevent exposure^ paid the sum agreed for, and carried off the picture. PARENTAL SACRIFICE. A Russian vessel, with several passengers, in des- cending the Wolga, was upset by a violent tempest, and most of the persons on board were drowned* A father with his son, and another man, sue- 46 ANECDOTES. ceeded in getting upon a part of the wreck; but as it was not capable of sustaining all the three, and the violence of the winds and waves continu- ing ^ the father said to his son, «My child^ you are young; may heaven bless you! I am old and have lived long enough; it is right that I should save your life. » He made the sign of the cross, and plunged into the water, without the son's being able to prevent him, though he exerted all his remaining strength for that purpose. THE BITER BIT. Three robbers, having made a considerable booty at a small distance from a country town , agreed (as it was not expedient for all three to enter the town together) that one of them only should go and buy provisions, and bring them to the place of appointment in a wood. Whilst he was gone, the two who were left, consulted together, and in order to enlarge their share of the booty, determined to kill their comrade, as soon as he should return with their food. This was executed ; but their mur- dered companion, who had formed precisely the same design against them, had, after satisfying his own appetite, poisoned the food he brought them. Thus they all perished. SMUGGLING. A countryman was stopped by a custom-house officer, who took from him two casks of spirits, and carrying them to the next town (a distance of fifteen miles,) was desired by the countryman to stop and leave them at the first public-house. The officer replied, «No, I have seized them, and they ANECDOTES. 47 must go to the excise office.)) «Not so, » said the countryman, «I have a little bit of paper here, which if you will take the trouble to read, will convince you I am right. » The officer read his paper, and exclaimed, «Why, you rascal, this is a permit, why did you not show it sooner ?« ((Be- cause,)) said he, «if I had, you would not have carried the liquor so far for me. » STAUNCH REPLY. General Kirk, who had served many years at Tangiers, after his return to England was pressed by James II, to become a proselyte to the catholic religion, as the most acceptable means of recom- mending himself to favour. As soon as the king had done speaking, Kirk expressed great concern that it was not in his power to comply with his majesty's desire, because he was really pre- engaged. The king smiled, and asked him what he meaned? ((When I was abroad,)) answered Kirk, «I promised the Emperor of Morocco , that if ever I changed my religion , I would turn Mahometan; I never broke my word in my life , and I must beg leave to say, I never will. » COMPLIMENT. - PRIOR. When Prior the poet was our ambassador at the court of France , a French nobleman once took him to the opera. They were both seated in the same box , and on an eminent performer beginning to sing, the count, as was then the custom, accom- panied him in a favourite air, in so loud a key, that the notes of the performer were drowned. Prior did not join in chorus , but broke out into violent 48 ANECDOTES. invectives against the Italian , who pretended to sing. «I wonder your excellency should not like him,» said the count, «he is allowed to have an ad- mirable voice.» «I believe he has,» replied the En- glishman, «but he sings so loud, that I cannot have the pleasure of hearing you.» SPORTING ANECDOTE. One of the most celebrated sporting characters of the last age, was the duke of Queensbury. He frequently rode his horses himself, and was gene- rally successful in the race. The duke did not, how- ever, confine his love of pastime to ordinary horse- racing, but executed schemes of expedition till then considered impracticable. He once laid a consider- able wager that he would convey a letter fifty miles within an hour, without the aid of horses, car- rier pigeons, etc. ; and this he effected by having it enclosed in a cricket-ball , which twenty-four expert cricket-players transferred to each other: by this means , the ball passed more than fifty miles within the given time. INTREPIDITY REWARDED. At the siege of Tortona, the commander of the army which lay before the town, ordered Carew, an Irish officer in the service of Naples, to advance with a detachment to a particular post. Having given his orders, he whispered Carew,— «Sir, I know you to be a gallant man; I have therefore put you upon this duty. I tell you in confidence, it is certain death to you all. I place you there to make the enemy spring a mine below you. » Clarew bowed to the general, and silently led his ANECDOTES. 49 men to the dreadful post. Fortunately, at that In- stant, Tortona capitulated; and Carew escaped that destruction, which he had so nobly displayed his readiness to encounter at the call of honour. RUSSIAN DISCIPLINE; In September, 1777, there happened at St. Pe- tersburg a sudden inundation, of a very considerable extent. The Empress, seeing from her balcony that the water was covering the sentinel placed before the palace, called out to him to retire within doors; which the soldier refused to do. The Empress ask- ed him if he knew her; the man replied in the affirmative , and that though he did know her majesty, no one but his corporal could relieve him. As the man's position was becoming very dange- rous, and he constantly refused to retire , orders were sent to the guard-house; when the corporal came to relieve him, only the head and shoulders of the poor fellow remained above water. THE CONSIDERATE DEBTOR. A prisoner in the Fleet lately sent to his creditor to let him know that he had a proposal to make to him, which he believed would be for their mu- tual benefit. The creditor accordingly hastened to call on him. «I have been thinking,)) said he, «that it is a very useless Jhing for me to lie here and put you to the expense of seven groats a week. My being so chargeable to you, has given me great uneasiness; and God knows what it may cost you in the end, for I may never be able to pay. What I propose, therefore, is, you shall let me out of prison , and instead of seven groats, you • 7 50 ANECDOTES. shall allow me only five a week, and the other two shall go towards discharging the debt. » RESENTING A BLOW. An Englishman, once on a hunting party hastily struck a Peon, or East India foot-soldier, for hav- ing let loose a greyhound at an improper time. The man happened to belong to one of the high- est tribe of Hindoos. On receiving the blow he started back, with an appearance of horror and amazement, and drew his poignard. But again com- posing himself, and looking steadfastly at his mas- ter, he said, «I am your servant, and have long eaten your rice. The arm that has been nourished by you, shall not take away your life; but in spa- ring it, I must give up my own; as I cannot sur- vive my disgrace.» On pronouncing these words, he plunged the dagger into his bosom, and expired. QUEEN CAROLINE AND WHISTON. The late queen Caroline, who affected to patro- nize and converse with men of learning, was re- markably fond of the company of Whiston the astronomer. He once observed the queen at the Royal Chapel, whispering and talking to the ladies who attended her; and took an opportunity of in- forming her, that such levity was very unbecom- ing in a person of her exalted rank, and would be a bad example to others. The queen listened to the old philosopher with great attention; and when he had finished his reproof, told him, she took his freedom very kindly. «And now, Mr. Whiston, » added she « tell me of some other of my faults. » ANECDOTES 51 «When your majesty condescends to correct that of which I have now told you, I will. » ABSTRACTION. — NEWTON. Sir Isaac Newton, finding himself extremely cold one winter's evening, drew a chair very close to the grate, in which a fire had recently heen light- ed. By degrees the fire having completely kindled, sir Isaac felt the heat intolerably intense, and rang his bell with unusual violence. His servant was not at hand at the moment, but soon made his appearance. By this time sir Isaac was almost li- terally roasted. ((Remove the grate, you lazy rascal, » he exclaimed in a tone of irritation very uncom- mon with that amiable and mild philosopher; «remove the grate before I am burned to death! » On the servant's remarking that it would be easier for him to draw back his chair; ((Upon my word, » said he, smiling, «I never thought of that. » THE NOTE OF INTERROGATION — POPE. Pope one evening poring over a Greek manu- script with Swift, Arbuthnot, etc., they found a sentence which they could not make out. A young officer, standing by the 1 fire, and who heard their conference, begged permission to look at the pas- sage. ((Oh,» says Pope, sarcastically, «by all means, pray let the young gentleman look at it. » Upon which the officer, took up the book, and consider- ing awhile, said there only wanted a note of in- terrogation, to make the whole intelligible. «And pray, sir, » says Pope, (piqued perhaps at being outdone by a red coat), «wnat is a note of interro- gation ? » <( A note of interrogation , » replied the 52 ANECDOTES, youth, with a look of contempt, ((is a little crook- ed thing which asks questions. » A STUDENT IN SPANISH. — ROWE. Rowe, the annotator on Shakspeare, was a fre- quent attendant on Lord Oxford's levees, as a suppliant for place. His lordship one day asked him if he knew Spanish; upon which Rowe sus- pecting that there might be some good thing in view, in Spain, answered that though he did not, he had no doubt he could soon learn it; and to prove his capability, he retired into the country, and totally devoted his time to that language; so that in a few months, he again presented himself at the levee, with the information that he knew Spanish. Great indeed must have been his disap- pointment when Lord Oxford simply answered, «Then, sir, I envy you the pleasure of being able to read Don Quixote in the original.)) FILIAL LOVE. An aged couple in New York were, in the win- ter of 1783, reduced to their last stick of wood. Their only daughter, by whose industry alone they had long been supported, had no means of procuring her parents fuel or food. In this distres- sing emergency, she resolved to go to a dentist, to dispose of her front-teeth, knowing that he had advertised to give three guineas for every sound tooth, provided he were allowed to extract it him- self. On her arrival, she made known the circum- stances which induced her to make the sacrifice; which so affected the dentist, that he could not for- bear shedding tears. He made her a present of ANECDOTES. . 53 ten guineas; with which, her heart overflowing with joy, she hastened home to relieve her parents. ROYAL REWARD. — FREDERICK THE GREAT. A corporal of the life-guards of Frederick the Great, who had a great deal of vanity y but was a brave fellow ^ wore a watch-chain, to which he affixed a musket-ball instead of a watch, which he was unable to buy. The king, wishing to rally him, said, «You must have been very frugal, cor- poral, to have been able to buy a watch; it is six o'clock by mine, tell me what it is by your's. » The soldier, who guessed the king's intention, instantly drew the bullet from his fob, and said, ((Sire, my watch marks no hour, but it tells me every moment that it is my duty to die for your majesty! » «Here, my friend, » said the king , quite affected , « take this watch, that you may be able to tell the hour also: » and he gave him his own watch, whicK was adorned with brilliants. ORIGIN OF NEWSPAPERS. It may gratify national pride to be told that mankind are indebted to the wisdom of Elisabeth, and the prudence of Burleigh for the first newspa- per. The English Mercurie, imprinted by autho- rity, at London by her highness's printer in 1588, is the earliest example of a newspaper. The epoch chosen was that of the Spanish Ar- mada; it was dictated by a wise policy to pre- vent, during a moment of general anxiety, the danger of false reports, by publishing real in- formation; it also inflamed national feeling by giving extracts from letters received from Ma- 54 AMECDOTES. dridj wherein they spoke of the threats of the Spaniards, such as putting the queen to death* and gave a list of the instruments of torture on board the Spanish fleet. NO DISTINCTION AT THE GALLOWS. A highwayman and a chimney-sweeper were condemned to he hanged at the same time at Ty- burn; the first for an exploit on the highway, the latter for a more ignoble robbery. The highwayman was dressed in scarlet, and mounted the cart with alacrity; the chimney-sweep followed him slowly. While the clergyman was praying with fervour, the gay robber was attentive , and the other ap- proached nearer to his fellow-sufferer, to partake of the same benefit, but met with a repulsive look from his companion, which kept him at some dis- tance. But, forgetting the angry warning, he pre- sumed still to come nearer ; when the highway- man, with some disdain , said, «Keep further off, can't you.» «Sir,» replied the sweep, «I won't keep off: I have as much right to be here as you. » RESPECT TO OLD MEN. One of the lessons most frequently, and most strongly inculcated upon the Lacedemonian youth, was, to show a great respect and reverence to old men, and give them proofs of it upon all occasions, by saluting them, by making way for them in the streets, by rising up to do them honour in all com- panies and public assemblies, but above all, by receiving their advice, and even their reproofs, with docility and submission. The following trait is an instance of this. — An old man of Athens ANECDOTES. 55 going to the theatre to see a play , none of his countrymen offered him a seat; hut when he came near the place where the Spartan ambassadors and the gentlemen of their retinue were sitting, they all rose up out of reverence to his age, and seat- ed him in the midst of them. FRIENDLY WARMTH. — ADDISON. Addison and Mr. Stanyan were very intimate. In the familiar conversations that passed between them, they were accustomed freely to dispute each other's opinions. Upon some occasion, Mr Addison lent Mr. Stanyan five hundred pounds. After this, Mr. Stanyan behaved with a timid reserve, defer- ence, and respect; not conversing with the same freedom as formerly, or opposing his friend's sen- timents. This gave great uneasiness to Mr. Addison. One day they happened to fall out upon a subject, on which Mr. Stanyan had always firmly opposed his opinion; but, even upon this occasion, he gave way to what, his friend advanced, without inter- posing his own view of the matter. This hurt Mr. Addison so much^ that he cried out, « Either contra- dict me, or pay me back the money I lent you.» DISOBEDIENCE OF ORDERS. A naval commander in the reign of Queen Anne, was ordered to cruise, within certain limits, on the coast of Spain. Having received information that a Spanish fleet was in Vigo, beyond his limits, he resolved to risk his personal responsibility for the good of his country ; he accordingly attacked and defeated the Spanish fleet, with uncommon gallant- ry. When he joined the admiral under whom he 56 ANECDOTES. served, he was put under arrest, and was asked, «If he did not know that, hy the articles of war, he was liable to be shot, for disobedience of or- ders? » He replied with great composure, «That he was very sensible that he was,» but added, «the man who is afraid to risk his life in any way, when the good of his country requires it, is un- worthy of a command in her majesty 's service. » A PRIME MINISTER IN A PREDICAMENT. Sir Robert Walpole, who lay under certain elec- tioneering obligations to a man of some weight in a western borough, had often promised him a place, and as often pleaded prior engagements. «He was sorry for it, but a certain great man must be obliged; however, he might depend on the next, and so on. » After repeated disappointments of this kind, the man began to despair, when a land- surveyor being killed by the fall of a sugar cask, he again waited on sir Robert, who told him that the place had been promised a twelve-month; «But my dear friend_,» added he «the very next that becomes vacant, you shall have it, upon my honour. » uWhy then, sir Robert, » replied he, «I am the luckiest fellow alive , for the same cask knocked down a brother officer, and there are two vacan- cies at this moment.)) SINGULAR FIDELITY OF A PORTUGUESE NOBLEMAN. It is commonly remarked, and perhaps the max- im is too true , « that a king cannot have a true friend.» But Antonio, king of Portugal, who died at Paris, 1595, had the singular good fortune to ANECDOTES. 57 be blessed with the attachment of one- person, which nothing could dissolve. This unfortunate prince, who could neither enjoy , nor would relinquish his crown, passed several years in great poverty: but no misfortunes could detach don Diego Bothri, a Portuguese nobleman, from the interests of his sovereign. He attended him as his domestic, with unexampled fidelity, and all the recompense he desired, was, to be buried at the feet of his dear master. The ancients would have raised altars to the memory of so rare an instance of friendship; but the moderns would be inclined to dispute its truth, did not history confirm it. ABSENCE OF MIND. Among the various instances which have been recorded of absent men, few are more remarkable than the count de Brancas presents. The following is one of the laughable anecdotes of this extraordinary person. The count was walking in the street, and the duke de la Rochefoucault crossed the way to speak to him. «God bless thee, poor man, » exclaim- ed the count. Rochefoucault smiled, and was be- ginning to address himi. «Is it not enough, » cried the count, interrupting him , and somewhat in a passion, «is it not enough that I have said at first, I have nothing for you? such lazy beggars as you hinder a gentleman from walking in the streets. » Rochefoucault burst into a loud laugh , and awa- kening the absent man from his lethargy, he was not a little surprised himself, that he should have taken his friend for an importunate mendicant. 58 ANECDOTES. MILITARY DEVOTION. In the war of La Vendee, general Klebeir, with four thousand men, was completely surrounded by an overwhelming force of the enemy; and saw no other way of saving his little band, except by stopping, for a short time, the passage of the Vendeans through a narrow ravine, which was all that was between the two armies. He called an officer to him, for whom he had a particular friendship and esteem: «Take,» said he to him, «a company of grenadiers; stop the enemy before that ravine; you will be kill- ed, but you will save your comrades. » « I shall obey your orders , general,)) replied the officer; who received the order with as much calmness, as if it had been a simple military evolution. The prediction of Kleber was but too fatally verified. The brave officer arrested the enemy's progress, but perished in the achievement. STRANGE FORGETFULNESS. — NEWTON. The late Dr. Stukely one day, by appointment, paid a visit to sir Isaac Newton. The servant said he was in his study. No one was permitted to disturb him there; but as it was near his dinner time, the visitor sate down to wait for him. In a short time, a boiled chicken under a cover was brought in, for dinner. An hour passed, and sir Isaac did not appear. The doctor then ate the fowl and covering up the empty dish , desired the servant to get another dressed for his master. Before that was ready, the great man came down. He apologized for his delay, and added: «give me but leave to take my short dinner, and I shall be at your service; I am fatigued and faint.» Saying this, he lifted up the empty ANECDOTES. 59 cover, and without any emotion, turned about to Stukely with a smile: «See,» says he, «what we stu- dious people are ; I had forgotten that I had dined. » NOBLE CRITICISM - POPE, LORD HALIFAX. When Pope was first introduced to read his translation of Homer to Lord Halifax, the noble critic did not venture to be dissatisfied generally with this remarkable performance, but frequently stopped him, suggesting such and such verbal changes. Vexed, and not knowing how to manage in order not to offend his noble patron, and at the same time to save certain passages, which had cost him much labour, and which he himself particu- larly preferred, he applied to D r Garth for his advice. «Oh», replied Garth, laughing, « nothing can be easier, do what I have done a hundred times with his lordship , and I will guarantee your success. Read the same passages over without any change , and, my life on it, he will be satisfied. Pope did so, and the delighted critic exclaimed, «Dear Pope, they are now inimitable.)) POLITENESS — D r JOHNSON AND M rs THRALE. D r Johnson, once taking tea at M rs Thrale's, on the waiter being presented to him , made use of his fingers to supply his cup with sugar. The lady remarked this, and in order to make the doctor feel his indecorum, immediately ordered the su- gar-basin to be taken away, and fresh sugar brought in. Johnson paid no attention to this at the mo- ment; but having drunk his usual number of cups, on finishing, he threw his cup and saucer under the grate. The noise of the crash made the com-* 60 ANECDOTES. pany start, and M rs Thrale screamed out, « Heavens! doctor, what are you about? you have spoiled my best set of china. » « Madam », replied Johnson, « I should be sorry for what I have done, if I had not been actuated by good breeding; for, if I have defi- led your sugar-basin by my touch, what must the application of my lips have produced on your cup. SHAKSPEARE'S THEATRE. The Globe, at which most of Shakspeare's plays were acted, was partly covered in, and partly ex- posed to the weather, and the performances always took place by day-light. What is now the spit, was then probably occupied by persons who remained standing, and who paid 6 d : whilst at the minor theatres, the price was only l d . The boxes, or rooms as they were then called, were I s . The critics and wits were admitted on the stage, where stools were placed for their accommodation ; and their pages furnished them with pipes and tobacco , which were smoked here, as well as in other parts of the house. The stage was covered with rushes, and the curtains opened in the middle, and were drawn backwards on an iron rod. Several of these curtains, placed at different intervals, supplied the place of our scenery. Such was the apparatus, used to heighten the reality of the scenes produ- ced by our inimitable dramatist. THE EMPEROR JOSEPH. Joseph II, Emperor of Germany when at Pa- ris, amused himself daily, by mixing with the people, and often going into coffee-houses incognito. On one of these occasions, he met with a person with ANECDOTES. 61 whom he played at chess. The emperor lost the game, and wished to play another; but the gentleman desired to be excused, saying, he must go to the Opera to see the emperor. «What do you expect to see in the emperor, » said Joseph; a there is no- thing worth seeing in him, I can assure you; he is just like another man. » «No matter, » said the gentleman, <; I have long had an irresistible curio- sity to see him; he is a very great man, and I will not be disappointed.)) «And is that really your only motive,)) said the emperor, «for going to the Opera?» «It really is, » replied the gentleman. « Well then, if that is the case, we may as well play another game now , for you see him before you ». SHUT THE DOOR. - SWIFT. Dean Swift, though a good master, was very rigid with his servants. The task of hiring them was always entrusted to his housekeeper; but the only two positive commands he had for them, he generally delivered himself; these were, to shut the door whenever they came into, or went out of a room. One of his maid-servants one day asked permission to go to her sisters wedding, at a place about ten miles distant. Swift not only consented, but lent her one of his own horses, and ordered his servant to ride before her. The girl , in the ardour of joy for this favour, forgot to shut the door after her, when she left the room. In about a quarter of an hour after her departure, the dean sent a servant after her, to order her immediate return. The poor girl obeyed, and entering his presence, begged to know in what she had offend- ed, or what her master wished. «Only shut the 6& ANECDOTES. door,» said the dean, «and then resume your journey. » AN UNDER-CHARGE. - JOSEPH II. Joseph II, travelling in his usual way|, with- out his retinue, attended by a single aide-de-camp only, arrived very late at the house of an En- glishman, who kept an inn in the Netherlands. It being fair-time, and the house very crowd- ed, the host, ignorant of his guest's quality, appointed them to sleep in an out-house, which they readily complied with; and after eating a few slices of bacon and biscuit , retired to rest; and in the morning paid their bill, which amount- ed to three shillings and six-pence, and rode off. A few hours after, several of his suite coming to enquire for him, and the publican understanding the rank of his guest, appeared very uneasy. « Pshaw, pshaw, man, » said one of the attendants, « Joseph is accustomed to such adventures, and will think no more of it.» «But I shall, » replied the land- lord, « for I can never forget the circumstance, nor forgive myself either, for having had an emperor in my house , and letting him off for three and six-pence. » WHICH IS THE KING. - HENRY IV. Henry IV, of France, being one day a hunting, lost his party, and was riding alone. Observing a coun- try-fellow standing on a gate, apparently on the watch, he asked him what he was looking for. «I am come here,» said he, «to see the king. » «Get up behind me, » replied the king, «and I will soon conduct you to a place where you may see him.» ANECDOTES. 65 Hodge, without any hesitation, mounted; hut as they were riding along, he put this question to his companion: «They tell me he has a number of noblemen with him; how shall I know which is he?»The king replied, « that he might distinguish him by remarking that all his attendants took off their hats, while the king alone remained covered.)) Soon after they joined the hunt, when all the circle, as may well be expected, were greatly sur- prised to see his majesty so oddly attended. When they were arrived, the king, turning to the clown, asked him if he could tell which was the king? «I don't know,» answered he, «but faith it must be one of us two, for we've both got our hats on. » THE FREETHINKER PUNISHED. - MALLET. Mallet was so fond of being thought a sceptic, that he indulged this weakness on all occasions. His wife, it is said, was a complete convert to his doc- trines, and even the servants stared at their master's bold arguments, without being all poisoned by their influence. One fellow, however, who united a bad heart to an unsettled head, was determined to practice what Mallet was so solicitous to propagate; and robbed his master's house. Being pursued, and brought before a magistrate, Mallet attended, and taxed him severely with ingratitude and dishonesty. «Sir,» said the fellow, «I have often heard you talk of the impossibility of a future state; that, after death, there was neither reward for virtue, nor punishment for vice; and this tempted me to commit the robbery. » «Well, but you rascal, » replied Mallet, «had you no fear of the gallows? » « Master,)) said the culprit, looking steadfastly at 64 ANECDOTES. him, « what is it to you if I had a mind to venture that; you had removed my greatest terror, why should I fear the lesser ?» VALUE OF MANUSCRIPTS. There have heen ages when, for the possession of a manuscript, some would transfer an estate,, or leave in pawn, for its loan, hundreds of gold crowns; and when the sale., or even the loan of a manuscript, was considered of such importance as to have been solemnly registered by public acts. Absolute as was Louis XI, he could not obtain the MS. of an Arabian Writer, to make a copy, from the library of the faculty of Paris, without pledg- ing a hundred gold crowns; and the president of his treasury, charged with this commission, sold part of the King's plate to make this deposit. This occurred in 1471. A countess of Anjou, at an anterior period, bought a favourite book of homi- lies for two hundred sheep, some skins of martins, and abundance of bushels of wheat and rye. A student of Pavia, who was reduced in his cir- cumstances raised a new fortune by leaving in pawn a manuscript of a body of laws; and a gram- marian, who was ruined by fire, rebuilt his house with two small volumes of Cicero. A FRIEND IN NEED - THOMSON AND QUIN. Thomson the poet, when he first came up to London, was in such indigent circumstances as not even to have the means of buying a pair of shoes. Some time after the publication of his seasons, one of his creditors caused him to be arrested, and he was carried off to prison. Whilst there ANECDOTES. 65 he one day received a visit from Quin the come- dian. After the usual preliminaries of politeness, Quin told him that he was come to pay him L1 00, for which sum he was his debtor. Thomson, aware of the gentleman's character, thought this was some joke, and could not help expressing his astonishment that such a moment should be chosen to add insult to his misery. «I assure you», said Quin, «that my intention is very far from insult- ing you. The fact is, on reading your Seasons, I experienced such extraordinary delight, that I immediately put you down in my will for L100. Hearing of your present embarrassment, I thought this sum might be more useful to you at the present moment, and I am therefore come to acquit, a little before-hand, a debt, which will one day be your due.» Thomson's satisfaction and gratitude may be easily imagined. HEROISM — ADMIRAL KEPPEL. When admiral Keppel was sent to the dey of Algiers to demand restitution of two ships which the pirates had taken, he sailed, with his squadron, into the bay of Algiers, and cast anchor in front of the dey's palace. He' then landed, and attended only by his captain and boat's crew , demanded an immediate audience of the dey. This being granted, he claimed full satisfaction for the in- juries done to the subjects of his Britannic ma- jesty. Surprised, and enraged at the boldness of the admiral's remonstrance, the dey exclaimed, «That he wondered at the king's insolence in send- ing him a foolish, beardless boy.» A well-timed reply from the admiral made the dey forget the 9 66 ANECDOTES. laws of all nations, in respect to ambassadors, and he ordered his mutes to attend with the bow-string; at the same time telling the admiral, he should pay for his audacity with his life. Unmoved with this menace, the admiral took the dey to a win- dow facing the hay, and showed him the English fleet riding at anchor, and told him, that «If he dared to put him to death, there were English- men enough in that fleet to make him a glorious funeral pile. » The dey was wise enough to take the hint. The admiral obtained ample restitu- tion, and came off in safety. DIFFERENCE BETWEEN ECONOMY AND AVARICE. When collection was making to build the hos- pital of Bedlam , those who were employed to gather the money, came to a small house, the door of which was half open. From the entry, they heard an old man scolding his servant-maid, who y having made use of a match to light the fire, had afterwards, indiscretely, thrown it away, without reflecting that the match, having still the sulphur at the other end, might be of further service. After diverting themselves awhile, with listening to the dispute , they knocked , and pre- sented themselves before the old gentleman. As soon as they told him the cause of their visit, he went into a closet, from whence he brought four hundred guineas; and reckoning the money in their presence, put it into their bag. The collectors being astonished at this generosity , which they little expected, could not help testifying their sur- prise , and told the old fellow what they had ANECDOTES. 67 heard. « Gentlemen , » said he , « your surprise is occasioned by a thing of little consequence; I keep house, and save or spend money my own way; the one furnishes me with the means of doing the other, and both equally gratify my inclina- tions. With regard to benefactions and donations, always expect most from prudent people who keep their accounts. » A COURTIER'S QUERY. Soon after lord Chesterfield came into the privy council, a place of great trust became vacant, to which his majesty (George II) and the duke of Dorset recommended two very different persons. The king espoused the interest of his friend, with some heat, and told them he would be obeyed; but not being able to carry his point , left the council-chamber in great displeasure. As soon as he retired, the matter was warmly debated, but at length carried against the king; because, if they once gave him his way, he would expect it again, and it would at length become a precedent. How- ever, in the humour the king then was, a ques- tion arose concerning who should carry the grant of the office for the royal signature, and the lot fell upon Chesterfield. His lordship expected to find his sovereign in a very unfavourable mood, and he was not disappointed. He, therefore, pru- dently forbore incensing him , by an abrupt re- quest, and instead of bluntly asking him to sign the instrument , very submissively requested to know whose name his majesty would have inser- ted to fill up the blanks. The king answered in a passion, «The devil's, if you wiil!» uVery well,» replied the earl, «but would your majesty have 68 ANECDOTES. the instrument run in the usual style — Our trusty and well beloved cousin and counsellor?)) The mo- narch laughed , and with great good humour sign- ed the paper. DEATH OF SIR WALTER RALEIGH. This nobleman, who suffered death hy an unjust sentence in the reign of James I, furnishes a remark- able instance of courage in meeting death. On the morning appointed for his execution, he smoked his favourite tobacco with his usual tranquillity. When on the scaffold he called to the heads-man to show him the axe, which not being instantly done, he repeated, «I pray thee, let me see it, —do you think I am afraid of it? » He passed his finger slightly over the edge, and smiling observed to the sheriff, «This is a sharp medicine, but a sure cure for all diseases. » He then requested the executioner not to strike till he gave a token by lifting his hand, «And then fear not, but strike home. » When he laid his head on the block, the executioner desired him to turn his face towards the east. «It is no great matter which way a man's head lay,» he said, «so his heart lay right. » But these were not his last words. He was once more to speak in this -world with the same intrepidity he had lived in it, for having lain some moments on the block, in pray- er, he gave the signal: but the executioner either unmindful, or in fear, failed to strike, and Ra- leigh, after once or twice putting forth his hand, was compelled to ask «why do you not strike? Strike, man, strike.)) In two blows he was behead- ed 5 but from the first , his body never shrunk from the spot, as if, like his mind, it was im- movable. ANECDOTES. 69 FASTING AND PRAYING. - SWIFT. As the late dean Swift was once upon a jour- ney , attended by a servant, they put up at an inn, where they lodged all night. In the mor- ning , the dean called for his boots ; the servant immediately took them to him. When the dean saw them, «How is this Tom,» said be, «my boots are not clean ?» «No, sir,» replied Tom, «as you are going to ride, I thought they would soon be dirty again, so I did not clean them.» « Very well,» said the doctor, «go and get the horses ready. » In the mean time the dean ordered the landlord to let his servant have no breakfast. When the servant returned, he asked if the hor- ses were ready. «Yes, sir,» was the answer. «Go, bring them out,» said the doctor. « I have not had my breakfast yet,» replied Tom. «Oh, no matter for that.,» said his master, « if you had, you would soon be hungry again.)) They mounted, and rode off. As they rode, the dean pulled a book out of his pocket, and began to read. A gentleman met thenr, and seeing the doctor reading, was not wil- ling to disturb him, but passed by till he met the servant. «Who is that gentleman?)) said he to the man. «My master, sir, » replied Tom. «I know that, you blockhead,)) said the gentleman, «but where are you going ?» «To heaven, sir,» says Tom. «How do you know that,» said the gentleman? « Because I am fasting, and my mas- ter is praying, sir. )> COURTLY PICTURE. — HENRY IV. The Spanish ambassador at the court of Henry IV, of France, was one day enquiring of him the 70 ANECDOTES. character of his ministers. «You shall see what they are, in a minute, » said the king. On seeing M. de Silleri, the chancellor, come into the draw- ing-room, he said to him, «Sir, I am very uneasy about a heam that is good for nothing, and which seems to threaten to fall upon my head.» «Sire, » replied the chancellor, «you should consult your architect ; let every thing be well examined , and let him go to work.» Henry next saw M. de Vil- leroi , to whom he spoke as he had done to Sil- leri. «Sire,» answered Villeroi, without looking at the beam, «you are right, the beam is exces- sively dangerous.)) At last, the president Jeannin came in, to whom Henry made a similar address as to the former ministers. «Sire,» said the pre- sident, «I do not know what you mean, the beam is a very good one.)> «But, » replied the king, «do I not see the light through the crevices, or is my head disordered?)) «Be quite at your ease, sire,» returned Jeannin, «the beam will last as long as you will. » Then turning to the Spanish minister, Henry observed to him: «Now I think you are acquainted with the character of my mi- nisters — the chancellor has no opinion at all; Villeroi is always of my opinion; and Jeannin speaks as he really thinks, and always thinks pro- perly.)) THE PTOPY. — STERNE. The following incident,, which occurred at an early period of Mr. Sterne's literary career, con- tributed much to establish his reputation as a wit. There was a coffee-room in the principal inn of the town he lived in, where gentlemen who fre- quented the house might read the newspapers. ANECDOTES. 7l One of the greatest enjoyments of Yorick's life, was spending an inoffensive hour in a snug cor- ner of this room. There was a troop of horse at that time quartered in the town. One of the offi- cers was a gay young man, spoiled by the free education of the world, hut not destitute of good qualities. This young gentleman was remarkable for his free conversation, and pointed reflections against the clergy. The modest Yorick was often constrained to hear toasts he could not approve, and conversations shocking to the ear of delicacy; and was frequently obliged to remove his seat, or pretend deafness. The captain, resolved this con- duct should no longer avail him, seated himself by Yorick, so as to prevent his retreat, and im- mediately began a profane, indecent tale, at the expense of the clerical profession, with his eyes steadfastly fixed on Sterne, who pretended for some time not to notice his ill-manners. When that became impossible, he turned to the military intruder, and gravely said, «Now, sir, you shall hear my story: my father is an officer, and is so brave himself, that he is fond of every thing which is brave, even his dog. You must know we have at this time , one of the finest creatures in the world of its kind;' the most spirited, yet the best natured that can be imagined; so lively that he charms every body — but he has a cursed trick, that throws a strong shade over all his good qua- lities.)) «Pray, what may that be ?» interrogated the officer. «He never sees a clergyman, but he instantly flies at him,» answered Yorick. «How long has he had that trick ?» «Why, sir,» replied the divine, with a significant look, never since he was a puppy. » 7£ ANECDOTES. A DUEL - YOUNG. Dr. Young was once on a party of pleasure with a few young ladies, going by water to Vauxhall; and he amused them with a tune on the german- flute. Behind him several officers were also in a boat, rowing to the same place y and soon came along side that in which were the doctor and his party. The doctor, who was not conceited of his playing, put up his flute on their approach. One of the officers instantly asked why he ceased play- ing. «For the same reason, » said he, «that I played before., to please myself. » The son of Mars very peremptorily rejoined, that if he did not instantly resume his flute_, and continue his musio, he would throw him into the Thames. The doc- tor, in order to allay the fear of the ladies, pock- eted the insult, and determined to play all the way up the river. During the evening, however, he observed the officer by himself, in one of the walks, and approaching him, said with great cool- ness, (dl; was, sir, to avoid interrupting the har- mony of the company, that I complied, with your arrogant demand; but, that you may be satisfied courage may be found under a black coat, as well as under a red one , I expect that you will meet me to-morrow morning, at a certain place, with- out any second , the quarrel being between us two.» The doctor further covenanted, that the affair should be decided by swords; to all which conditions the officer consented. The duellists met; but the moment the officer took his ground^ the doctor pulled out a horse-pistol. «What,» said the officer, «do you intend to assassinate me?» «No,» replied the doctor, ((but you shall instantly ANECDOTES. 73 put up your sword, and dance a minuet, or you are a dead man.» The officer began to bluster, but the doctor was resolute, and he was obliged to comply. «Now,» said Young, «you forced me to play against my will , and I have made you dance against yours ; we are therefore again on a level, and whatever other satisfaction you may require, I am ready to give it.» The officer ac- knowledged his error, and the affair terminated in a lasting friendship. 10 SELECT PIECES OF PROSE. SELECT PIECES OE PROSE THE WHISTLE. When I was a child of seven years old, my friends, on a holiday, filled my pocket with half- pence. I went directly to a shop where they sold toys for children; and, being charmed with the sound of a whistle, that I met by the way in the hands of another boy , I voluntarily offered , and gave all my money for it. I then came home, and went whistling all over the house, much pleas- ed with my whistle^ but disturbing all the family. My brothers^ and sisters, and cousins, understand- ing the bargain I had made, told me I had given four times as much for it as it was worth: this put me in mind what good things I might have bought with the rest of the money; and they laughed at me so much for my folly, that I cried with vexation; and the reflection gave me more chagrin than the whistle gave me pleasure. This however was afterwards of use to me, the impression continuing on my mind: so that often.. 78 SELECT PIECES OF PROSE. when I was tempted , to buy some unnecessary thing, I said to myself, Dorit give too much for the whistle; and I saved my money. As I grew up, came into the world, and observed the actions of men, I thought I met with many, very many, who gave too much for the whistle. When I saw one too ambitious of court favour, sacrificing his time in attendance on levies, his repose, his liberty, his virtue, and perhaps his friends, to attain it, I have said to myself, This man gives too much for his whistle. When I saw another fond of popularity, con- stantly employing himself in political bustles, neglecting his own affairs , and ruining them by that neglect, He pays indeed, said I, too much for his whistle. If I knew a miser, who gave up every kind of comfortable living, all the pleasure of doing good to others, all the esteem of his fellow-citizens, and the joys of benevolent friendship, for the sake of accumulating wealth, Poor man, said I, you pay too much for your whistle. When I met with a man of pleasure ; sacrific- ing every laudable improvement of the mind, or of his fortune, to mere corporeal sensations, and ruining his health in their pursuit, Mistaken man, said I, you are providing pain for yourself instead of pleasure, you give too much for your whistle. If I see one fond of appearance, or fine clothes, fine houses, fine furniture, fine equipages, all above his fortune, for which he contracts debts, and ends his career in a prison, Alas I said I, he has paid dear, very dear, for his whistle. In short, I conceive that great part of the mise- ries of mankind are brought upon them by the SELECT PIECES OF PROSE. 79 false estimate they have made of the value of things ; and by their giving too much for their whistles. B. Franklin. ON CASTLES IN THE AIR. Alnaschar was a very idle fellow, who never would set his hand to any business during his father's life. When his father died, he left him to the value of a hundred drachmas in Persian money. Alnaschar, in order to make the best of it, laid it out in glasses, bottles, and the finest earthen-ware. These he piled up in a large open basket, and having made choice of a very little shop,, placed the basket at his feet, and leaned his back against the wall, in expectation of customers. As he sate in this posture, with his eyes upon the basket, he fell into a most amusing train of thought, and was overheard by one of the neighbours, as he talked to himself, in the following manner: «This basket,» says he, «cost me, at the wholesale merchant's, a hundred drachmas, which is all I have in the world; I shall quickly make two hun- dred of it, by selling it in retail. These two hun- dred drachmas, will, in a little while, rise to four hundred, which, of course, will amount in time to four thousand: four thousand drachmas cannot fail of making eight thousand. As soon as by this means I am master of ten thousand, I will lay aside my trade as glass-man, and turn jeweller. I shall then deal in diamonds, pearls, and all sorts of rich stones. When I have got together as much wealth as I can well desire , I will make a pur- chase of the finest house I can find, with lands, 80 SELECT PIECES OF PROSE. slaves, and horses. I shall then begin to enjoy myself, and make a noise in the world. I will not, however, stop there, but continue my traf- fic till I have got together a hundred thousand drachmas. When I have thus made myself master of a hundred thousand drachmas, I shall naturally set myself on the footing of a prince , and will demand the grand vizier's daughter in marriage; after having represented to that minister the in- formation which I have received of the beauty, wit, discretion, and other high qualities which his daughter possesses , I will let him know , at the same time, that it is my intention to make him a present of a thousand pieces of gold, on our marriage day. As soon as I have married the grand vizier's daughter, I will buy her ten black slaves, the youngest, and the best, that can be got for money. I must afterwards make my father-in-law a visit, with a great train and equipage, and when I am placed at his right hand, which he will do of course, if it be only to honour his daughter, I will give him the thousand pieces of gold which I promised him; and afterwards, to his great sur- prise, I will present him with another purse of the same value, with some short speech; as, «Sir, you see I am a man of my word, I always give more than I promise. » «When I have brought the princess to my house, I shall take particular care to breed in her a due respect for me , before I give way to my love. To this end I shall confine her to her own apart- ment, make her a short visit, and talk but little to her. Her women will represent to me, that she is inconsolable, by reason of my unkindness, and beg me with tears to caress her, and let her SELECT PIECES OF PROSE. 81 sit down by me; but I will still remain inexorable. Her mother will then come and bring her daughter to me, as I am seated on my sopha. The daughter, with tears in her eyes, will fling herself at my feet, and beg of me to receive her into my favour. Then will I, to imprint in her a thorough vene- ration for my person, draw up my leg, and spurn her from me with my foot, in such a manner, that she shall fall down several paces from the sopha. » Alnaschar was entirely swallowed up in this chi- merical vision, and could not forbear acting with his foot, what he had in his thoughts: so that un- luckily striking his basket of brittle ware_, which was the foundation of all his grandeur, he kicked his glasses to a great distance from him into the street, and broke them into ten thousand pieces. This is a humorous ridicule upon the foolish vanity of building castles in the air, and idly wast- ing that time, in empty flattering schemes, which might have been ■ usefully employed in attending to our own business. Guardian. THE FOLLY OF DISPUTING UPON TRIFLES. One morning Griselda and her husband were present, while Emma was busy showing some poor children how to plait straw for hats. «Next summer, my dear, when we are settled at home, I hope you will encourage some manu- facture of this kind among our tenants, » said Mr. Bolingbroke to his lady. 11 S°2 SELECT PIECES OF PROSE. «I have no genius for teaching manufactures of this sort,» replied Mrs. Bolingbroke, scornfully. Her husband urged the matter no further. A few minutes afterwards, he drew out a straw from a bundle, which one of the children held. «This is a fine straw, » said he, carelessly. ((Fine straw, » cried Mrs* Bolingbroke: «No, that is very coarse; this_,» continued she, pulling one from another bundle, «this is fine straw, if you please. » «I think mine is the finest,)) said Mr. Boling- broke. «Then you must be blind ^ Mr. Bolingbroke, » cried the lady, eagerly comparing them. «Well, my dear, » said he, laughing, «we will not dispute about straws.» «No, indeed,)) said she, «but I observe, when- ever you know you are in the wrong, Mr. Bo- lingbroke, you say, we will not dispute, my dear: now pray look at these straws, Mrs. Grandby, you that have eyes, which is the finest ?» «1 will draw lots,» said Emma, taking one playfully from Mrs. Bolingbroke; «for it seems to me there is little or no difference between them. » ((No difference? Oh my dear Emma ! » said Mrs. Bolingbroke. «My dear Griselda,» cried her husband, taking the other straw from her, and blowing it away, ((indeed it is not worth disputing about, this is too childish, n ((Childish,» repeated she, looking after the straw, as it floated down the wind; «I see nothing child- ish in being in the right; your raising your voice in that manner never convinces me. Jupiter is SELECT PIECES OF PROSE. 83 always in the wrong, you know, when he has recourse to his thunder. » « Thunder, my dear Griselda, about a straw! well, when women are determined to dispute, it is wonderful how ingenious they are in finding subjects. I give you joy my dear, of having attain- ed the perfection of the art : you can now lite- rally dispute about straws. » Miss Edgeworth. TO THE COUNTESS OF . I am now, dear sister, to take leave of you for a long while, and of Vienna for ever ; designing to-morrow r to begin my journey through Hungary, in spite of the excessive cold and deep snows, which are enough to damp a greater courage than I am mistress of. But my principle of passive obedience carries me through every thing. I have had my audience of leave of the empress. His imperial majesty was pleased to be present when I waited on the reigning empress ; and after a very obliging conversation, both their imperial majesties invited me to take Vienna in my road back; but I have no thoughts of enduring, ovlir again^ so great a fatigue. I delivered a letter from the duchess of Blankenberg. I staid but a few days at that court, though her highness pressed me very much to stay; and when I left her, en- gaged me to write to her. I wrote you a long- letter from thence, which I hope you have receiv- ed , though you do not mention it; but I believe I forgot to tell you one curiosity in all the Ger- man courts, which I cannot forbear taking notice 84 SELECT PIECES OF PROSE. of: all the princes keeping favourite dwarfs. The emperor and empress have two of these little mon- sters, as ugly as devils, especially the female; but they are all bedaubed with diamonds _, and stand at her majesty 's elbow in all public places. The duke of Wolfenbuttel has one , and the duchess of Blankenberg is not without her's^ but indeed the most proportionable I ever saw. I am at present confined to my chamber by a sore-throat, and am really glad of the excuse of seeing people that I love well enough to be very much mortified when I think I am going to part with them for ever. It is true the Austrians are not commonly the most polite people in the world, nor the most agreeable. But Vienna is inhabited by all nations, and I have formed to myself a little society of such as were perfectly to my own taste. And though the number was not very great, I could never pick up, in any other place, such a number of reasonable agreeable people. We were almost always together, and you know I have ever been of opinion, that a chosen conversation^ com- posed of a few that one esteems, is the greatest happiness of life. Here are some Spaniards of both sexes, that have all the vivacity and gene- rosity of sentiments anciently ascribed to their na- tion; and could I believe that the whole kingdom were like them, I should wish nothing more than to end my days there. The ladies of my acquain- tance have so much goodness for me , they cry whenever they see me, since I am determined to undertake this journey , and indeed I am not very easy when I reflect on what I am going to suffer. Almost every body I see frights me with some new difficulty. Prince Eugene has been so good SELECT PIECES OF PROSE. 85 as to say all the things he could to persuade me to stay till the Danube is thawed, that I may have the convenience of going by water, assuring me that the houses in Hungary are such as are no defence against the weather, and that I shall be obliged to travel three or four days between Buda and Essech , without finding any house at all, through desert plains covered with snow, where the cold is so violent that many have been killed by it. I own these terrors have made a deep impression on my mind, because I believe he tells me things truly as they are, and nobody can be better informed of them. Now I have named that great man, I am sure you expect I should say something particular of him , having the advantage of seeing him very often; but I am as unwilling to speak of him at Vienna, as I should be to talk of Hercules at the court of Omphale, if I had seen him there. I do not know what comfort other people find in con- sidering the weakness of great men (because, per- haps, it brings them nearer to their level), but it is always a mortification to me to observe that there is no perfection in humanity. The young prince of Portugal is ,the admiration of the whole court; he is handsome and polite, with a great vivacity. All the officers tell wonders of his gal- lantry the last campaign. He is lodged at court with all the honours due to his rank. — Adieu, dear sister; this is the last account you will have from me of Vienna. If I survive my journey, you shall hear from me again. I can say, with great truth, in the words of Moneses, I have long learned to hold myself as nothing; but when I think of the fatigue my poor infant must suffer, I have 86 SELECT PIECES OF PROSE. all a mother's fondness in my eyes, and all her tender passions in my heart. P. S. 1 have written a letter to my Lady that I believe she will not like; and upon cooler reflection, I think I had done better to have left it alone; but I was downright peevish at all her questions, and at her ridiculous imagination, that I have certainly seen abundance of wonders , which I keep to myself out of mere malice. She is very angry that I will not lie like other tra- vellers. I verily believe she expects I should tell her of the anthropophagi, men whose heads grow below their shoulders: pray say something to pa- cify her. Lady M. TV. Montague. SINCERITY. Truth and sincerity have all the advantages of appearance, and many more. If the show of any thing be good for any thing, I am sure the reality is better; for why does any man dissemble , or seem to be that which he pretends to? for to coun- terfeit and dissemble, is to put on the appea- rance of some real excellence. Now the best way for a man to seem to be any thing, is really to be what he would seem to be. Besides, it is of- ten as troublesome to support the pretence of a good quality, as to have it: and if a man have it not, it is most likely he will be discovered to want it, and then all his labour to seem to have it is lost. There is something unnatural in painting, which a skilful eye will easily discern from na- ture, beauty, and complexion. SELECT PIECES OF PROSE. 87 It is hard to personate and act a part long; for if truth is not at the bottom, nature will always be endeavouring to return, and will betray herself at one time or other. Therefore, if any man think it convenient to seem good_, let him be so indeed, and then his goodness will appear to every one's satisfaction; for truth is convincing^ and carries its own light and evidence along with it, and will not only commend us to every one's conscience, but, which is more , to God , who searcheth our hearts; so that upon all accounts, sincerity is true wisdom. Particularly as to affairs of this world, integrity hath many advantages over all the arti- ficial modes of dissimulation and deceit. It is much the plainer and easier; much the safer and more secure way of dealing in the world : it hath less of trouble and difficulty; of entanglement and per- plexity, of danger and hazard in it; it is the short- est and nearest way to the end. The arts of deceit and cunning continually grow weaker, and less effectual and serviceable to those that practise them; whereas integrity gains strength by use, and the more and longer any man practiseth it, the greater service it does him, by confirming his re- putation, and encouraging those with whom he hath to do , to repose the greatest confidence in him^ which is an unspeakable advantage in busi- ness and the affairs of life. A dissembler must always be upon his guard, and watch himself carefully, that he do not con- tradict his own pretentions; for he acts an unna- tural part, and therefore must put a continual force and restraint upon himself; whereas, he that acts sincerely hath the easiest task in the world, because he follows nature ^ and so is put to no 88 SELECT PIECES OF PROSE. trouble and care about his words and actions; he needs not invent any pretence beforehand, nor make excuses afterwards, for any thing he hath said or done. But insincerity is very troublesome to manage; a hypocrite hath so many things to attend to, as make his life a very perplexed and intricate thing: a liar hath need of a good memory, lest he con- tradict at one time what he said at another; but truth is always consistent with itself, and needs nothing to help it out; it is always near at hand, and sits upon your lips; whereas a lie is trouble- some, and needs a great many more to make it good. Add to all this, that sincerity is the most com- pendious wisdom, and an excellent instrument for the speedy despatch of business. It creates con- fidence in those we have to deal with, saves the labour of many enquiries, and brings things to an issue in a few words. It is like travelling in a plain beaten road, which commonly brings a man sooner to his journey's end, than by-ways in which men often lose themselves. In a word, whatsoever convenience may be thought in falsehood and dis- simulation, it is soon over; but the inconvenience of it is perpetual, because it brings a man under everlasting jealousy and suspicion, so that he is not believed when he speaks truth, nor trusted, when perhaps he means honestly. When a man hath once forfeited the reputation of his integrity, nothing will then serve his turn, neither truth nor falsehood. Indeed, if a man was only to deal in the world for a day, and should never have occasion to con- verse more with mankind, never more need their good opinion, or good word, it were then no great SELECT PIECES OF PROSE. 89 matter (as far as respects the affairs of this world) if he spent his reputation all at once, and ven- tured it at one throw ; but if he be to continue in the world , and would have the advantage of reputation whilst he is in it, let him make use of truth and sincerity in all his words and actions, for nothing but this will hold on to the end; all other arts will fail , but truth and integrity will carry a man through, and bear him out to the last. T Mot son. THE EPHEMERA. Cicero, in the first book of his «Tusculan ques- tions)), finely exposes the vain judgment we are apt to form of the duration of human life, com- pared to eternity. In illustrating this argument, he quotes a passage of natural history from Aris- totle, concerning a species of insects on tho banks of the river Hypanis, that never outlive the day wherein they are born. To pursue the thought of this elegant writer, let us suppose one of the most robust of these Hypanians (so famed in history) was in a manner coeval with time itself; that he began to exist at the break of day, and that, from the uncommon strength of his constitution ^ he has been able to show himself active in life through the number- less minutes of ten or twelve hours. Through so long a series of seconds he must have acquired vast wisdom in his way, from observation and ex- perience. He looks upon his fellow-creatures, who died about noon_, to be happily delivered from the many inconveniencies of old age; and can perhaps recount lo his great-grandson a surprising tradition 12 90 SELECT PIECF.S OF PROSE. of actions before any records of their nation were extant. The young swarm, who may be advanced one hour in life, approach his person with res- pect, and listen to his improving discourse. Every thing he says will seem wonderful to this short- lived generation. The compass of a day will be esteemed the whole duration of time; and the first dawn of light will, in their chronology, be styled the great aera of their creation. Let us now suppose this venerable insect , this Nestor of the Hypanis, should, a little before his death, and about sunset, send for all his descen- dants , his friends , and his acquaintance ; out of the desire he may have to impart his thoughts to them, and to admonish them with his depart- ing breath. They meet, perhaps, under the spa- cious shelter of a mushroom; and the dying sage addresses himself to them , after the following manner : « Friends and fellow-citizens! I perceive the longest life must have an end: the period of mine is now at hand : neither do I repine at my fate, since my great age is become a burden; and there is nothing new to me under the sun. The cala- mities and revolutions I have seen in my country; the manifold private misfortunes to which we are all liable, and the fatal diseases incident to our race, have abundantly taught me this lesson: that no happiness can be secure or lasting, which is placed in things that are out of our power. Great is the uncertainty of life! A whole brood of in- fants has perished in a moment by a keen blast: shoals of our straggling youth have been swept into the waves by an unexpected breeze : what wasteful deluges we have suffered from a sud- hoden shower. Our strongest holds are not proof SELECT PIECES OE PROSE. 91 against a storm of hail: and even a dark cloud makes the stoutest heart to quail. I have lived in the first ages, and conversed with insects of a larger size, and stronger make, and (I must add) of greater virtue, than any can boast of in the present generation. I must con- jure you to give yet farther credit to my latest words, when I assure you that yonder sun, which now appears westward beyond the water, and seems not to be far distant from the earth, in my remembrance, stood in the middle of the sky, and shot his beams directly down upon us. The world was much more enlightened in those ages, and the air much warmer. Think it not dotage in me, if I affirm that that glorious being moves. I saw his first setting out, in the east*, and I began my race of life near that time , when he began his immense career. He has for several ages ad- vanced along the sky, with vast heat and unparal- leled brightness; but now, by his declension, and a sensible decay (more especially of late) in his vigour, I foresee, that all nature must fail in a little time; and that the creation will lie buried in darkness, in less than a century of minutes. «Alas, my friends, how did I once flatter myself with the hopes of abiding here for ever ! How mag- nificent are the cells which I hollowed out for myself! What confidence did I repose in the firm- ness and spring of my joints, and in the strength of my pinions. But I have lived long enough to nature and even to glory : neither will any of you, whom I leave behind , have equal satisfaction in life, in the dark, declining age, which I see is already begun. » Thus far my unknown correspondent pursues his fiction upon the thought of Cicero; neither 92 SELECT PIECES OF PROSE. will it seem extravagant to those who are acquaint- ed with the manner of instruction practised by the early teachers of mankind. Solomon sends the sluggard to the ant: and after his example, we may send the ambitious or the covetous man, who seems to overlook the shortness and uncertainty of life, to the little animals on the banks of the Hypaniso Let him consider their transitory state, and be wise. We, like the ephemeris, have but a day to live: the morning, the noon, and the evening of life, is the whole portion of our time: many perish in the very dawn; and the man (out of a million) who lingers on to the evening twilight, is not accounted happy. ' Freethinker. AN ENUMERATION OF SUPERSTITIONS IN THE COUNTRY. You must know, Mr. Town, that I am just returned from a visit of a fortnight to an old aunt in the north; where I was mightily diverted with the traditional superstitions^ which are most religiously preserved in the family, as they have been delivered down (time out of mind) from their sagacious grandmothers. When I arrived, I found the mistress of the house very busily employed, with her two daugh- ters, in nailing a horse-shoe to the threshold of the door. This, they told me, was to guard against the spiteful designs of an old woman, who was a witch, and had threatened to do the family a mischief, because one of my young cousins laid two straws across, to see if the old hag could walk over them. The young lady assured me, that SELECT PIECES OF PROSE. 93 she had several times heard Goody Cripple mutter- ing to herself; and to be sure she was saying the Lord's prayer backwards. Besides, the old woman had very often asked them for a pin; but they took care never to give her any thing that was sharp, because she should not bewitch them. They afterwards told me many other par- ticulars of this kind, the same as are mentioned with infinite humour by the Spectator; and to confirm them, they assured me, that the eldest miss, when she was little, used to have fits, till the mother flung a knife at another old witch (whom the devil had carried off in a high wind), and fetched blood from her. When I was to go to bed, my aunt made a thousand apologies for not putting me in the best room in the house, which, she said, had never been lain in, since the death of an old washerwo- man, who walked every night, and haunted that room in particular. They fancied that the old woman had hid money somewhere, and could not rest till she had told somebody; and my cousin assured me, that she might have had it all to herself; for the spirit came one night to her bed- side, and wanted to tell her, but she had not cou- rage to speak to it. I learned also, that they had a footman once, who hanged himself for love; and he walked for a great while, till they got the parson to lay him in the Red Sea. I had not been here long, when an accident happened which very much alarmed the whole family. Towzer, one night, howled most horribly^ which was a sure sign that somebody belonging to them would die. The youngest miss declared, that she had heard the hen crow that morning, which was another fatal prognostic. They told 94 SELECT PIECES OF PROSE. me, that just before uncle died, Towzer howled so for several nights together, that they could not quiet him; and my aunt heard the death-watch tick as plainly as if there had been a clock in the room; the maid, too, who sate up with him, heard a bell toll at the top of the stairs, the very moment the breath went out of his body. During this discourse, I overheard one of my cousins whispering the other, that she was afraid their mamma would not live long, for she smelt an ugly smell, like a dead carcass. They had a dairy- maid who died the very week after a hearse had stopped at the door, on its way to church; and the eldest miss, when she was but thirteen, saw her own brother's ghost (who was gone to the West Indies) walking in the garden; and to be sure, nine months after, they had an account that he died on board the ship, the very same day, and hour of the day, that miss saw the apparition. I need not mention to you the common inci- dents, which were accounted by them no less prophetic. If a cinder popped from the fire, they were in haste to examine whether it was a purse or a coffin. They were aware of my coming long before I arrived, because they had seen a stranger on the grate. The youngest miss will let nobody use a poker but herself, because when she stirs the fire, it always burns bright, which is a sign she will have a brisk husband; and she is no less sure of a good one, because she generally has ill luck at cards. Nor is the candle less ora- cular than the fire: for the squire of the parish came one night to pay them a visit, when the tallow winding-sheet pointed towards him; and he broke his neck soon after in a fox-chace. My aunt one night observed with great pleasure a SELECT PIECES OF PROSE. 95 letter in the candle ; and the very next day one came from her son in London. We also knew when a spirit was in the room, by the candle burning blue. We had no occasion for an almanac 3 or the weather-dass, to let us know whether it would rain or shine. One evening I proposed to ride out with my cousins next day to see a gentleman's house in the neighbourhood; but my aunt assured us it would be wet. she knew very welh from the shooting of her corns. Besides, there was a great spicier crawling up the chimney, and the blackbird in the kitchen began to sing, which were both of them as certain forerunners of rain. But the most to be depended on, in these cases, is a tabbv cat. which usually lies basking on the parlour hearth. If the cat turned her tail to the fire, we were to have a hard frost: if the cat licked her tail, rain would certainly ensue. Thev wondered what stranger thev should see, because puss washed her face over her left ear. The old ladv complained of a cold, and her eldest daughter remarked it would go through the family, for she observed, that poor tab had sneezed several times. Poor tab, however, once flew at one of my cousins, for which she had like to have been destroyed, as the whole family began to think she was no other than a witch. It is impossible to tell yon the several tokens by which thev know whether good or ill luck will happen to them. Spilling the salt, or laving knives across, are every where accounted ill omens; but a pin with the head turned towards vou. or to be followed by a strange dog. I found were very lucky. I heard one of my cousins tell the cook-maid, that she boiled away all her. sweet- 66 SELECT PIECES OF PROSE. hearts, because she had let her dish-water boil over. The same young- lady one morning came down to breakfast with her cap the wrong side out, which her mother observing, charged her not to alter it all day, for fear she should turn luck. But above all, I could not help remarking the various prognostics which the old lady and her daughters used to collect from almost every part of the body. A white speck upon the nails made them as sure of a gift as if they had it already in their pockets. The eldest sister is to have one husband more than the youngest,, because she has one wrinkle more in her forehead; but the other will have the advantage of her in the number of children, as was plainly proved by snapping their finger-joints. It would take up too much room to set down every circumstance which I observed of this sort during my stay with them: I shall therefore conclude my letter with the several remarks on other parts of the body, as far as I could learn them from this prophetic family; for as I was a relation, you know, they had less reserve. If the head itches, it is a sign of rain. If the head aches, it is a profitable pain. If you have the tooth-ache, you don't love true. If your eye- brow itches, you will see a stranger. If your right eye itches , you will cry ; if your left, you will laugh: but left or right is good at night. If your nose itches , you will shake hands with , or kiss a fool , drink a glass of wine, run against a neighbour's door, or miss them all four. If your right ear or cheek burns, your left friends are talking of you; if your left, your right friends are talking of you. SELECT PIECES OF PROSE. 97 If your right hand itches, you will pay away money ; if your left, you will receive. If your hack itches, butter will be cheap. If your side itches, some body is wishing for you. If your foot itches, you will tread upon strange ground. Lastly, if you shiver, somebody is walking over your grave. Connoisseur. TRUE HONOUR, The proper honour of man arises not from splen- did actions and abilities which excite high admi- ration. Courage and prowess, military renown, signal victories and conquests ^ may render the name of a man famous, without rendering his cha- racter truly honourable. To many brave men, to many heroes renowned in story, we look up with wonder. Their exploits are recorded. Their praises are sung. They stand as on an eminence above the rest of mankind. Their eminence, neverthe- less, may not be of that sort before which we bow with inward esteem and respect. Something more is wanted for that purpose than the con- quering arm, and the intrepid mind, The laurels of the warrior must at all times be dyed in blood, and bedewed with the tears of the widow and the orphan. But if they have been stained by rapine and inhumanity^ if sordid avarice has marked his character, or low and gross sensuality has de- graded his life, the great hero sinks into a little 13 98 SELECT PIECES OF PROSE. man. What at a distance, or on a superficial view, we admire, becomes mean, perhaps odious, when we examine it more closely. It is like the colos- sal statue, whose immense size struck the specta- tor afar off with astonishment ; but when nearly viewed, appears disproportioned , unshapely, and rude. Observations of the same kind may be applied to all the reputations derived from civil accom- plishments; from the refined politics of the states- man, or the literary efforts of genius and erudition. They bestow , and with certain bounds ought to bestow, eminence and distinction on men. They discover talents which in themselves are shining; and which become highly valuable , when em- ployed in advancing the good of mankind. Hence they frequently give rise to fame. But a distinc- tion is to be made between fame and true honour. The former is a loud and noisy applause; the latter a more silent and internal homage. Fame floats on the breath of the multitude; honour rests on the judgment of the thinking. Fame may give praise, while it withholds esteem: true honour im- plies esteem mingled with respect. The one re- gards particular , distinguished talents ; the other looks up to the whole character. Hence the states- man, the orator, or the poet, may be famous, while yet the man himself is far from being ho- noured. We envy his abilities, we wish to rival them; but we would not choose to be classed with him who possesses them. From all this it follows, that, in order to dis- cern where man's true honour lies, we must look, not to any simple adventitious circumstance of for- tune , not to any sparkling quality , but to the SELECT PIECES OF PROSE. 99 whole of what forms a man ; what entitles him, as such, to rank high among the class of beings to which he belongs; in a word, we must look to the mind and the soul. A mind superior to fear, to selfish interest and corruption, a mind governed by the principles of uniform rectitude and integrity, the same in prosperity and adver- sity, which no bribe can seduce , no terror over- awe: neither by pleasure melted into effeminacy , nor by distress sunk into dejection: such is the mind which forms the distinction and eminence of men. — One, who in no situation of life is either ashamed or afraid of discharging his duty, and acting his proper part with firmness and constan- cy: true to the God he worships, and true to the faith in which he professes to believe; full of affec- tion to his brethren of mankind, faithful to his friends, generous to his enemies, warm with com- passion to the unfortunate, self-denying to little private interests and pleasures^ but zealous for pub- lic interest and happiness; magnanimous, without being proud; humble, without being mean; just, without being harsh; simple in his manners, but manly in his feelings ; on whose word you can entirely rely ; whose countenance never deceives you, whose professions of kindness are effusions of his heart; one, in fine, whom, independent of any views of advantage , you would choose for a superior, could trust in as a friend, and could love as a brother : — this is the man , whom in your heart, above all others, you do, you must honour. Blair. 100 SELECT PIECES OF PROSE. THE JUDGMENTS OF RHADAMANTHUS. I was yesterday comparing the industry of man with that of other creatures, in which I could not hut observe that, notwithstanding we are obliged by duty to keep ourselves in constant employ, after the same manner as inferior animals are prompted to it by instinct, we fall very short of them in this particular. We are here the more inexcusable , because there is a greater variety of business to which we may apply ourselves. Rea- son opens to us a large field of affairs, which other creatures are not capable of. Beasts of prey, and, 1 believe 7 all other kinds , in their natural state of being, divide their time between action and rest; they are always at work or asleep; in short, their waking hours are entirely taken up in seek- ing after their food, or in consuming it. The human species only , to the great reproach of our nature y are filled with complaints , that the day hangs heavy on them; that they are at a loss how to pass away their time, with many of the like shameful murmurs, which we often find in the mouth of those who are styled reasonable beings. How monstrous are such expressions among crea- tures who have the labours of the mind, as well as those of the body^ to furnish them with pro- per employments ; who , besides the business of their callings and professions , can apply themselves to the duties of religion , to meditation, to the reading of useful books, to discourse; in a word , who may exercise themselves in the un- bounded pursuits of knowledge and virtue, and every hour of their lives make themselves wiser or better than they were before. After having been taken up some time in this, SELECT PIECES OF PROSE. 101 course of thought, I diverted myself with a book 7 according to my usual custom, in order to unbend my mind, before I went to sleep. The book I made use of, on this occasion, was Lucian, where I amused my thoughts for about an hour, among the Dialogues of the Dead, which, in all proba- bility _, produced the following dream: I was conveyed, methought, into flie infernal regions, where I saw Rhadamanthus , one of the judges of the dead, seated on his tribunal. On his left hand stood the keeper of Erebus, and on his right the keeper of Elysium. I was told he sate upon women that day, there being several of the sex lately arrived, who had not as yet their man- sions assigned them. I was surprised to hear him ask every one of them the same question, namely, what they had been doing? Upon this question being proposed to the assembly , they stared one upon another, as not knowing what to answer: he then interrogated each of them separately. « Madam,» says he to the first of them, «you have been upon the earth about fifty years; what have you been doing there all that while ?» — « Doing, » says she, « really I don't know what I have been doing*, I desire I may have time given me to re- collect.)) After about' half an hour's pause, she told him , that she had been playing at crimp : upon which Rhadamanthus beckoned to the keep- er upon his left hand to take her into custody. «And you, madam, » says the judge, «who look with such a soft and languishing air; I think you set out for this place in your nine and twentieth year; what have you been doing all this while ?» — « I had a great deal of business on my hands, » says she, « being taken up the first twelve years of my life in dressing a jointed baby, and all the 102 SELECT PIECES OF PROSE remaining part of it in reading plays and roman- ces. » «Very well,» says he, « you have employed your time ' to good purpose — away with her. » The next was a plain countrywoman: «Well, mis- tress,)) says Rhadamanthus , «and what have you heen doing ?» — «An't please your worship,)) says she, «I did not live quite forty years, and, in that time, brought my husband seven daughters, made him nine thousand cheeses, and left my eldest girl with him, to look after his house in my ab- sence; and who, I may venture to say, is as pretty a housewife as any in the country. » Rhadaman- thus smiled at the simplicity of the good woman, and ordered the keeper of Elysium to take her into his care. «iYnd you_, fair lady,» says he, «what have you been doing these five and thirty years?» — «I have been doing no hurt, I assure you^ sir,» says she. — «That is well,» says he, «but what good have you been doing ?» The lady was in great confusion at this question, and. not knowing what to answer, the two keepers leaped out to seize her at the same time; the one took her by the hand to convey her to Elysium, the other caught hold of her to carry her to Erebus: but Rhadamanthus, observing an ingenious modesty in her countenance and behaviour, bid them let her loose, and set her aside for reexamination, when he should be more at leisure. An old wo- man, of a proud and sour look, presented herself next at the bar, and being "asked what she had been doing — «Truly,)> says she, «I lived three- score and ten years in a very wicked world; and was so angry at the behaviour of a parcel of young flirts , that I passed almost all my last years in condemning the follies of the times; I was every day blaming the silly conduct of people about me, SELECT PIECES OF PROSE. 103 in order to deter those I conversed with from falling into the like errors and miscarriages. » — «Very well,» says Rhadamanthus, «but did you keep the same watchful eye over your own ac- tions?)) — «Why, truly ? » says she, «I was so taken up with publishing the faults of others, that I had no time to consider my own.» — « Madam, » says Rhadamanthus, «be pleased to tile off to the left , and make room for the venerable matron who stands behind you. » "Old gentlewoman,)) says he «I think you are fourscore? You have heard the question, what have you been doing so long in the world?)) — « Ah, sir, » says she, «I have been doing what I should not have done; but I had made a firm resolution to have changed my life, if I had not been snatched off by an untimely end.» — ((Madam,» says he, «you will please to follow your leader; » — and spying another of the same age, interrogated her in the same form, to which the matron replied : « I have been the wife of a husband who was as dear to me in his old age as be was in his youth. I have been a mother, and very happy in my children, whom I endea- voured to bring up in every thing that is good; my eldest son is blessed by the poor and beloved by every one that knows him. I lived within my income, and left my family much more wealthy than I found it. » Rhadamanthus, who knew the value of the old lady , smiled upon her in such a manner, that the 'keeper of Elysium, who knew his office , reached out his hand to her. He no sooner touched her , but her wrinkles vanished, her eyes sparkled, her cheeks glowed with blush- es, and she appeared in full bloom and beauty. A young woman, observing that this officer, who conducted the happy to Elysium, was so great a 104 SELECT PIECES OF PROSE. beautifier, longed to be in bis hands; so that pres- sing through the crowd, she was the next who appeared at the bar and being asked what she had been doing the five and twenty years that she had passed in the world? «I have endeavoured,)) says she, «to make myself lovely, and to gain admirers; inventing white washes, mixing colours, cutting out patches, consulting my glass, suiting my complex- ion,)) — Rhadamanthus , without hearing her out, gave the sign to take her off. Upon the approach of the keeper of Erebus, her colour faded, her face puckered up with wrinkles, and her whole person was lost in deformity. 1 was then surprised with the distant sound of a whole troop of females, that came forward, laugh- ing , singing , and dancing : I was very desirous to know the reception they would meet with, and withal was very apprehensive that Rhadaman- thus would spoil their mirth; but at their nearer approach , the noise grew so very great , that it waked me. Addison. RESIGNATION. The darts of adverse fortune are always levelled at our heads. Some reach us, some graze against us and fly to wound our neighbours. Let us, therefore, impose an equal temper on our minds, and pay without murmuring the tribute which we owe to humanity. The winter brings cold, and we must freeze. The summer returns with heat, and we must melt. The inclemency of the air disorders our health, and we must be sick. Here we are exposed to wild beasts, and there to men more SELECT PIECES OF PROSE. 105 savage than the beast; and if we escape the incon- veniencies and dangers of the air and of the earth, there are perils by water and perils by fire. This established course of things it is not in our power to change; but it is in our power to assume such a greatness of mind as becomes wise and virtuous men; as may enable us to encounter the accidents of life with fortitude, and to conform ourselves to the order of Nature, who governs her great kingdom, the world, by continual mutations. Let us submit to its order; let us be persuaded that whatever does happen ought to happen, and never be so foolish as to expostulate with Nature. The best resolution is to suffer what we cannot alter, and to pursue without repining the road which Providence, who directs every thing, has marked out to us; for it is not enough to follow, and he is but a bad soldier who sighs and marches on with reluctancy. We must receive the orders with spirit and cheerfulness, and not endeavour to slink out of the post which is assigned to us in the beautiful disposition of things, whereof even our sufferings make a necessary part. Resignation to the will of God is true magnanimity: but the sure mark of a pusillanimous and base spirit is to struggle againstyto censure the order of Providence, and instead of mending our own conduct, to set up for correcting that of our Maker. Bolingbroke. THE VULTURES LESSONS. An old vulture was sitting on a naked promi- nence, with her young about her, whom she was 14 106 SELECT PIECES OF PROSE. instructing in the arts of a vulture's life, and preparing, by the last lecture, for their final dis- mission to the mountains and the skies. « My children, » said the old vulture, « you will the less want my instructions, because you have had my practice before your eyes; you have seen me snatch from the farm the household fowls; you have seen me seize the leveret in the bush, and the kid in the pasture; you know how to fix your talons, and how to balance your flight, when you are laden with your prey. But you remember the taste of more delicious food. I have often regaled you with the flesh of man.» «Tell us,» said the young vultures, « where man may be found, and how he may be known ; his flesh is surely the natural food of the vulture. Why have you never brought a man in your talons to the nest?» «He is too bulky, » said the mother: «when we find a man, we can only tear away his flesh, and leave his bones upon the ground.)) « Since man is so big, » said the young ones, «how do you kill him? You are afraid of the wolf, and of the bear; by what power are vultures superior to man ? Is man more defenceless than a sheep ? » « We have not the strength of man, » returned the mother, «and I am sometimes in doubt whether we have the subtility ; and the vultures would seldom feed upon his flesh, had not nature, that devoted him to our uses, infused into him a strange ferocity which I have never observed in any other being that feeds upon the earth. Two herds of men will often meet, and shake the earth with noise, and fill the air with fire. When you hear noise, and see fire, with flashes along the ground, hasten to the place with your swiftest wing, for men are surely destroying one another; you will SELECT PIECES OF PP.OSE. 107 then find the ground smoking with blood, and covered with carcasses, of which many are dis- membered and mangled, for the convenience of the vulture.» «But when men have killed their prey,» said the pupil, «why do they not eat it? When the wolf has killed a sheep, he suffers not the vulture to touch it, till he has satisfied himself. Is not man another kind of wolf?» «Man,» said the mother, «is the only beast that kills that which he does not devour; and this quality makes him so much a benefactor to our species.)* «If man kill our prey, and lay it in our way,» said the young one, «what need shall we have of labouring for ourselves?)) « Because man will sometimes,)) replied the mother, « remain for a long time quiet in his den. The old vultures will tell you when you are to watch his motions. When you see men in great numbers moving close together, like a flight of storks, you may conclude that they are hunting, and that you will soon revel in human blood. » «But still, » said the young one, r has no law to punish it, the honest dealer is SELECT PIECES OF PROSE. 131 always undone, and the knave gets the advantage. I remember, when I was once interceding with the king for a criminal who had wronged his master of a great sum of money, which he had received by order, and run away with; and hap- pening to tell his majesty, by way of extenuation, that it was only a breach of trust , the emperor thought it monstrous in me to offer as a defence the greatest aggravation of the crime ; and truly I had little to say in return, farther than the com- mon answer , that different nations had different customs: for I confess, I was heartily ashamed. Although we usually call reward and punish- ment the two hinges upon which all government turns , yet I could never observe this maxim to be put in practice by any nation _, except that of Lilliput. Whoever can there bring sufficient proof, that he has strictly observed the laws of his coun- try for seventy three moons, has a claim to cer- tain privileges, according to his quality or condi- tion of life, with a proportionable sum of money out of a fund appropriated for that use: he like- wise acquires the title of snilpall, or legal, which is added to his name , but does not descend to his posterity. And these people thought it a pro- digious defect of policy among us, when I told them that our laws were enforced only by penal- ties, without any mention of reward. It is upon this account that the image of Justice , in their courts of judicature, is formed with six eyes, two before j as many behind, and on each side one, to signify circumspection; with a bag of gold open in her right hand, and a sword sheathed in her left, to show she is more disposed to reward than ta punish. 132 SELECT PIECES OF PROSE. In choosing persons for all employments, they have more regard to good morals than to great abilities; for, since government is necessary to man- kind, they believe that the common size of hu- man understanding is fitted to some station or other; and that Providence never intended to make the management of public affairs a mystery to be comprehended only by a few persons of sublime genius,, of which there seldom are three born in an age: but they suppose truth, justice, tempe- rance , and the like , to be in every man 7 s power; the practice of which virtues, assisted by ex- perience and a good intention, would qualify any man for the service of his country, except where a course of study is required. But they thought the want of moral virtues was so far from being supplied by superior endowments of the mind, that employments could never be put into such dangerous hands as those of persons so qualified; and at least, that the mistakes committed by igno- rance in a virtuous disposition, would never be of such fatal consequence to the public weal, as the practice of a man, whose inclinations led him to be corrupt , and who had great abilities to manage, to multiply and defend his corruptions. In like manner, the disbelief of a Divine Pro- vidence renders a man incapable of holding any public station ; for, since kings avow themselves to be the deputies of Providence, the Lilliputians think nothing can be more absurd than for a prince to employ such men as disown the autho- rity under which he acts. In relating these, and the following laws, I would only be understood to mean the original institutions, and not the most scandalous corrup- SELECT PIECES OF PROSE. 133 tfons , into which these people are fallen by the degenerate nature of man. For, as to that infa- mous practice of acquiring great employments by dancing on the ropes, or badges of favour and distinction by leaping over sticks and creeping un- der them, the reader is to observe, that they were first introduced by the grandfather of the emperor now reigning, and grew to the present height by the gradual increase of party and faction. Ingratitude is among them a capital crime, as we read it to have been in some other coun- tries: for they reason thus; that whoever makes ill returns to his benefactor, must needs be a com- mon enemy to the rest of mankind , from whom he has received no obligation, and therefore such a man is not fit to live. The nurseries for males of noble or eminent birth, are provided with grave and learned pro- fessors, and their several deputies. The clothes and food of the children are plain and simple. They are bred up in the principles of honour, justice, courage, modesty, clemency, reli- gion, and love of their country; they are always em- ployed in some business, except in the times of eating and sleeping, which are very short, and two hours for diversions, consisting of bodily exercises. They are dressed by men till four years of age, and then are obliged to dress themselves, although their quality be ever so great; and the women attendants, who are aged proportionably to ours at fifty, perform only the most menial offices. They are never suffered to converse with servants r but go together in smaller or greater numbers to take their diversions, and always in the pre- 134 SELECT PIECES OF PROSE. sence of a professor, or of his deputies; whereby they avoid those early and bad impressions of folly and vice, to which our children are subject. Their parents are suffered to see them only twice a year; the visit is to last but an hour; they are allowed to kiss the child at meeting and parting; but a professor , who always stands by, on those occasions, will not suffer them to whisper, or use any fondling expressions, or bring any presents of toys, sweetmeats, and the like. The pension from each family for the educa- tion and entertainment of a child, upon failure of due payment, is levied by the emperor's officers. The nurseries for children of ordinary gentle- men, merchants, traders, and handicrafts, are ma- naged proportionably after the same manner; only those designed for trades are put out apprentices at eleven years old : whereas those of persons of quality continue in their exercises till fifteen, which answers to twenty one with us, but the confinement is gradually lessened for the last three years. In the female nurseries, the young girls of qua- lity are educated much like the males, only they are dressed by orderly servants of their own sex; but always in the presence of a professor or de- puty, till they come to dress themselves, which is at five years old. And if it be found that these nurses ever presume to entertain the girls with frightful or foolish stories, or the common fol- lies practised by chambermaids among us , they are publicly whipped thrice about the city, im- prisoned for a year, and banished for life to the most desolate part of the country. Thus the young ladies there are as much ashamed of being cow- SELECT PIECES OF PROSE. 135 ards and fools, as the men, and despise all per- sonal ornaments, beyond decency and cleanliness: neither did I perceive any difference in their edu- cation made by their difference of sex, only that the exercises of the females were not altogether so robust; and that some rules were given them relating to domestic life, and a smaller compass of learning was enjoined them: for their maxim is, that among people of quality , a wife should be always a reasonable and agreeable companion, hecause she cannot always be young. When the girls are twelve years old, which among them is the marrigeable age, their parents or guardians take them home, with great expressions of grati- tude to the professors, and seldom without tears of the young lady and her companions. In the nurseries of females of the meaner sort, the children are instructed in all kinds of works proper for their sex, and their several degrees: those intended for apprentices are dismissed at seven years old, the rest are kept to eleven. The meaner families who have children at these nurseries, are obliged, besides their annual pen- sion, which is as low as possible, to return to the steward of the nursery a small monthly share of their gettings, to be a portion for the child; and therefore all parents are limited in their expences by the law. As to persons of quality, they give security to appropriate a certain sum for each child; suitable to their condition; and these funds are always managed with good husbandry, and the most exact justice. The cottagers and labourers keep their children at home, their business being only to till and cul- tivate the earth, and therefore their education 136 SELECT PIECES OF PROSE. is of little consequence to the public: but the old and diseased among them are supported by hospitals; for begging, as a trade, is unknown in this empire. J. Swift. ENDEAVOUR TO PLEASE, AND YOU CAN SCARCELY FAIL OF SUCCESS. The means of pleasing vary according to time, place, and person ; but the general rule is the trite one. Endeavour to please, and you will infallibly please to a certain degree ; constantly show a desire to please, and you will engage people's self-love in your interest , a most powerful advocate. This, as in- deed almost every thing else, depends on attention. Be therefore attentive to the most trifling thing that passes where you are; have, as the vulgar phrase is, your eyes and your ears always about you. It is a very foolish, though a very com- mon saying, «I really did not mind it,» or, I "was thinking of quite another thing at that time." The proper answer to such ingenious excuses, and which admits of no reply, is, why did you not mind it? you was present when it was said or done. Oh ! but you may say, you was think- ing of quite another thing: if so, why was you not in quite another place proper for that impor- tant other thing, which you say you was think- ing of? But you will say, perhaps, that the company was so silly, that it did not deserve your attention; that, I am sure^ is the saying of a silly man; for a man of sense knows that there is no company so silly, that some use may not be made of it by attention. SELECT PIECES OF PROSE. 137 Let your address, when you first come into com- pany, be modest, but without the least bashful- ness or sheepishness, steady without impudence , and unembarrassed j as if you were in your own room. This is a difficult point to hit, and there- fore deserves great attention ; nothing but a long usage in the world, and in the best company, can possibly give it. A young man without knowledge of the world, when he first goes into a fashionable company, where most are his superiors, is commonly either annihilated by bashfulness, or, if he rouses and lashes himself up to what he only thinks a modest assurance^ he runs into impudence and absurdity, and consequently offends instead of pleasing. Have always, as much as you can, that gentleness of manners, which never fails to make favourable impressions, provided it be equally free from an insipid smile, or a pert smirk. Carefully avoid an argumentative and disputative turn, which too many people have, and some even value themselves upon, in company; and when your opinion differs from others, maintain it only with modesty, calmness, and gentleness ; but never be eager, loud, or clalmorous; and when you find your antagonist beginning to grow warm, put an end to the dispute by some genteel stroke of hu- mour. Eor, take it for granted,, if the two best friends in the world dispute with eagerness upon the most trifling subject imaginable, they will, for the time, find a mbmentary alienation from each other. Disputes upon any subject are a sort of trial of the understanding, and must end in the mortifi- cation of one or other of the disputants. On the other hand, I am far from meaning that you should 18 138 SELECT PIECES OF PROSE. give a universal assent to all that you hear said in company; such an assent would be mean, and in some cases criminal; but blame with indul- gence, and correct with gentleness. Always look people in the face when you speak to them ; the not doing it is thought to imply conscious guilt; besides that, you lose the advan- tage of observing by their countenances, what impression your discourse makes upon them. In order to know people's real sentiments, I trust much more to my eyes than to my ears, for they can say whatever they have a mind I should hear; but they can seldom help looking what they have no intention that I should know. If you have not command enough over your- self to conquer your humours, as I am sure every rational creature may have, never go into company whilst the fit of ill-humour is upon you. Instead of company's diverting you in those moments, you will displease, and probably shock them ; and you will part worse friends than you met; but whenever you find in yourself a disposition to sullenness, contradiction, or testiness, it will be in vain to seek for a cure abroad. Stay at home ; let your humour ferment and work itself off. Cheerfulness and good humour are of all qualifi- cations the most amiable in company ; for ,, though they do not necessarily imply good nature and good breeding, they represent them, at least, very well, and that is all that is required in mixed company. I have, indeed, known some very ill-natured people, who were good-humoured in company ; but I never knew any one generally ill-humoured in company who was not essentially ill-natured. When there is no malevolence in the heart SELECT PIECES OF PROSE, 139 there is a cheerfulness and ease in the countenance and manners. By good humour and cheerfulness, I am far from meaning noisy mirth and loud peals of laughter, which are the distinguishing cha- racteristics of the vulgar and of the ill-bred, whose mirth is a kind of storm: observe it, the vulgar often laugh, but never smile ; whereas, well-bred people often smile, but seldom laugh. A witty thing never excites laughter; it pleases only the mind, and never distorts the countenance : a gla- ring absurdity, a blunder, a silly accident, and those things that are generally called comical, may excite a laugh, though never a loud nor a long one, among well-bred people. Sudden passion is called short-lived madness ; it is a madness indeed ; but the fits of it return so often in choleric people^ that it may be called a continual madness. Should you happen to be of this unfortunate disposition, make it your con- stant study to subdue, or at least to check it. When you find your choler rising, resolve neither to speak to, nor answer the person who excites it; but stay till you find it subsiding; and then speak deliberately. Endeavour to be cool and steady upon all occasions ; the advantages of such a stea- dy calmness are innumerable, and would be too tedious to relate. It may be acquired by care and reflection; if it could not, that reason which distinguishes men from brutes, would be given us to very little purpose ; as a proof of this, I never saw, and scarcely ever heard of, a quaker in a passion. In truth, there is in that sect a deco- rum and decency, and an amiable simplicity, that I know in no other. Lord Chesterfield. 140 SELECT PIECES OF PROSE. SPECULATION IN AMERICA. Buffalo is one of the wonders of America. It is hardly to be credited that such a beautiful city could have risen up in the wilderness in so short a period. In the year 1814 it was burned down, being then only a village; only one house was left standing, and now it is a city with twenty five thousand inhabitants. The Americans are very judicious in planning their new towns; the streets are laid out so wide that there will never be oc- casion to pull down and improve, as we do in England. The city of Buffalo is remarkably well built; all the houses in the principal streets are lofty and substantial, and are either of brick or granite. The main street is wider, and the sto- ries handsomer, than the majority of those in New- York. It has five or six very fine churches , a handsome theatre, town-hall,, and market, and three or four hotels, one of which is superior to most others in America, and to these we must add a fine stone pier, with a lighthouse, and a harbour full of shipping and magnificent steam- boats. It is almost incomprehensible^ that all this should have been accomplished since 1814. And what has occasioned this springing up of a city in so short a time as to remind you of Aladdin's magic palace? The Erie Canal, which here joins the Hudson river with the Lake, passing through the centre of the most populous and fertile states. I must now revert to the singular causes by which, independently of others, such as locality, etc. Buffalo was so rapidly brought to a state of per- fection — not like many other towns which, com- mencing with wooden houses, gradually supersede SELECT PIECES OF PROSE. 141 them by brick and stone. The person who was the cause of this unusual rise was a M r Rathbun, who now lies incarcerated in a jail of his own building. It was he who built all the hotels, church- es, and other public edifices; in fact, every structure worthy of observation in the whole town was projected, contracted for, and executed by M r Rathbun. His history is singular. Of quiet, unassuming manners, Quaker in his dress, mode- rate in all his expences (except in charity, where- in, assisted by an amiable wife, he was very li- beral) , he concealed under this apparent simpli- city and goodness, a mind capable of the vastest conceptions, united with the greatest powers of execution. He undertook contracts, and embarked in building speculations, to an amount almost in- credible. Rathbun undertook every thing, and every thing undertaken by Rathbun was well done. Not only at Buffalo^ but at Niagara and other pla- ces, he was engaged in vast building, when the great crash occurred; and Rathbun, with others, was unable to meet his liabilities. Then , for the first time, it was discovered that, for more than five years, he had been conniving at a system of forgery, to the amount of two millions of dollars. The forgery consisted in putting to his bills the names of responsible parties as endorsers, that they might be more current. It does not appear that he ever intended to defraud, for he took up all his notes as fast as they became due; and it was this extreme regularity on his part which prevent- ed the discovery of his fraud , for so unusually long a period. It is surmised, that had not the general failure taken place, he would have event- ually withdrawn all these forged bills from the \4SL SELECT PIECES OF PROSE. market, and have paid all his creditors_, reserving for himself a handsome fortune. It is a singular event in the annals of forgery, that this should have been carried on undiscovered for so unpre- cedented a time. M r Rathbun is to be tried as an accessary, as it was his brother who forged the names. As soon as it was discovered, the latter made his escape, and he is said to have died mis- erably in a hovel on the confines of Texas. Marry at. OMAR. Omar, the son of Hassan, had passed seventy- five years in honour and prosperity. The favour of three successive califs had filled his house with gold and silver, and whenever he appeared, the benedictions of the people proclaimed his pas- sage. Terrestrial happiness is of short continuance. The brightness of the flame is wasting its fuel; the fragrant flower is passing away in its own odour. The vigour of Omar began to fail ; the curls of beauty fell from his head; strength de- parted from his hands, and agility from his feet. He gave back to the calif the keys of trust, and the seals of secrecy, and sought no other pleasure for the remains of life, than the converse of the wise, and the gratitude of the good. The powers of his mind were yet unimpaired. His chamber was filled by visitants, eager to catch the dictates of experience, and oilicious to pay the tribute of admiration. Caled the son of the vice- roy of Egypt, entered every day early, and reti- SELECT PIECES OF PROSE. 143 red late. He was beautiful and eloquent. Omar admired his wit, and loved his docility. «Tell me,» said Caled, «thou to whose voice nations have listened, and whose wisdom is known to the extremities of Asia, tell me how I may resemble Omar the prudent. The arts by which you have gained power, and preserved it, are to vou no longer necessary or useful : impart to me the secret of your conduct, and teach me the plan upon which your wisdom has built your for- tune. » « Young man,» said Omar, «it is of little use to form plans of life. When I took my first survey of the world, in my twentieth year, having con- sidered the various conditions of mankind, in the hour of solitude, I said thus to myself, leaning against a cedar which spread its branches over my head: Seventy years are allowed to man; I have yet fifty remaining : ten years I will allot to the attainment of knowledge, and ten I will pass in foreign countries. I shall be learned, and there- fore shall be honoured ; every city will shout at my arrival, and every student will solicit my friend- ship. Twenty years thus passed will store my mind with images , which I shall be busy through the rest of my life in combining and comparing. I shall revel in inexhaustible accu- mulations of intellectual riches; I shall find new pleasures for every moment, and shall never more be weary of myself. I will, however, not deviate too far from the beaten track of life, but will try what can be found in female delicacy. I will marry a wife beautiful as the Houries, and wise as Zobeide; with her I will live twenty years in the suburbs of Bagdad , in every pleasure that 144 SELECT PIECES OF PROSE. wealth can purchase, and fancy can invent. I will then retire to a rural dwelling, pass my days in obscurity and contemplation , and lie silently down on the bed of death. Through my life it shall be my settled resolution, that I will never depend upon the smile of princes; that I will never stand exposed to the artifices of courts ; I will never pant for public honours, nor disturb my quiet with affairs of state. Such was my scheme of life, which I impressed indelibly on my memory. The first part of my ensuing time was to be spent in search of knowledge; and I know not how I was diverted from my design. I had no visible impediments without, nor any ungovernable passions within. I regarded knowledge as the highest honour, and most engaging pleasure; yet day stole upon day, and month glided after month, till I found that seven years of the first ten had vanished, and left nothing behind them. I now postponed my purpose of travelling; for why should I go abroad while so much remained to be learn- ed at home? I immured myself for four years, and studied the laws of the empire. The fame of my skill reached the judges; I was found able to speak upon doubtful questions, and was com- manded to stand at the footstool of the calif. I was heard with attention; I was consulted with confidence, and the love of praise fastened on my heart. I still wished to see distant countries, listened with rapture to the relations of travellers, and resolved, sometimes, to ask my dismission, that I might feast my eyes with novelty ; but my pre- sence was always necessary , and the stream of SELECT PIECES OF PROSE* 145 business hurried me along. Sometimes I was afraid lest I should be charged with ingratitude; but, I still proposed to travel, and therefore would not confine myself by marriage. In my fiftieth year, I began to suspect that the time of travelling was past, and thought it best to lay hold of the felicity yet in my power, and indulge myself in domestic pleasures. But at fifty no man easily finds a woman beautiful as the Houries, and wise as Zobeide. I enquired and re- jected , consulted and deliberated , till the sixty- second year made me ashamed of gazing upon girls. I had now nothing left but retirement, and for retirement I never found a time,, till disease forced me from public employment. Such was my scheme, and such has been its con- sequence. With an insatiable thirst for knowledge, I trifled away the years of improvement; with a restless desire of seeing different countries, I have always resided in the same city; with the highest expectation of connubial felicity, I have lived un- married; and with unalterable resolutions of con- templative retirement, I am going to die within the walls of Bagdad. . Dr. Johnson. STUDY. Studies serve for delight, for ornament, and for ability. The chief use for delight is in private- ness and retirement; for ornament, is in discourse; and for ability, is in the judgment and dis- position of business. For expert men can execute, and, perhaps, judge of particulars, one by one; but the general counsels, and the plots, and mar- 19 146 SELECT PIECES OF PROSE. shalling of affairs, come best from those that are learned. To spend too much time in studies is sloth; to use them too much for ornament is af- fectation; to make judgment wholly by their rules is the humour of a scholar. They perfect nature, and are perfected by experience; for natural abi- lities are like natural plants , that need pruning by duty, and studies themselves do give forth di- rections too much at large, except they be boun- ded in by experience. Crafty men contemn stu- dies; simple men admire them ; and wise men use them: for they teach not their own use; but that is a wisdom without them, and above them., won by observation. Read not to contradict and refute, nor to believe and take for granted , nor to find talk and discourse, but to weigh and consider. Some books are to be tasted ; others to be swal- lowed, and some few to be chewed and digested, that is, some books are to be read only in parts, others to be read, but not curiously and some few to be read wholly, and with diligence and atten- tion. Some books also may be read by deputy, and extracts made of them by others; but that should be only in the less important arguments, and the meaner sort of books; else distilled books are like common distilled waters, flashy things. Reading maketh a full man, conference a ready man, and writing an exact man; and therefore, if a man write little, he need have a good memory; if he confer little , he need have a present wit, and if he read little, he need have much cunning to seem to know that which he doth not. Bacon. SELECT PIECES OF PROSE. 147 THE STORY OF A DISABLED SOLDIER. No observation is more common _, and at the same time more true , than that one half of the world are ignorant how the other half lives. The misfortunes of the great are held up to en- gage our attention; are enlarged upon in tones of declamation: and the world is called upon to gaze at the noble sufferers : the great, under the pres- sure of calamity , are conscious of several others sympathising in their distress, and have, at once, the comfort of admiration and pity. There is nothing magnanimous in bearing mis- fortunes with fortitude, when the whole world is looking on: men in such circumstances will act bravely, even from motives of vanity; but he who, in the vale of obscurity, can brave adversity, with- out friends to encourage, acquaintances Jto pity, or even without help to alleviate his misfortunes, can behave with tranquillity and indifference, is truly great; whether peasant or courtier, he de- serves admiration, and should be held up for our imitation and respect. While the slightest inconveniences of the great are magnified into calamities; while tragedy mouths out their sufferings in all the strains of eloquence, the miseries of the poor are entirely disregarded; and yet some of the lower ranks of people un- dergo more real hardships in one day, than those of a more exalted station suffer in their whole life. It is inconceivable what difficulties the meanest of our common soldiers and sailors endure, without murmuring or regret; without passionately de- claiming against Providence, or calling their fel- lows to be gazers on their intrepidity. Every day 148 SELECT PIECES OF PROSE. is to them a day of misery, and yet they entertain their hard fate without repining. With, what indignation do I hear an Ovid , a Cicero, or a Rabutin complain of their misfortunes and hardships, whose greatest calamity was that of being unable to visit a certain spot of earth, to which they had foolishly attached an idea of happiness ! Their distresses were pleasures, com- pared to what many of the adventuring poor every day endure without murmuring. They ate, drank, and slept; they had slaves to attend them, and were sure of subsistence for life; while many of their fellow-creatures are obliged to wander with- out a friend to comfort or assist them, and even without shelter from the severity of the season. _ I have been led into these reflections from acci- dentally meeting, some days ago. a poor fellow whom I knew when a boy, dressed in a sailor's jacket, and begging at one of the outlets of the town with a wooden leg. I knew him to have been honest and industrious when in the country, and was curious to learn what had reduced him to his present situation. Wherefore, after having given him what I thought proper, I desired to know the history of his life and misfortunes, and the manner in which he was reduced to his pre- sent distress. The disabled soldier, for such he was, though dressed in a sailor's habit, scratching his head, and leaning on his crutch, put himself in an attitude to comply with my request, and gave me his history as follows: — « As for my misfortunes, master, I can't pretend to have gone through any more than other folks; for, except the loss of my limb, and my being obliged to beg, I don't know any reason, thank Heaven , that I have to complain ; there is Bill SELECT PIECES OF PROSE. 149 Tibbs, of our regiment, he has lost both his legs, and an eye to the boot; but, thank Heaven, it is not so bad with me. <*I was born in Shropshire; my father was a labourer, and died when I was five years old; so I was put upon the parish. As he had been a wandering sort of a man, the parishioners were not able to tell to what parish I belonged, or where I was born, so they sent me to another parish, and that parish to a third* I thought in my heart, they kept sending me about so long, that they would not let me be born in any parish at all; but at last, however, they fixed me. I had some disposition to be a scholar, and was resolved, at least, to know my letters; but the master of the work-house put me to business as soon as I was able to handle a mallet; and here I lived an easy kind of life for five years. I only worked ten hours in the day, and had my meat and drink provided for my labour. It is true, I was not suffered to stir out of the house, for fear, as they said, I should run away; but what of that, I had the liberty of the whole house, and the yard be- fore the door, and that was enough for me. I was then bound out to a farmer, where I was up both early and late; but I' ate and drank well, and liked my business well enough, till he died, when I was obliged to provide for myself; so I was re- solved to go and seek my fortune. «In this manner I went from town to town, worked when I could get employment , and starv- ed when I could get none; when happening to go one day through a field belonging to a justice of peace, 1 spied a hare crossing the path just be- fore me; and I believe the devil put it in my head to fling my stick at it: — well, what will you have 150 SELECT PIECES OF PROSE. on't? I killed the hare, and was bringing it away, when the justice himself met me; he called me a poacher and a villain; and collaring me, desi- red I would give an account of myself. I fell upon my knees, begged his worship's pardon, and began to give a full account of all that 1 knew of myself; but though I gave a very true account, the justice said I could give no account; so I was indicted at sessions, found guilty of being poor, and sent up to London to Newgate, in order to be transported as a vagabond. «People may say this and that of being in jail, but, for my part, I found Newgate as agreeable a place as ever I was in, in all my life. I had my belly-full to eat and drink, and did no work at all. This kind of life was too good to last for ever; so I was taken out of prison, put on board a ship, and sent off, with two hundred more, to the plantations. We had but an indifferent pas- sage, for, being all confined in the hold, more than a hundred of our people died for want of sweet air; and those that remained were sickly enough, God knows. When we came ashore, we were sold to the planters, and I was bound for seven years more. As I was no scholar, for I did not know my letters, I was obliged to work among the negroes; and I served out my time, as in duty bound to do. « When my time was expired , I worked my passage home , and glad I was to see Old Eng- land again, because I loved my country. I was afraid, however, that I should be indicted for a vagabond once more, so I did not much care to go down into the country , but kept about the town, and did little jobs when I could get them. SELECT PIECES OF PROSE. 151 «I was very happy in this manner for some time, till one evening, coming home from work, two men knocked me down, and then desired me to stand. They belonged to a press-gang: I was carried before the justice, and as I could give no account of myself, I had my choice left, whether to go on board a man of war, or, list for a sol- dier. I chose the latter, and in this post of a gentleman , I served two campains in Flanders; was at the battles of Van and Fontenoy, and re- ceived but one wound through the breast here; but the doctor of our regiment soon made me well again. «When the peace came on, I was discharged, and as I could not work, because my wound was sometimes troublesome, I' listed for a landman in the East-India company's service. I have fought the French in six pitched battles, and I verily be- lieve, that if I had been able to read or write, our captain would have made me a corporal. But it was not my good fortune to have any promotion, for I soon fell sick, and so got leave to return home again with forty pounds in my pocket. This was at the beginning of the present war, and I hoped to be set on shore, and to have the pleasure of spending my money; but the government wanted men, and so I was pressed for a sailor, before ever I could set foot on shore. « The boatswain found me , as he said , an ob- stinate fellow; he swore he knew that I under- stood my business well, but that I shammed A- braham to be idle; but, God knows, I knew no- thing of sea-business, and he beat me without con- sidering what he was about. I had still however, my forty pounds, and that was some comfort to 152 SELECT PIECES OF PROSE. me under every beating; and the money I might have had to this day, but that our ship was taken by the French, and so I lost my money. «Our crew was carried into Brest, and many of them died, because they were not used to live in a jail; but for my part, it was nothing to me, for I was seasoned. One night, as I was asleep on the bed of boards, with a warm blanket about me, for I always loved to lie well, I was awa- kened by the boatswain, who had a dark-lanthorn in his hand. «Jack,» says he to me, «will you knock out the French centry's brains ?» «I don't care,» says I, striving to keep myself awake, «if I lend a hand. » «Then follow me,» says he_, «and I hope we shall do business. » So up I got, and tied my blanket, which was all the clothes I had, aixmt my middle , and went with him to fight the Frenchman. I hate the French, because they are all slaves, and wear wooden shoes. « Though we had no arms, one Englishman is able to beat five Frenchmen at any time; so we went down to the door, where both the centries were posted, and, rushing upon them, seized their arms in a moment, and knocked them down. From thence nine of us ran together to the quay, and seizing the first boat we met, got out of the harbour, and put to sea. We had not been here three days, before we were taken up by the Dor- set privateer, who were glad of So many good hands, and we consented to run our chance. How- ever, we had not as much luck as we expected. In three days we fell in with the Pompadour pri- vateer, of forty guns, while we had but twenty three; so to it we went, yard-arm and yard-arm. The fight lasted for three hours, and I veriiy be- SELECT PIECES OF PROSE. 153 lieve we should have taken the Frenchman, had we but had some more men left behind; but un- fortunately, we lost all our men, just as we were going to get the victory. «I was once more in the power of the French, and I believe it would have gone hard with me, had I been brought back to Brest; but by good fortune, we were retaken by the Viper. I had almost forgotten to tell you that, in that engage- ment, I was wounded in two places: I lost four fingers of the left hand, and my leg was shot off. If I had had the good fortune to have lost my leg on board a king's ship, and not on board a pri- vateer, I should have been entitled to clothing and maintenance during the rest of my life : but that was not my chance: one man is born with a sil- ver spoon in his mouth, and another with a wood- en ladle. However, blessed be God, I enjoy good health, and will for ever love liberty and Old Eng- land. Liberty , property , and Old England for ever , huzza ! » Thus saying, he limped off, leaving me in ad- miration at his intrepidity and content; nor could I avoid acknowledging that an habitual acquain- tance with misery serves better than philosophy to teach us to despise it. Goldsmith. EFFECTS OF SYMPATHY IN THE DISTRESSES OF OTHERS. To examine this point, concerning the effect of tragedy, in a proper manner, we must previously consider, how we are affected by the feelings of 20 154 SELECT PIECES OF PROSE. our fellow-creatures in circumstances of real dis- tress. I am convinced we have a degree of de- light, and that no small one, in the real misfor- tunes and pains of others; for, let the affection he what it will in appearance, if it does not make us shun such objects — if; on the contrary, it in- duces us to approach them — if it makes us dwell upon them, in this case I conceive we must have a delight or pleasure , of some species or other, in contemplating objects of this kind. Do we not read the authentic histories of scenes of this na- ture with as much pleasure as romances or poems, where the incidents are fictitious? The prosperity of no empire, nor the grandeur of no king, can so agreeably affect in the reading, as the ruin of the state of Macedon, and the distresses of its un- happy prince. Such a catastrophe touches us in history, as much as the destruction of Troy does in fable. Our delight in cases of this kind is very greatly heightened, if the sufferer be some ex- cellent person who sinks under an unworthy for- tune. Scipio and Cato are both virtuous charac- ters; but we are more deeply affected by the vio- lent death of the one, and the ruin of the great cause he adhered to, than with the deserved tri- umphs and uninterrupted prosperity of the other; for terror is a passion which always produces de- light when it does not press too close; and pity is a passion accompanied with pleasure, because it arises from love and social affection. Whenever we are formed by nature to any active purpose, the passion which animates us to it is attended with delight, or a pleasure of some kind, let the subject matter be what it will; and as our Crea- tor has designed we should be united together by SELECT PIECES OF PROSE. 155 so strong a bond as that of sympathy, he has there- fore twisted along with it a proportionable quan- tity of this ingredient; and always in the greatest proportion where our sympathy is most wanted, in the distresses of others, If this passion was simply painful^ we should shun, with the greatest care, all persons and places that could excite such a passion, as some, who are so far gone in indo- lence as not to endure any strong impression, actually do. But the case is widely different with the greater part of mankind: there is no spectacle we so eagerly pursue, as that of some uncommon and grievous calamity : so that whether the mis- fortune is before our eyes , or whether they are turned back to it in history, it always touches with delight; but it is not an unmixed delight, but blended with no small uneasiness. The de- light we have in such things, hinders us from shunning scenes of misery; and the pain we feel, prompts us to relieve ourselves in relieving those who suffer; and all this antecedent to any reason- ing, by an instinct that works us to its own purposes without our concurrence. Burke, on the Sublime, MANNER OF MAKING WAR AMONGST THE AMERICAN SAVAGES, AND TREATMENT OF THEIR PRISONERS. The maxims by which they regulate their mili- tary operations, though extremely different from those which take place among more civilized and populous nations^ are well suited to their own political state , and the nature of the country in 156 SELECT PIECES OF PROSE. which they act. They never take the field in numerous bodies, as it would require a greater effort of foresight and industry, than is usual amongst savages, to provide for their subsistence during a march of some hundred miles through dreary forests, or during a long voyage upon their lakes and rivers. Their armies are not encumber- ed with baggage or military stores. Each war- rior, besides his arms, carries a mat and a small bag of pounded maize, and with these is com- pletely equipped for any service. While at a distance from the enemies' frontier, they disperse through the woods, and support themselves with the game which they kill, or fish which they catch. As they approach nearer to the territories of the nation which they intend to attack, they collect their troops, and advance with greater caution. Even in their hottest and most active wars, they proceed wholly by stratagem and ambuscade. They place not their glory in attack- ing their enemies with open force. To surprise and destroy is the greatest merit of a commander, and the highest pride of his followers. War and hunting are their only occupations, and they con- duct both with the same spirit and the same arts. They follow the track of their enemies through the forest. They endeavour to discover their haunts," they lurk in some thicket near to these, and with the patience of a sportsman lying in wait for game, will continue in their station day after day, until they can rush upon their prey when most secure, and least able to resist them. If they meet no straggling party of the enemy, they advance towards their villages, but with such solicitude to conceal their approach, that they SELECT PIECES OF PROSE. 157 often creep on their hands and feet through the woods, and paint their skins of the same colour with the withered leaves, in order to avoid detec- tion. If so fortunate as to remain unobserved, they set on. fire the enemies' huts in the dead of the night, and massacre the inhabitants as they fly naked and defenceless from the flames. If they hope to effect a retreat without being pur- sued , they carry off some prisoners , whom they reserve for a more dreadful fate. But if, not- withstanding all their address and precautions, they find that their motions are discovered, that the enemy has taken the alarm, and is prepared to oppose them, they usually deem it most pru- dent to retire. They regard it as extreme folly to meet an enemy who is on his guard , upon equal terms, or to give battle in open field. The most distinguished success is a disgrace to a lea- der, if it has been purchased with any consider- able loss of his followers, and they never boast of a victory , if stained with the blood of their own countrymen. To fall in a battle, instead of being reckoned an honourable death, is a misfor- tune which subjects the memory of a warrior to the imputation of raslmess or imprudence. But though vigilance and attention are the qua- lities chiefly requisite where the object of war is to deceive and surprise , and though the Ameri- cans, when acting singly, display an amazing de- gree of address in concealing their own motions, aud discovering those of an enemy, yet it is re- markable that, when they take the field in par- ties, they can seldom be brought to observe the precautions most essential to their own security. Such is the difficulty of accustoming savages to 158 SELECT PIECES OF PROSE, subordination, or to act in concert ; such is their impatience under restraint, and such their caprice and presumption , that it is rarely they can be brought to conform themselves to the counsels and directions of their leaders. They never sta- tion sentinels around the place where they rest at night, and after marching some hundred miles to surprise an enemy _, are often surprised them- selves , and cut off, while sunk in as profound sleep as if they were not within reach of danger. If, notwithstanding this negligence and security, which often frustrate their most artful schemes, they catch the enemy unprepared, they rush upon them with the utmost ferocity, and tearing off the scalps of all those who fall victims to their rage, they carry home those strange trophies in triumph. These they preserve as monuments not only of their own prowess, but of the vengeance which their arm has inflicted upon the people who were objects of public resentment. They are still more solicitous to seize prisoners. During their retreat, if they hope to effect it unmolested, the prisoners are commonly exempt from any insult, and treated with some degree of humanity, though guarded with the most strict attention. But after this temporary suspension, the rage of the conquerors rekindles with new fury. As soon as they approach their own frontier, some of their numbers are despatched to inform their countrymen with respect to the success of the expedition. Then the prisoners begin to feel the wretchedness of their condition. The women of the village, together with the youth who have not attained to the age of bearing arms, assemble, and forming themselves into two lines, through SELECT PIECES OF PROSE. 159 which the prisoners must pass, beat and bruise them with sticks or stones in a cruel manner. Alter this first gratification of their rage against their enemies, follow lamentations for the loss of such of their own countrymen as have fallen in the service, accompanied with words and actions which seem to express the utmost anguish and grief. But, in a moment, upon a signal given, their tears cease ; they pass with a sudden and unaccountable transition from the depths of sor- row to the transports of joy ; and begin to cele- brate their victory with all the wild exultation of a barbarous triumph. The fate of the prisoners remains still undecided. The old men deliberate concerning it. Some are destined to be tortured to death, in order to satiate the revenge of the conquerors; some to replace the members which the community has lost in that or former wars. They who are reserved for this milder fate, are led to the huts of those whose friends have been killed. The women meet them at the door, and if they receive them, their sufferings are at an end. They are adopted into the family, and, ac- cording to their phrase, are seated upon the mat of the deceased. They assume his name , they hold the same rank, and are treated thencefor- ward with all the tenderness due to a father, a brother , a husband , or a friend. But if, either from caprice, or an unrelenting desire of revenge^ the women of any family refuse to accept of the prisoner who is offered to them, his doom is fixed. No power can then save them from torture and death. While their lot is in suspense, the prisoners themselves appear altogether unconcerned about 160 SELECT PIECES OF PROSE. what may befall them. They talk, they eat, they sleep, as if they were perfectly at ease, and no danger impending. When the fatal sentence is intimated to them, they receive it with an unal- tered countenance, raise their death-song, and prepare to suffer like men. The conquerors as- semble as to a solemn festival, resolved to put the fortitude of the captive to the utmost proof. A scene ensues , the bare description of which is enough to chill the heart with horror, wherever men have been accustomed by milder institutions to respect their species, and to melt into tender- ness at the sight of human sufferings. The pri- soners are tied naked to a stake, but so as to be at liberty to move round it. All who are present men, women, and children, rush upon them like furies. Every species of torture is applied that the rancour of revenge can invent. Some burn their limbs with red-hot irons, some mangle their bodies with knives, others tear their flesh from their bones, pluck out their nails by the roots, and rend and twist their sinews. They vie with one another in refinements of torture. Nothing sets bounds to their rage, but the dread of abridg- ing the duration of their vengeance by hastening the death of the sufferers; and such is their cruel ingenuity in tormenting, that, by avoiding indus- triously to hurt any vital part, they often pro- long this scene of anguish for several days. In spite of all that they suffer, the victims continue to chaunt their death-song with a firm voice; they boast of their own exploits, they insult their tor- mentors for their want of skill in avenging their friends and relations, they warn them of the ven- geance which awaits them, on account of what SELECT PIECES OF PROSE. 161 they are now doing, and excite their ferocity by the most provoking reproaches and threats. To display undaunted fortitude in such dreadful si- tuations , is the noblest triumph of a warrior. To avoid the trial by a voluntary death, or to shrink under it, is deemed infamous and cow- ardly. If any one betray symptoms of timidity, his tormentors often despatch him at once with contempt, as unworthy of being treated like a man. Animated with those ideas, they endure, without a groan, what it seems almost impossi- ble that human nature should sustain. They appear not only to be insensible of pain, but to court it. «Forbear,» said an aged chief of the Iroquois, when his insults had provoked one of his tormentors to wound , him with a knife, « for- bear these stabs of your knife, and rather let me die by fire, that those dogs, your allies, from beyond the sea, may learn by my example to suffer like men. » This magnanimity , of which there are frequent instances among the American warriors, instead of exciting admiration, or call- ing forth sympathy, exasperates the fierce spi- rits of their torturers to fresh acts of cruelty. Weary, at length, of contending with men whose constancy of mind they cannot vanquish, some chief, in a rage, puts a period to their sufferings, by despatching them with his dagger or club. Robertson. INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER TO TOM JONES. An author ought to consider himself, not as a gentleman who gives a private or eleemosynary 21 162 SELECT PIECES OF PROSE. treat, but rather as one who keeps a public or- dinary, at which all persons are welcome for their money. In the former case, it is well known that the entertainer provides what fare he pleases; and though this should be very indifferent, and utterly disagreeable to the taste of his company, they must not find any fault; nay, on the con- trary, good breeding forces them outwardly to approve and commend whatever is set before them. Now, the contrary of this happens to the master of an ordinary. Men who pay for what they eat, will insist on gratifying their palates, however nice and whimsical these may prove; and if every thing is not agreeable to their taste, will challenge a right to censure and abuse their dinner without controul. To prevent, therefore, giving offence to their customers by any such disappointment, it hath been usual with the honest and well meaning host, to provide a bill of fare, which all persons may peruse, at their first entrance into the house; and having thence acquainted themselves with the entertainment which they may expect, may either stay and regale themselves with what is provided for them, or may depart to some other ordinary better accommodated to their taste. As we do not disdain to borrow wit or wisdom from any man who is capable of lending us either*, we have condescended to take a hint from these honest victuallers, and shall prefix not only a general bill of fare to our whole entertainment, but shall likewise give the reader particular bills to every course which is to be served up in this and the ensuing volumes. The provision, then, which we have here made, is no other than Human Nature. Nor do I SELECT PIECES OF PROSE. 163 fear that my sensible reader, though most luxu- rious in his taste, will start, cavil, or be offen- ded, because I have named hut one article. The tortoise, as the alderman of Bristol, well learned in eating, knows by much experience, besides the delicious calipash and calipee, con- tains many different kinds of food ; nor can the learned reader be ignorant, that in human nature, though here collected under one general name, is such prodigious variety, that a cook will sooner have gone through all the several species of ani- mal and vegetable food in the world, than an author will be able to exhaust so extensive a subject. An objection may perhaps be apprehended from the more delicate, that this dish is too common and vulgar; for what else is the subject of all the romances, novels, plays, and poems, with which the stalls ahound? Many exquisite viands might be rejected by the epicure, if it was suffi- cient cause for his contemning them, as common and vulgar, that something was to be found in the most paltry alleys under the same name. In reality, true nature is as difficult to be met with in authors, as the Bayonne ham or Bologna sau- sage is to be found in the shops. But the whole, to continue the same metaphor, consists in the cookery of the author; for, as Mr. Pope tells us, — "True wit is nature to advantage dress'd, What oft was thought, but ne'er so well express'd." The same animal which hath the honour to have some of its flesh eaten at the tahle of a duke, may perhaps be degraded in some other part, and 164 SELECT PIECES OF PROSE. some of his limbs gibetted, as it were_, in the vilest stall in town. Where, then, lies the dif- ference between the food of the nobleman and the porter, if both are at dinner on the same ox or calf, but in the seasonning, the dressing, the garnishing, and the setting forth? Hence the one provokes and incites the most languid appetite, and the other turns and palls that which is the sharpest and keenest. In like manner, the excellence of the mental entertainment consists less in the subject, than in the author's skill in well dressing it up. How pleased, therefore,, will the reader be to find, that we have, in the following work, adhered closely to one of the highest principles of the best cook which the present age, or perhaps that of Helio- gabalus, hath produced. This great man, as is well known to all lovers of polite eating, begins at first by setting plain things before his hungry guests, rising afterwards by degrees, as their sto- machs may be supposed to decrease, to the very quintessence of sauces and spices. In like man- ner, we shall represent human nature at first to the keen appetite of our reader, in that more plain and simple manner in which it is found in the country, and shall hereafter hash and ragoo it with all the high French and Italian seasoning of affectation and vice, which courts and cities af- ford. By these means, we doubt not but our readers may "be rendered desirous to read on for ever, as the great person, just above mentioned, is supposed to have made some persons eat. Having premised thus much, we will now de- tain those who like our bill of fare, no longer from their diet, and shall proceed directly to serve SELECT PIECES OF PROSE. 160 up the first course of our history, for their en- tertainment. Fielding. THE ADVENTURE OF THE LITTLE ANTIQUARY. My friend, the doctor, was a thorough anti- quary ; a little rusty , musty , old fellow , always groping among ruins. He relished a building as Englishmen relish cheese; the more mouldy and crumbling it was, the more it suited his taste. A shell of an old nameless temple, or the cracked walls of an old broken-down amphitheatre, would throw him into raptures; and he took more de- light in these crusts and cheese-parings of antiqui- ty^ than in the^ best-conditioned modern palaces. He was a curious collector of coins also, and had just gained an accession of wealth that al- most turned his brain. He had picked up , for instance, several Roman Consulars, half a Roman As, two Punics, which had doubtless belonged to the soldiers of Hannibal, having been found on the very spot where they had encamped among the Appenines. He had,, moreover, one Samnite, struck after the Social War, and a Philistis, a queen that never existed; but above all, he va- lued himself upon a coin, indescribable to any but the initiated in these matters, bearing a cross on one side, and a Pegasus on the other, and which; by some antiquarian logic, the little man adduced as an historical document, illustrating the progress of antiquity. All these precious coins he carried about him 166 SELECT PIECES OF PROSE. in a leathern purse, buried deep in a pocket of his little black breeches. The last maggot he had taken into his head, was to hunt after the ancient cities of the Pelas- gi, which are said to exist to this day, among the mountains of the Abruggi; but about which a singular degree of obscurity prevails. He had made many discoveries concerning them, and had recorded a great many valuable notes and memo- randums on the subject, in a voluminous book, which he always carried about with him, either for the purpose of frequent reference, or through fear lest the precious document should fall into the hands of brother antiquaries. He had, there- fore, a large pocket in the skirt of his coat, where he bore about this inestimable tome, bang- ing against him as he walked. Thus heavily laden with the spoils of antiquity, the good little man, during a sojourn at Terracina, mounted one day the rocky cliffs which overhang the town, to visit the castle of Theodoric. He was groping about the ruins, towards the hour of sunset, buried in his reflections, his wits, no doubt, wool-gathering among the Goths and Romans, when he heard footsteps behind him. He turned, and beheld five or six young fellows, of rough, saucy demeanour, clad in a singular manner, half peasant, half huntsman, with car- bines in their hands. Their whole appearance and carriage left him no doubt into what company he had fallen. The doctor was a feeble little man, poor in look, and poorer in purse. He had but little gold or silver to be robbed of; but then he had his cu- rious ancient coin in his breeches-pocket. He SELECT PIECES OF PROSE. 167 had, moreover, certain other valuables, such as an old silver watch, thick as a turnip, with figures on it large enough for a clock; and a set of seals at the end of a steel chain, that dangled half way down to his knees. All these were of pre- cious esteem, being family relics. He had also a seal-ring, a veritable antique intaglio, that covered half his knuckles. It was a Venus, which the old man almost worshipped with the zeal of a vo- luptuary. But what he most valued, was his inestimable collection of hints, relative to the Pe- lasgian cities, which he would gladly have given all the money in his pocket to have had safe in the bottom of his trunk, at Terracina. However, he plucked up a stout heart, at least as stout a heart as he could, seeing he was but a puny little man at the best of times. So he wished the hunters a u buon giorno.' 1 They re- turned his salutation, giving the old gentleman a sociable slap on the back, that made his heart leap into his throat. They fell into conversation, and walked for some time together among the heights, the Doctor wishing them all the while at the bottom of the crater of Vesuvius. At length, they came to a small asteria on the mountain, when they propo- posed to enter and have a cup of wine together; the Doctor consented, though he would as soon have been invited to drink hemlock. One of the young gang remained sentinel at the door; the others swaggered into the house, stood their guns in the corner of the room, and each drawing a pistol or stiletto out of his belt, laid it upon the table. They now drew benches round the board, called lustily for wine, and hailing 168 SELECT PIECES OF PROSE. the Doctor as though he had been a boon compa- nion of long standing, insisted upon his sitting down and making merry. The worthy man complied, with forced grimace, but with fear and trembling ; sitting uneasily on the edge of his chair; eyeing ruefully the black- muzzled pistols, and cold, naked stilettoes ; and sup- ping down heart-burn with every drop of liquor. His new comrades, however, pushed the bottle bravely, and plied him vigorously. They sang; they laughed; told excellent stories of their rob- beries and combats, mingled with many ruffian jokes; and the little Doctor was fain to laugh at all their cut-throat pleasantries, though his heart was dying away at the very bottom of his bosom. By their own account, they were young men from the villages, who had recently taken up this line of life, out of the wild caprice of youth. They talked of their murderous exploits, as a sportsman talks of his amusements. To shoot down a traveller, seemed of little more consequence to them than to shoot a hare. They spoke with rap- ture of the glorious roving life they led, free as birds ; here to-day, gone to morrow; ranging the forests, climbing the rocks, scouring the valleys; the world their own, wherever they could lay hold of it; full purses, merry companions, pretty wo- men. The little antiquary got fuddled with their talk and their wine_, for they did not spare bum- pers. He half forgot his fears , his seal-ring, and his family watch; even the treatise on the Pelas- gian cities, which was warming under him, for a time faded from his memory in the glowing picture that they drew. He declares that he no longer wonders at the prevalence of this robber SELECT PIECES OF PROSE. 169 mania among the mountains ; for he felt at the time, that had he been a young man, and a strong man, and had there been no danger of the gal- lons in the back-ground , he should have been half tempted himself to turn bandit. At length, the hour of separating arrived. The Doctor yvas suddenly called to himself and his fears, by seeing the robbers resume their weap- ons. He now quaked for his valuables, and above all, for his antiquarian treatise. He endeavour- ed, however, to look cool and unconcerned; and drew from out his deep pocket a long, lank, leathern purse , far gone in consumption, at the bottom of which a few coins chinked with the trembling of his hand. The chief of the partv observed his movement, and laving his hand upon the antiquary's shoul- der, uHarkee, Signor Dottore ! » said he, « we have drunk together as friends and comrades : let us part as such. We understand you. We know who and what you are; for we know who every body is that sleeps at Terracina, or that puts foot upon the road. You are a rich man , but you carry all your wealth in your head; we cannot get at it, and we should not know what to do with it, if we could. I see you are uneasy about your ring, but don"t worry yourself , it is not worth taking; you think it an antique, but it J s a counterfeit; a mere sham. » Here the ire of the antiquary arose: the Doctor forgot himself in his zeal for the character of his ring. Heaven and earth! His Venus a sham! Had he pronounced the wife of his bosom «no better than she should be,» he could not have been more indignant. He fired up in vindication of his intaglio. $ 170 SELECT PIECES OF PROSE. «Nay, nay,)) continued the robber, «we have no time to dispute about it; value it as you please. Come, you're a brave little old signor; one more cup of wine, and we'll pay the reckoning. No compliments; you shall not pay a grain; you are our guest; I insist upon it; so, now, make the best of your way back to Terracina; it's growing late. Buon viaggio! and, harkee! take care how you wander among these mountains; you may not always fall into such good company.)) They shouldered their guns, sprang gaily up the rocks, and the little Doctor hobbled back to Terracina; rejoicing that the robbers had left his watch, his coins, and his treatise, unmolested; but still indignant that they should have pronoun- ced his Venus an impostor. Washington Irving. THE FORTUNES OF MARTIN WALDECK. FROM THE ANTIQUARY. The solitudes of the Harz forest in Germany, but especially the mountains called Blockberg, or rather Brockenberg, are the chosen scene for the tales of witches, demons and apparitions. The occupation of the inhabitants, who arc either mi- ners or foresters, is of a kind that renders them peculiarly prone to superstition, and the natural phenomena which they witness, in pursuit of their solitary or subterraneous profession, are often set down by them to the interference of goblins, or the power of magic. Among the various legends current in that wild country, there is a favourite SELECT PIECES OF PROSE. 171 one, which supposes the Harz to be haunted by a sort of tutelar demon, in the shape of a wild man, of huge stature; his head wreathed with oak-leaves, and his middle cinctured with the same, bearing in his hand a pine torn up by the roots. It is certain that many persons profess to have seen such a form, traversing with huge strides the opposite ridge of a mountain, when divided from it by a narrow glen; and indeed the fact of the apparition is so generally admitted, that modern scepticism has only found refuge, by ascribing it to optical deception. In elder times, the intercourse of the demon with the inhabitants was more familiar, and ac- cording to the Harz, he was wont, with the ca- price usually ascribed to these earth-born powers, to interfere with the affairs of mortals, sometimes for their weal, sometimes for their woe. But it was observed, that even his gifts often turned out, in the long run, fatal to those on whom they were bestowed; and it was no uncommon thing for the pastors, in the care of the flocks, to com- pose long sermons, the burthen thereof was a warning against having any intercourse, direct or indirect, with the Harz-demon. A travelling capuchin had possessed himself of the pulpit of the thatched church at a little ham- let called Morgenbrodt, lying in the Harz district; from which he declaimed against the wickedness of the inhabitants, their communication with fiends, witches, and fairies; and, in particular, with the woodland goblin of the Harz. The doctrines of Luther had already begun to spread among the peasantry, for the incident is placed under the reign of Charles V, and they laughed to scorn the zeal with which the venerable man insisted upon 172 / SELECT PIECES OF PROSE. his topic. At length, as his vehemence encreased with opposition , so their opposition rose in pro- portion to his vehemence. The inhabitants did not like to hear an accustomed quiet demon, who had inhabited the Brockenberg so many ages, sum- marily confounded with Baal-peor, Ashtaroth, and Beelzebub himself, and condemned, without re- prieve, to the bottomless Tophet. The apprehen- sions that the spirit might avenge himself on them, for listening to such an illiberal sentence, added to their natural interest in his behalf. A travel- ling friar, they said, that is here to-day and away to-morrow, may say what he pleases; but it is we, the ancient and constant inhabitants of the coun- try , that are left at the mercy of the insulted demon, and must, of course, pay for all. Under the irritation occasioned by these reflections, the peasants, from injurious language, betook them- selves to stones, and having pebbled the priest pretty handsomely , they drove him out of the parish, to preach against demons elsewhere. Three young men, who had been present and assisting upon this occasion, were upon their re- turn to the hut, where they carried on the la- borious and mean occupation of preparing charcoal for the smelting furnaces. On the way , their conversation naturally turned upon the demon of the Harz, and the doctrine of the capuchin. Max and George Waldeck, the two elder brothers, although they allowed the language of the capu- chin to have been indiscreet, and worthy of cen- sure, as presuming to determine upon the precise character and abode of the spirit, yet contended it was dangerous, in the highest degree, to accept of his gifts, or hold any communication with him. He was powerful, they allowed, but wayward SELECT PIECES OF PROSE. 173 and capricious; and those who had intercourse with him, seldom came to a good end. Did he not give the brave knight, Ecbert of Rabenwald, that famous black steed, by means of which he vanquished all the champions at the great tourna- ment at Bremen? and did not the same steed af- terwards precipitate itself, with its rider, into an abyss so deep and fearful, that neither horse nor man was ever seen more? Had he not given to Dame Gertrude Trodden a curious spell for making butter come? and was she not burned for a witch by the grand criminal judge of the Electorate, because she availed herself of his gift? But these and many other instances which they quoted, of mischance and ill-luck attendant upon the appa- rent benefits conferred by the Harz-spirit, failed to make any impression upon Martin Waldeck. the youngest of the brothers. Martin was youthful , rash, and presumptuous; excelling in all the exercises which distinguish a mountaineer, and brave and undaunted from his familiar intercourse with the dangers that attend them. He laughed at the timidity of his brothers. «Tell me not of such ,folly^» he said; «the de- mon is a good demon — he lives among us as if he were a peasant like ourselves — haunts the lonely craigs and recesses of the mountains, like a huntsman or goat-herd, and he who loves the Harz-forest and its wild scenes, cannot be indif- ferent to the fate of the hardy children of the soil. But if the demon were as malicious as you would make him, how should he derive power over mortals, who barely avail themselves of his gifts, without binding themselves to submit to his pleasure. When you carry your charcoal to the furnace , is not the money as good that is paid J 74 ' SELECT PIECES OF PROSE. you by blaspheming Blaize, the old reprobate over- seer, as if you got it from the pastor himself? It is not the goblin's gifts which can endanger you then, but it is the use you shall make of them that you must account for. And were the demon to appear to me at this moment, and indicate to me a gold or silver mine, I would begin to dig away even before his back were turned, and I should consider myself as under the protection of a much greater power than he, while I made a good use of the wealth he pointed out to me.» To this the elder brother replied, that wealth ill won was seldom well spent, while Martin pre- sumptuously declared, that the possession of all the treasures of the Harz would not make the slightest alteration on his habits, morals or cha- racter. His brother entreated Martin to talk less wildly upon this subject j and with some difficulty con- trived to withdraw his attention, by calling it to the consideration of the approaching boar-chase. This talk brought them to their hut, a wretched wigwam, situated upon one side of a wild, nar- row, and romantic dell, in the recesses of the Brockenberg. They released their sister from wait- ing upon the operation of charring the wood, which requires constant attention, and divided among themselves the duty of watching it by night, according to their custom , one always waking while his brothers slept. Max Waldeck, the eldest, watched during the two first hours of the night, and was considerably alarmed by observing, upon the opposite bank of the glen, or valley, a huge fire, surrounded by some figures that appeared to Avhirl around it SELECT PIECES OF PROSE. 175 with antic gestures. Max at first bethought him of calling up his brothers; but recollecting the daring character of the youngest, and finding it impossible to wake the elder without also disturb- ing him — conceiving also what he saw to be an illusion of the demon, sent perhaps in consequence of the venturous expressions used by Martin on the preceding evening, he thought it best to betake himself to the safeguard of such prayers as he could murmur over, and to watch in great terror and annoyance this strange and alarming apparition. After blazing for some time, the fire faded gradually away into darkness, and the rest of Max's watch was only disturbed by the remem- brance of its terrors. George now occupied the place of Max, who had retired to rest. The phenomenon of a huge blazing fire, upon the opposite bank of the glen, again presented itself to the eye of the watch- man. It was surrounded, as before, by figures, which, distinguished by their opaque forms, being between the spectator and the red glaring light, moved and fluctuated around it, as if engaged in some mystical ceremony. George, though equally cautious , was of a bolder character than his el- der brother. He resolved to examine more nearly the object of his wonder; and accordingly, after crossing the rivulet which divided the glen, he climbed up the opposite bank, and approached within an arrow's flight of the fire, which blazed apparently with the same fury as when he first witnessed it. The appearance of the assistants who surround- ed it , resembled those phantoms which are seen in a troubled dream, and at once confirmed the idea he had entertained from the first, that they 176 SELECT PIECES OF PROSE. did not belong to the human world. Among these strange unearthly forms, George Waldeck distin- guished that of a giant, overgrown with hair, holding an uprooted fir in his hand, with which, from time to time, he seemed to stir the blazing fire, and having no other clothing than a wreath of oak-leaves around his forehead and loins. George's heart sunk within him at recognizing the well-known apparition of the Harz-demon, as he had been often described to him , by the ancient shepherds and huntsmen, who had seen his form traversing the mountains. He turned, and was about to fly; but, upon second thoughts, blaming his own cowardice, he recited mentally the verse of the psalmist, « All good angels praise the lord!» which is, in that country, supposed powerful as an exorcism, and turned himself once more to- wards the place where he had seen the fire. But it was no longer visible ; the pale moon alone enlightened the side of the valley _, and when George, with trembling steps, a moist brow, and hair bristling upright, under his collier's cap^ came to the spot on which the fire had been so lately visible, marked as it was by a scathed oak-tree, there appeared not on the heath the slightest ves- tiges of what he had seen. The moss and wild flowers were unscorched, and the branches of the oak-tree, which had so lately appeared enveloped in wreaths of flame and smoke, were moist with the dews of midnight. George returned to his hut with trembling steps, and arguing , like his elder brother, resol- ved to say nothing of what he had seen, lest he should awake in Martin that daring curiosity, which he almost deemed to be allied with im- piety. SELECT PIECES OF PROSE. 177 It was now Martin's turn to watch. The house- hold cock had given his first summons, and the night was well nigh spent. Upon examining the state of the furnace, in which the wood was de- posited , in order to its heing coked or charred, he was surprised to find that the fire had not been sufficiently maintained; for in his excursion and its consequences, George had forgot the principal object of his watch. Martin's first thought was to call up the slumberers; but observing that both his brothers slept unwontedly deep and heavily, he respected their repose, and set himself to sup- ply the furnace with fuel, without requiring their aid. What he heaped upon it was apparently damp, and unfit for the purpose, for the fire seem- ed rather to decay than to revive. Martin next went to collect some boughs from a stack, which had been carefully cut and dried for this purpose; but, when he returned, he found the fire totally extinguished. This was a serious evil, and threat- ened them with loss of their trade for more than one day. The vexed and mortified watchman set about to strike a lights in orcler to rekindle the fire , but the tinder was moist , and his labour proved in this respect also ineffectual. He was now about to call up his brothers, for circum- stances seemed to be pressing, when flashes of light glimmered, not only through the window, but through every crevice of the rudely-built hut, and summoned him to behold the same apparition which had before alarmed the successive watches of his brethren. His first idea was that the Muhll- herhausserSj their rivals in trade, and with whom they had had many quarrels, might have encroach- ed upon their bounds, for the purpose of pirat- ing their wood, and he resolved to awake his 23 178 SELECT PIECES OF PROSE. brothers, and be revenged on them for their auda*- city. But a short reflection and observation on the gestures and mariners of those who seemed to work the fire, induced him to dismiss this be- lief, and although rather sceptical in such mat- ters , to conclude that what he saw was a super- natural phenomenon. «But be they men or fiends, » said the undaunted forester, «that busy themselves yonder with such fantastical rites and gestures, I will go and demand a light to rekindle our furnace. » He relinquished at the same time the idea of awaking his brothers. There was a be- lief that such adventures as he was about to un- dertake were accessible only to one person at a time; he feared also that his brothers, in their scrupulous timidity , might interfere to prevent his pursuing the investigation he had resolved to commence; and therefore, snatching his boar-spear from the wall, the undaunted Martin Waldeck set forth on the adventure alone. With the same success as his brother George, but with courage fur superior, Martin crossed the brook, ascended the hill, and approached so near the ghostly assembly, that he could recognise in the presiding figure, the attributes of the Harz- demon. A cold shuddering assailed him for the first time in his life; but the recollection that he had at a distance dared, and even courted the intercourse which was now about to take place, confirmed his staggering courage, and pride sup- plying what he wanted in resolution, he advan- ced with tolerable firmness towards the fire, the figures which surrounded it appearing still more Avild, fantastical, and supernatural, the more nearly he approached the assembly. He was received SELECT PIECES OF PROSE. 179 with a loud shout of discordant and unnatural laughter, which, to his stunned ears, seemed more alarming than a combination of the most dismal and melancholy sounds that could be imagined. «"\Yho art thou?» said the giant, compressing his savage and exaggerated features into a sort of for- ced gravity, while they were occasionally agitated by the convulsion of the laughter which he seem- ed to suppress. « Martin Waldeck, the forester,)) exclaimed the hardy youth; — «iVnd who are you?)> «The king of the Waste, and of the Mine,» answered the spectre; — «and why hast thou da- red to encroach on my mysteries?)) ul came in search of light to rekindle my fire, » answered Martin hardily; and then resolutely asked in his turn, a What mysteries are those that you celebrate here ? » uWe celebrate,)) answered the complaisant de- mon, athe wedding of Hermes with the Black Dragon; but take thy fire that thou earnest to seek, and begone. No mortal may long look upon us and live. » The peasant struck his spear-point into a large piece of blazing wood, which he heaved up with some difficulty, and then turned round to regain his hut, the shouts of laughter being renewed be- hind him with treble violence , and ringing far down the narrow valley. When Martin returned to the hut, however much astonished with what he had seen, his first care was to dispose the kindled coal among the fuel , so as might best light the fire of his furnace; but after many ef- forts, and all exertions of bellows and fire-prong, the coal he had brought from the demon's fire 180 SELECT PIECES OF PROSE. became totally extinct, without kindling any of the others. He turned about , and observed the fire still blazing on the hill, although those who had been busied round it had disappeared. As he conceived the spectre had been jesting with him, he gave way to the natural hardihood of his temper, and determining to see the adventure to an end, resumed the road to the fire, from which, unopposed by the demon, he brought off, in the same manner, a blazing piece of charcoal, but still without being able to succeed in lighting his fire. Impunity having encreased his rashness, he resol- ved upon a third experiment, and was as suc- cessful as before in reaching the fire \ but when he had again appropriated a piece of burning coal, and had turned to depart, he heard the harsh and supernatural voice which had before accosted him, pronounce these words; — «Dare not to return hi- ther a fourth time.» The attempt to kindle the fire with this last coal having proved as ineffectual as on the for- mer occasions, Martin relinquished the hopeless attempt^ and flung himself on his bed of leaves, resolving to delay till the next morning the com- munication of his supernatural adventure to his brothers. He was awakened from a heavy sleep into which he had sunk , from fatigue of body and agitation of mind , by loud exclamations of surprise and joy. His brothers, astonished at find- ing the fire extinguished when they awoke, had proceeded to arrange the fuel in order to renew it, when they found in the ashes three huge me- tallic masses , which their skill (for most of the peasants in the Harz are practical mineralogists) immediately ascertained to be pure gold. SELECT PIECES OF PROSE. 181 It was some damp upon their joyful congratu- lations, when they learned from Martin the mode in which he had obtained this treasure, to which their own experience of the nocturnal vision in- duced them to give full credit. But they were unable to resist the temptation of sharing in their brother's wealth. Taking now upon him as head of the house, Martin Waldeck bought lands and forests, built a castle., obtained a patent of no- bility, and greatly to the scorn of the ancient aristocracy of the neighbourhood, was invested with all the privileges of a man of family. His courage in public war, as well as in private feuds, together with the number of retainers whom he kept in pay, sustained him for some time against the odium which was excited by his sudden ele- vation, and the arrogance of his pretentions. And now it was seen in the instance of Martin Wal- deck, as it has been in that of many others, how little mortals can foresee the effects of sudden prosperity on their own disposition. The evil propensities in his nature , which poverty had checked and repressed, ripened and bore their un- hallowed fruit, under jthe influence of temptation, and the means of indulgence. As Deep calls unto Deep, one bad passion awakened another; the fiend of avarice invoked that of pride, and pride was to be supported by cruelty and oppression. Wal- deck's character, always bold and daring, but rendered harsh and assuming by prosperity, soon made him odious , not to the nobles only , but likewise to the lower ranks, who saw, with dou- ble dislike, the oppressive rights of the feudal no- bility of the empire so remorselessly exercised by one who had risen from the very dregs of the people. His adventure , although carefully con- 182 SELECT PIECES OF PROSE. cealed, began likewise to be whispered abroad, and the clergy already stigmatized as a wizard, and accomplice of fiends, the wretch, who hav- ing acquired so huge a treasure in so strange a manner , had not sought to sanctify it , by dedi- cating a considerable portion to the use of the church. Surrounded by enemies, public and pri- vate, tormented by a thousand feuds y and threat- ened by the church with excommunication, Mar- tin Waldeck, or, as we must now call him, the Baron Von Waldeck, often regretted bitterly the labours and sports of his unenvied poverty. But his courage failed him not under all these diffi- culties, and seemed rather to augment in propor- tion to the danger which darkened around him., until an accident precipitated his fall. A proclamation by the reigning Duke of Bruns- wick had invited to a solemn tournament, all German nobles of free and honourable descent, and Martin Waldeck , accompanied by his two brothers, and a gallantly equipped retinue, had the arrogance to appear among the chivalry of the province, and demand permission to enter the lists. This was considered as filling up the mea- sure of his presumption. A thousand voices ex- claimed. «We will have no cinder-sifter mingle in our games of chivalry. » Irritated to frenzy, Martin drew his sword, and hewed down the her- ald, who, in compliance to the general outcry, opposed his entry into the lists. A hundred swords were unsheathed to avenge what was in those days regarded as a crime only inferior to sacrilege, or regicide. Waldeck, after defending himself like a lion, was seized, tried on the spot by the judge of the lists, and condemned, as the appropriate punishment for breaking the peace of SELECT PIECES OF PROSE, 183 his sovereign, and violating the sacred person of a herald-at-arms , to have his right hand struck from his body, to be ignominiously deprived of the honour of nobility, of which he was unworthy, and be expelled from the city. When he had been stripped of his arms, and sustained the muti- lation imposed by this severe sentence, the un- happy victim of ambition was abandoned to the rabble, who followed him with threats and out- cries, levelled alternately against the necromancer and oppressor, which at length ended in violence. His brothers (for his retinue were fled and dis- persed) at length succeeded in rescuing him from the hands of the populace, when, satiated with cruelty, they had left him half dead through loss of blood, and through the outrages he had sustained. They were not permitted, such was the ingenious cruelty of their enemies , to make use of any other means of removing him, except- ing such a collier's cart as they had themselves formerly used, in which they deposited their bro- ther on a truss of straw, scarcely expecting to reach any place of shelter , ere death should re- lease him from his misery. When the Waldecks, journeying in this miser- able manner, had approached the verge of their native country , in a hollow way , between two mountains, they perceived a figure advancing to- wards them, which , at first sight, seemed to be an aged man; but as he approached, his limbs and stature encreased, the cloak fell from his shoulders, his pilgrim's staff was changed into an uprooted pine-tree, and the gigantic figure of the Harz demon passed before them in his ter- 184 ' SELECT PIECES OF PROSE. rors. When he came opposite to the cart which contained the miserable Waldeck, his huge fea- tures dilated into a grin of unutterable contempt and malignity, as he asked the sufferer, «How like you the fire my coals have kindled ?» The power of motion, which terror suspended in his two brothers, seemed to be restored to Martin by the energy of his courage. He raised himself on the cart, bent his brows, and clenching his fist, shook it at the spectre , with a ghastly look of hate and defiance. The goblin vanished with his usual tremendous and explosive laugh, and left Waldeck exhausted with the effort of expiring nature. The terrified brothers turned the vehicle to- ward the towers of a convent, which arose in a wood of pine-trees beside the road. They were charitably received by a bare-footed and long-bearded capuchin, and Martin survived only to complete the first confession he had made since the day of his sudden prosperity ^ and to re- ceive absolution from the very priest, whom, precisely on that day three years, he had assis- ted to pelt out of the hamlet of Morgenbrodt. The three years of precarious prosperity were supposed to have a mysterious correspondence with the number of his visits to the spectral fire upon the hill. The body of Martin Waldeck was interred in the convent where he expired, in which his bro- thers, having assumed the habit of the order, lived and died in the performance of acts of cha- rity and devotion. His lands, to which no one asserted any claim, lay waste until they were SELECT PIECES OF PROSE. 185 reassumed by the emperor as a lapsed fief, and the ruins of the castle, which Waldeck had cal- led by his own name , are still shunned by the miner and forester, as haunted by evil spirits. Thus were the miseries attendant upon wealth hastily attained and ill-employed, exemplified in the fortunes of Martin Waldeck. — a^BBfr^gg ~§©s,50 SELECT SCENES OF COMEDIES. Sir Oliver. Oh ! never fear: my tutor appears so able, that though Charles lived in the next street, it must be my own fault if I am not a complete rogue before I turn the corner. SCENE III. SIR OLIVER SURFACE, CHARLES SURFACE, AND MOSES. Moses. Sir, this is Mr. Premium, a gentleman of the strictest honour and secrecy, and always performs what he undertakes. Mr. Premium, this is — Charles. Pshaw, have done. Sir, my friend Moses is a very honest fellow, but a little slow at expression; he'll be an hour giving us our titles. Mr. Premium, the plain state of the matter is this : I am an extravagant young fellow, who wants to borrow money ; you , I take to be a prudent old fellow , who have got money to lend. I am blockhead enough to give fifty per cent, sooner than not have it; and you, I presume , are rogue enough to take a hundred, if you can get it. Now, sir, you see we are acquainted at once, and may proceed to business without further cere- mony. Sir Oliver. Exceeding frank, upon my word. I see, sir, you are not a man of many compli- ments. Charles. Oh no, sir; plain dealing in business I always think best. Sir Oliver. Sir^ I like you the better for it; however, you are mistaken in one thing; I have no money to lend, but I believe I could procure SELECT SCENES OF COMEDIES. ^51 some of a friend; but then he's an unconscionable dog, isn't he Moses? Moses. But you can't help that. Sir Oliver. And must sell stock to accommo- date you, mustn't he Moses? Moses. Yes, indeed. You know I always speak the truth, and scorn to tell a lie. Charles. Right. People that speak truth ge- nerally do; but these are trifles, Mr. Premium. What! I know money isn't to be bought without paying for it ! Sir Oliver. Well, but what security could you give? You have no land, I suppose? Charles. Not a mole-hill, nor a twig, but what's in the bough-pots out of the window. Sir Oliver. Nor any stock, I presume? Charles. Nothing but live stock, and that's only a few pointers and ponies. But pray, Mr. Premium, are you acquainted at all with any of my connexions? Sir Oliver. Why, to say truth, I am. Charles. Then you must know that I have a very rich uncle in the East Indies , Sir Oliver Surface, from whom I have the greatest expec- tations. Sir Oliver. That you have a wealthy uncle, I have heard; but how your expectations will turn out, is more, I believe, than you can tell. Charles. Oh no! there can be no doubt. They tell me I'm a prodigious favourite, and that he talks of leaving me every thing. Sir Oliver. Indeed! this is the first I've heard of it. Charles. Yes, yes, 'tis just so. Moses knows 'tis true, don't you Moses? 252 SELECT SCENES OF COMEDIES. Moses. O yes, FU swear it Sir Oliver. Egad, they'll persuade me, pre- sently, Fm at Bengal. (Aside.) Charles. Now I propose, Mr. Premium, if it's agreeable to you, a post-obit on Sir Oliver's life, though, at the same time, the old fellow has been so liberal to me, that I give you my word, I should be very sorry to hear that any thing had happened to him. Sir Oliver. Not more than I should, I assure you. But the bond you mention happens to be just the worst security you could offer me, for I might live to a hundred, and never see the principal. Charles. O yes, you would. The moment Sir Oliver dies , you know , you would come on me for the money. Sir Oliver. Then, I believe, I should be the most unwelcome dun you ever had in your life. Charles. What! I suppose you are afraid that Sir Oliver is too good a life? Sir Oliver. No, indeed, I am not; though I have heard he is as hale and healthy as any man of his years in Christendom. Charles. There again, now, you are misin- formed. No,, no, the climate has hurt him con- siderably, poor uncle Oliver! Yes, yes, he breaks apace, I'm told; and is so much altered lately, that his nearest relations don't know him. Sir Oliver. No? ha! ha! so much altered late- ly , that his nearest relations don't know him — ha! ha! ha! Charles. Ha! ha! You're glad to hear that, little Premium? Sir Oliver. No, no, I'm not. SELECT SCENES OF COMEDIES. 253 Charles. Yes, yes, you are! Ha! ha! ha! You know that mends your chance. Sir Oliver. But Fm told Sir Oliver is coming over — nay, some say he is actually arrived? Charles. Pshaw ! Sure I must know better than you whether he's come or not. No, no, rely on't, he's at this moment at Calcutta — isn't he, Moses ? Moses. O yes, certainly. Sir Oliver. Very true, as you say, you must know better than I, though I have it from pretty good authority — hav'n't I, Moses? Moses. Yes, most undoubted. Sir Oliver. But, sir, as I understand you want a few hundreds immediately, is there nothing you could dispose of? Charles. How do you mean? Sir Oliver. For instance now, I have heard that your father left behind him a great quantity of massy old plate ? Charles. O Lud! — that's gone long ago. Moses can tell you how, better than I can. Sir Oliver. Good lack ! all the family race cups and corporation bowls \ (Aside.) Then it was also supposed that his library was one of the most valuable and compact. Charles. Yes, yes, so it was — vastly too much so for a private gentleman. For my part, I was always of a communicative disposition, so I thought it a shame to keep so much knowledge to my- self. Sir Oliver. Mercy upon me ! Learning that had run in the family like an heir-loom! (Aside.) Pray what are become of the books? Charles. You must enquire of the auctioneer, <254 SELECT SCENES OF COMEDIES. master Premium, for I don't believe even Moses can direct you. Moses. I know nothing of books. Sir Oliver. So, so, nothing of the family pro- perty left, I suppose. Charles. Not much, indeed; unless you have a mind to the family pictures. I have got a room full of ancestors above , and if you have a taste for paintings, egad, you shall have 'em a bargain. Sir Oliver. Hey! what the deuce! sure you wouldn't sell your forefathers, would you? Charles. Every man of them to the best bid- der. Sir Oliver. What, your great uncles and aunts ? Charles. Ay, and my great grandfathers and grandmothers too. Sir Oliver. Now I give him up. [Aside.) What the plague , have you no bowels for your own kindred? Odd's life, do you take me for Shy lock in the play, that you would raise money of me on your own flesh and blood? Charles. Nay, my little broker, don't be angry : what need you care, if you have your money's worth ? Sir Oliver. Well, FU be the purchaser: I think I can dispose of the family canvas. Oh, I'll ne- ver forgive him this, never! [Aside.) SCENE IV CHARLES SURFACE, SIR OLIVER SURFACE, MOSES, and CARELESS. Charles. Walk in, gentlemen, pray walk in; — SELECT SCENES OF COMEDIES, 255 here they are, the family of the Surfaces, up to the conquest. Sir Oliver. And, in my opinion, a goodly col- lection. Charles. Ay, ay, these are done in the true spirit of portrait painting. — Not like the works of your modern Raphaels, who give you the strongest resemblance, yet contrive to make your portrait independent of you; so that you may sink the original and not hurt the picture. — No, no, the merit of these is the inveterate likeness — all stiff and awkward as the originals, and like nothing in human nature besides. Sir Oliver. Ah! we shall never see such figures of men again. Charles. I hope not. — Well, you see, master Premium, what a domestic character I am; here I sit of an evening surrounded by my family. — But come — get to your pulpit, Mr. Auctioneer; here's an old gouty chair of my father's will an- swer the purpose. Careless. Ay, ay, this will do. — But Charles, I hav'n't a hammer; and what's an auctioneer without his hammer? . , Charles. Egad, that's true; — what parchment have we here? Oh, our genealogy in full. Here, Careless, — • you shall have no common bit of ma- hogany, here's the family tree for vou, you rogue, — this shall be your hammer, and now you may knock down my ancestors with their own pe- digree. Sir Oliver. What an unnatural rogue! an ex- post facto parricide]! (Aside.) Careless. Yes, yes, here's a bit of your gene- ration , indeed : faith , Charles , this is the most 256 SELECT SCENES OF COMEDIES. convenient thing you could have found for the business, for 'twill serve you not only as a ham- mer, but a catalogue into the bargain. Come, begin — a-going, a-going, a-going. Charles. Bravo, Careless! — Well, here's my great uncle, Sir Richard Raveline, a marvellous good general in his day, I assure you; he served in all the Duke of Marlborough's wars_, and got that cut over his eye at the battle of Malplaquet. — What say you, Mr. Premium? look at him, — there's a hero; what do you bid ? Moses. Mr. Premium would have you speak. Charles. Why, then, he shall have him for, ten pounds^ and Fm sure that's not dear for a staff officer. Sir Oliver. Heaven deliver me ! his famous uncle Richard for ten pounds ! (Aside,) Well, sir, I take him at that. Charles. Careless, knockdown my uncle Rich- ard. —Here, now, is a maiden sister of his, my great aunt Deborah, done by Kneller, thought to be in his best manner, and a very formidable likeness. — There she is , you see , a shepherdess and her flock. — You shall have her for five pounds ten — the sheep are worth the money. Sir Oliver. Ah poor Deborah! a woman who set such value on herself! (Aside,) Five pounds ten, — she's mine. Charles. But plague on't, we shall be all day retailing in this manner; do let us deal whole- sale; what say you, little Premium? Give me three hundred pounds for the rest of the family in the lump. Sir Oliver. Well, well, any thing to accom- SELECT SCENES OF COMEDIES. 257 modate you; — they are mine. But there is one portrait which you have always passed over. Charles. What that ill-looking little fellow over the settee? . Sir Oliver. Yes, sir, I mean that, though I don't think him so ill-looking a little fellow, by any means. Charles. What that? — Oh! that's my uncle Oliver; 'twas done before he went to India. No, hang it; Til not part with poor Noll. The old fellow has been very good to me, and egad, I'll keep his picture while I've a room to put it in. Sir Oliver. The rogue's my nephew after all! (Aside.) But, sir, I have somehow taken a fancy to this picture. Charles. I'm sorry for it, for you certainly will not have it. — Oons, l^av'nt you got enough of them? Sir 'Oliver. I forgive him every thing! (Aside) — But, sir, when I take a whim in my head, I don't value money. Ill give you as much for that as for all the rest. Charles. Don't teaze me , master broker ; I tell you Til not part with it, and there's an end of it. Sir Oliver. How like his father the dog is! (Aside.) Well, well, I have done. — I did not perceive it before , but I think I never saw such a striking resemblance. (Aside.) Here is a draught for your sum — come, Moses. Charles. But, hold; do now send a genteel conveyance for them, for, I assure you, they were most of them used to ride in their own carriages. Sir Oliver. I will, I will — for all but Oliver? 33 £58 SELECT SCENES OF COMEDIES. Charles. Ay, all but the little nabob. Sir Oliver. You're fixed on that? Charles. Peremptorily. Sir Oliver. A dear extravagant rogue ! (Aside.) Good day! — Come, Moses.— Let me hear now who calls him extravagant. (Exeunt Sir Oliver Surface, Moses, and Careless.) Charles. Soh! This was an odd old fellow, indeed. — Let me see , two thirds of this is mine by right. 'Fore Heaven ! I find one's ancestors are more valuable relations than I took them for! Ladies and gentlemen, your most obedient and very grateful servant (bowing.) Enter ROWLEY. Hah! old Rowley! egad, you are just come in time to take leave of*your old acquaintance. Rowley. * Yes, I heard they were going* But I wonder you can have such spirits under so many distresses. Charles. Why there's the point ! my distres- ses are so many, that I can't afford to part with my spirits; but I shall be rich and splenetic all in good time. However, I suppose you are surpri- sed that I am not more sorrowful at parting with so many near relations ; to be sure , 'tis very af- fecting; but you see they never move a muscle, so why should I ? Rowley. There's no making you serious a mo- ment. Charles. — Yes, faith, I am so now. Here, my honest Rowley, here, get me this changed directly, and take a hundred pounds of it immediately to old Stanley. SELECT SCENES OF COMEDIES. 259 Rowley. A hundred pounds ! Consider only - Charles. Gad's life, don't talk about it: poor Stanley's wants are pressing, and if you don't make haste, we shall have some one call that has a better right to the money. Rowley. Ah! there's the point! I never will cease dunning you with the old proverb — Charles. «Be just before you're generous. » — Why, so I would if I could; but Justice is an old lame hobbling beldame, and I can't get her to keep pace with generosity, for the soul of me. Rowley. Yet, Charles, believe me, one hour's reflection — Charles. Ay, ay, it's all very true; but hark'ee, Rowley, while I have, by heaven I'll give; so good bye t'ye. SCENE IV. JOSEPH SURFACE and SERVANT. Joseph. Mr. Stanley! — and why should you think I would see him ? You must know he comes to ask something. Servant. Sir, I should not have let him in, but that Mr. Rowley came to the door with him. Joseph. Pshaw ! blockhead ! to suppose that I should be in a temper to receive visits from poor relations. Well, why don't you show the fel- low up? Servant. I will, sir. Enter SIR OLIVER SURFACE. Joseph. Sir, I beg you ten thousand pardons 260 SELECT SCENES OF COMEDIES. for keeping you a moment waiting — Mr. Stanley, I presume. Sir Oliver. At your service. Joseph. Sir, I beg you will do me the honour to sit down — I entreat you, sir? - Sir Oliver. Dear sir — there's no occasion — too civil by half. {Aside.) Joseph. I have not the pleasure of knowing you, Mr. Stanley; but I am extremely happy to see you look so well. You were nearly related to my mother, I think, Mr. Stanley? Sir Oliver. I was, sir; — so nearly, that my present poverty, I fear, may do discredit to her wealthy children, else I should not have presumed to trouble you. Joseph. Dear sir, there needs no apology: he that is in distress, though a stranger, has a right to claim kindred with the wealthy. I am sure I wish I was of that class, and had it in my pow- er to offer you even a small relief. Sir Oliver. If your uncle, Sir Oliver, were here, I should have a friend. Joseph. I wish he was, sir, with all my heart; you should not want an advocate with him, be- lieve me, sir. Sir Oliver. I should not need one., my dis- tresses would recommend me. But I imagined his bounty would enable you to become the agent of his charity. Joseph. My dear sir, you are strangely misin- formed. Sir Oliver is a worthy man, a very wor- thy man; but avarice, Mr Stanley, is the vice of age. J will tell you, my good sir, in confidence, what he has done for me has been a mere nothing; though people, I know, have thought otherwise, SELECT SCENES OF COMEDIES. 261 and for my part, I never chose to contradict the report. Sir Oliver. What! he has never transmitted you| bul lion — rupees — pagodas ? Joseph. O, dear sir, nothing* of the kind: — No, no, a few presents now and then, — china shawls — congou teas — avadavats, and Indian crack- ers; — little more, believe me. Sir Oliver. Here's gratitude for twelve thou- sand pounds ! Avadavats and Indian crackers ! (Aside.) Joseph. Then, my dear sir, you have heard, I doubt not, of the extravagance of my brother; there are very few would credit what I have done for that unfortunate young man. Sir Oliver. Not I, for one! (Aside.) Joseph. The sums I have lent him ! Indeed, I have been exceedingly to blame; it was an amiable weakness; however, I don't pretend to defend it; — and now I feel it doubly culpable , since it has deprived me of the pleasure of serving you, Mr. Stanley, as my heart dictates. Sir Oliver. Dissembler ! (Aside.) Then, sir, you can't assist me ? Joseph. At present, it grieves me to say, I cannot; but whenever I have the ability, you may depend upon hearing from me. Sir Oliver. I am extremely sorry — Joseph. Not more than I, believe me ; to pity without the power to relieve, is still more painful than to ask and be denied. Sir Oliver. Kind sir, your most obedient humble servant. Joseph. You leave me deeply affected, Mr. Stanley. William , be ready to open the door. 26£ SELECT SCENES OF COMEDIES. Sir Oliver. O, dear sir, no ceremony. Joseph. Your very obedient. Sir Oliver. Sir, your most obsequious. Joseph. You many depend upon hearing from me_, whenever I can be of service. Sir Oliver. Sweet sir, you are too good! Joseph. In the mean time, I wish you health and spirits. Sir Oliver. Your ever grateful, and perpetual humble servant. Joseph. Sir, yours as sincerely. Sir Oliver. Charles, you are my heir. {Aside. Exit.) Joseph. This is one bad effect of a good cha- racter; it invites application from the unfortunate, and there needs no small degree of address to gain the reputation of benevolence , without incurring the expense. The silver ore of pure charity is an expensive article in the catalogue of a mans good qualities; whereas the sentimen- tal French plate I use instead of it, makes just as good a show, and pays no tax. Enter ROWLEY. Rowley. Mr. Surface , your servant : I was apprehensive of interrupting you, though my bu^ siness demands immediate attention, as this note will inform you. Joseph. Always happy to see Mr. Rowley. (Reads the letter.) Sir Oliver Surface! My uncle arrived ! Rowley. He is^ indeed: we have just parted; quite well, after a speedy voyage, and impatient to embrace his worthy nephew. SELECT SCENES OF COMEDIES. 263 Joseph. I am astonished ! William , stop Mr. Stanley, if he's not gone. Rowley. Oh! he's out of reach, I helieve. Joseph. Why did you not let me know this when you came in together? Rowley. I thought you had particular business; hut I must be gone to inform your brother, and appoint him here to meet your uncle. He will be with you in a quarter of an hour. JosErH. So he says. Well n I am strangely overjoyed at his coming. "Never to be sure was any thing so infernally unlucky. (Aside.) Rowley. I'll tell him how impatiently you ex- pect him. Joseph. Do, do; pray give my best duty and affection. Indeed I cannot express the sensation I feel at the thought of seeing him. (Exit Row- ley.) Certainly his coming just at this time is the cruellest piece of ill fortune ! SCENE VI. SIR OLIVER SURF ACE and JOSEPH SURFACE. Joseph. Gad's life, Mr. Stanley, why have you come back to plague me at this time? You must not stay now, upon my word* Sir Oliver. Sir, I hear your uncle Oliver is expected here; and though he has been so penu- rious to you, I'll try what he'll do for me. Joseph. Sir, "tis impossible for you to stay now, so I must beg — Come any other time, and I pro- mise you, you shall be assisted. Sir Oliver. No: Sir Oliver and I must be ac- quainted. Q64 SELECT SCENES OF COMEDIES. Joseph. Zounds, sir, then I insist on your quit- ting the room directly ! Sir Oliver. Nay, sir — Joseph. Sir, I insist on't: here, William, show this gentleman out. Since you compel me, sir, not one moment — this is such insolence ! (Going to push him out.) Enter CHARLES SURFACE. Charles. Hey-day! what's the matter new! What the deuce, have you got hold of my little broker here? Zounds, brother, don't hurt little Premium. What's the matter, my little fellow? Joseph. So, he has been with you, too, has he? Charles. To be sure he has. Why he's as ho- nest a little — But sure, Joseph, you have not been borrowing money, too, have you? Joseph. Borrowing! no. But brother, you know we expect Sir Oliver here every — Charles. O Gad, that's true. Noll mustn't find the little broker here, to be sure. Joseph. Yet, Mr. Stanley insists — Charles. Stanley! Why his name's Premium. Joseph. No, sir, Stanley. Charles. No, no, Premium. Joseph. Well, no matter which, but — Charles. Ay, ay, Stanley or Premium, 'tis the same thing, as you say ; for I suppose he goes by half a hundred names, besides A. B. at the coffee-house. (Knocking.) Joseph. 'Sdeath ! here's Sir Oliver at the door. Now I beg, Mr. Stanley — Charles. Ay, ay, and I beg, Mr. Premium — Sir Oliver. Gentlemen — SELECT SCENES OF COMEDIES. 265 Joseph. Sir, by heavens you shall go. Charles. Ay, out with him, certainly. Sir Oliver. This violence — Joseph. Sir, 'tis your own fault. Charles. Out with him, to be sure. (Both far- cins Sir Oliver out.) . Enter SIR PETER TEAZLE and ROWLEY. Sir Peter. My old friend, Sir Oliver — bey! What in the name of wonder — here are dutiful nephews — assault their uncle at their first visit! Rowley. Indeed, Sir Oliver! 'twas well Ave came in to rescue you — for I perceive the character of old Stanley was no protection. Sir Oliver. Nor of Premium either: the neces- sities of the former could not extort a shilling from that benevolent gentleman; and now, egad, I stood a chance of faring worse than my ances- tors, and being knocked down without being bid for. Joseph. Charles! Charles. Joseph ! Joseph. 'Tis now complete ! r .Charles. Very! Sir Oliver. Sir Peter, my friend, and Rowley too — - look on that elder nephew of mine. You know what he has already received from my bounty ; and you also know how gladly I would have regarded half my fortune as held in trust for him: judge then my disappointment in dis- covering him to be destitute of faith, equity, and gratitude. Charles. If they talk this way to honesty, what will they say to me, by and by? (Aside.) M Q66 SELECT SCENES OF COMEDIES. Sir Oliver. As for that prodigal, his brother — Charles. Ay, now comes my turn; the cursed family pictures will ruin me. (Aside.) Joseph. Sir Oliver — uncle — will you honour me with a hearing? I — Charles. Now, if Joseph would make one of his long speeches, I might recollect myself a little. (Aside.) Sir Peter. I suppose you would undertake to justify yourself entirely. (To Joseph.) Joseph. I trust, I could. Sir Oliver. Well, sir! — And you could justify yourself too, I suppose. Charles. Not that I know of, Sir Oliver. Sir Oliver. What! Little Premium has been let too much into the secret, I suppose? Charles. True, sir; but they were family se- crets , and should not be mentioned again , you know. Piowley. Come Sir Oliver, I know you cannot speak of Charles's follies with anger. Sir Oliver. Odd's heart, no more I can; nor with gravity either. Sir Peter, do you know, the rogue bargained with me for all his ancestors; sold me judges and generals by the foot, and maiden aunts as cheap as broken china. Charles. To be sure, Sir Oliver, I did make a little free with the family canvas, that's the truth on't. My ancestors may rise in judgment against me, there's no denying it; but believe me sincere when I tell you — and upon my soul I would not say so if I was not—that if I do not appear mortified at the exposure of my follies, it is be- cause I feel at this moment the warmest satisfac- tion in seeing you, my liberal benefactor. SELECT SCENES OF COMEDIES. 267 Sir Oliver. Charles, I believe you; give me your hand again: the ill-looking little fellow over the settee has made your peace. Charles. Then, sir, my gratitude to the origi- nal is still encreased. Sheridan. SCENE FROM EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR. DRAMATIS PEBSOiYJE. BOBADILL, a type for the mean, shuffling, lying, biagging coward in regimentals. MATTHEW, his dupe. EDWARD KNOWELL, DOWN BIGHT. MATTHEW, ED. KNOWELL, BOBADILL, DOWNRIGHT, (to them.) E. Kno. We were speaking of Mr. Wellbred's half brother : captain Bohadill tells me he is fal- len! foul of you too. Mat. O, aye, sir, he threatened me with the bastinado. Bob. Aye, but I think, I taught you prevention, this morning, for that. You shall kill him beyond question if you be so generously minded. Mat. Indeed, it is a most excellent trick! Bob. O, you do not give spirit enough to your motion, you are too tardy, too heavy ! 0, it must be done like lightning, hay? (He practices at a vost.) 268 SELECT SCENES OF COMEDIES. Mat. Rare captain! Bob. Tut, 'tis nothing, an't be not done in a — punto! E. Kno. Captain, did you ever prove yourself upon any of our masters of defence here? Mat. good sir ! yes I hope he has. Bob. I will tell you, sir. Upon my first coming* to the city, after my long travel, for knowledge (in that mystery only) there came three or four of 'em to me, at a gentleman's house, where it was my chance to be resident at that time , to entreat my presence at their schools; and withal so much importuned me, that (I protest to you, as I am a gentleman) I was ashamed of their rude demeanour out of all measure: well, I told 'em that to come to a public school, they should pardon me , it was opposite (in diameter) to my humour^ but, if so be they would give their at- tendance at my lodging , I protested to do , them what right or favour I could, as I was a gentle- man, and so forth. E. Kno. So, sir, then you tried their skill. Bob. Alas, soon tried! you shall hear; sir, with- in two or three days after, they came; and, by honesty, fair sir, believe me, I graced them ex- ceedingly, showed them some two or three tricks of prevention, have purchased 'em since a credit to admirationj they cannot deny this: and yet now they hate me, and why? because I am excellent, and for no other vile reason on earth. E. Kno. This is strange and barbarous, as ever I heard! Bob. Nay , for a more instance of their pre- posterous natures , but note , sir. They have as- saulted me some three, four, five, six of them to- SELECT SCENES OF COMEDIES. °269 gether, as I have walked alone in divers skirts^ i' the town, as Turn-bull^ White-chapel, Shore-ditch, which were then my quarters; and since upon the Exchange, at my lodging; and at my ordi- nary: where I have driven them afore me the whole length of a street^ in the open view of all our gallants, pitying to hurt them, believe me. Yet all this lenity will not overcome their spleen; they will be doing with the ant, raising a hill a man may spurn abroad with his foot, at pleasure. By myself I could have slain them all, but I delight not in murder. I am loth to bear any other than this bastinado for ; em : yet I hold it good polity not to go disarm'd, for though I be skilful, I may be oppress'd with multitudes. E. Kno. Aye, believe me, may you sir, and (in my conceit) our whole nation should sustain the loss by it, if it were so. Bob. Alas, no: what's a peculiar man to a na- tion? not seen. E. Kno. 0! but your skill, sir. Bob. Indeed, that might be some loss; but who respects it? I will tell you, sir, by the way of private, and under seal; I am a gentleman, and live here obscure and to niyself. but were I known to her majesty and the lords (observe me) I would undertake (upon this poor head and life) for the public benefit of the state, not only to spare the entire lives of her subjects in general; but to save the one half, nay, three parts of her yearly charge in holding war, and against what enemy soever. And hoAV would I do it, think you? E. Kno. Nay, I know not, nor can I conceive. Bob. Why thus, sir: I would select nineteen more, to myself, throughout the land; gentlemen 270 SELECT SCENES OF COMEDIES. they should be of good spirit, strong and able con- stitution, I would choose them by an instinct, a character that I have ; and I would teach these nineteen the special rule, as your punto, your reservo, your imbroccato, your passada, your montanto; till they could all play very near, or altogether as well as myself. This done, say the enemy were forty thousand strong, we twenty would come into the field, the tenth of March or thereabouts; and we would challenge twenty of the enemy, they could not in their honour refuse us well; we would kill them; challenge twenty more, kill them; twenty more, kill them; twenty more, kill them too; and thus we would kill every man his twenty a day, that's twenty score; twenty score, that's two hundred; two hundred a day, five days a thousand; forty thousand; forty times five, five times forty, two hundred days kill them all by computation. And this will I venture my poor gentleman-like carcass to perform, provided there be no treason practised upon us, by fair and discreet manhood; and this is civilly by the sword. E. Kno. Why are you so sure of your hand, captain, at all times. Bob. Tut, never miss thrust, upon my reputa- tion with you. E. Kno. I would not stand in Downright's state then, an'you meet him, for the wealth of any one street in London. Bob. Why, sir, you mistake me! if he were here now, by this welkin, I would not draw my weapon on him! let this gentleman do his mind; but I will bastinado him (by the bright sun) wherever I meet him. Mat. Faith, and I'll have a fling at him, at my distance. SELECT SCENES OF COMEDIES. 271 E. Kno. God so, look where he is; yonder he goes. (Downright walks over the stage.) Down. What peevish luck have I; I cannot meet with those bragging rascals. Bob- It's not he? is it? E. Kno. Yes faith, it is he. Mat. I'll be hanged then if that were he. E. Kno. Sir, keep your hanging good for some greater matter: for I assure you that was he. Bob. Had I thought it had been he, he must not have gone so: but I can hardly be induced to believe it was he yet. E. Kno. That I think, sir: But see, he is come again. Down. Pharaoh's foot, have 1 found you? Come j draw to your tools; draw gypsie, or Fll thrash you. Bob. Gentleman of valour, I do believe in thee, hear me — Down. Draw your weapon then. Bob. Tall man, I never thought on it till now: (body of me) I had a warrant of the peace ser- ved on me, even now as I came along, by a water-bearer: this gentleman saw it, Mr. Matthew. Down. 'Sdeath, you will not draw then? (He beats him and disarms him, Matthew runs away.) Bob. Hold, hold, under thy favour forbear. Down. Prate again, as you like this, you, foist you. YouTl controul the point, you? your con- sort is gone? had he staid he had shared with you, sir. Bob. Well, gentlemen, bear witness, I was bound to the peace, by this good day. 272 SELECT SCENES OF COMEDIES. E. Kno. No faith, it's an ill day, captain, never reckon it other; but, say you were bound to the peace, the law allows you to defend yourself: that'll prove but a poor excuse. Bob. I cannot tell, sir. I desire good instruc- tion, in fair sort. I never sustained the like dis- grace, (by heaven) sure I was struck with a pla- net thence , for I had no power to touch my weapon. E. Kno. Aye , like enough , I have heard of many that have been beaten under a planet: go, get you to a surgeon! Slid, an these be your tricks, your passadoes, and your montantoes, I'll none of them. O manners! that this age should bring forth such creatures ! that nature should be at leisure^ to make 'em! Come, coz. Ben, Jons on. SCENE FROM HENRY IV. DRAMATIS PEBSONjE. THE PRINCE OF WALES. POINS, FALSTAFF , f 7 r GADSHILL, to <J As the door on its hinges, so he on his bed, Turns his sides, and his shoulders, and his heavy head. « A little more sleep , and a little more slumber ; >> Thus he wastes half his days and his hours without number j And when he gets up , he sits folding his hands , Or walks about saunt'ring, or trifling he stands. I pass'd by his garden , and saw the wild briar , The thorn and the thistle grow broader and higher \ SELECT PIECES OF POETRY , 285 The clothes that hang on him are turning to rags, And his money still wastes ., till he starves or he begs. I paid him a visit , still hoping to find That he took belter care for improving his mind ; He told me his dreams , talk'd of eating and drinking , But he scarce reads his Bible, and never loves thinking Said I then to my heart , « Here's a lesson for me ; That man's but a picture of what I might be; But thanks to my friends for their care in my breeding ? Who taught me betimes to love working and reading. » THE ANT. These emmets , how little they are in our eyes ! We tread them to dust , and a troop of them dies , Without our regard or concern s Yet , as wise as we are , if we went to their school , There's many a sluggard , and many a fool , Some lessons of wisdom might learn, They don't wear their time out in sleeping or play , But gather up corn in a sun-shiny day ; And for winter they lay up their stores : They manage their work in such regular forms , One would think they foresaw all the frosts and the storms , And so brought their food within doors. But I have less sense than a poor creeping ant , If I take not due care for the things I shall want, Nor provide against dangers in time. When death or old age shall stare in my face , What a wretch I shall be in the end of my days 5 If I trifle away all their prime ! Now 5 now , while my strength and my youth are in bloom , Let me think what will serve me when darkness shall come , And pray that my sins be forgiv'n ; 286 SELECT PIECES OF POETRY. Let me read in good books , and believe and obey , That , when death turns me out of this cottage of clay , I may dwell in a palace in heav'n. Watts. THE MONKEY WHO HAD SEEN THE WORLD. A monkey , to reform the times , Resolv'd to visit foreign climes ; For men in distant regions roam , To bring politer manners home. So forth he fares , all toil defies : Misfortune serves to make us wise. At length the treacherous snare was laid ; Poor Pug was caught , to town convey'd , There sold. How envied was his doom ! Made captive in a lady's room ! Proud as a lover of his chains , He day by day her favour gains. Whene'er the duty of the day The toilet calls, with mimic play He twirls her knots, he cracks her fan, Like any other gentleman. In visits, loo, his parts and wit, When jest grew dull , were sure to hit. Proud with applause , he thought his mind In every courtly art refin'd ; Like Orpheus , burned with public zeal , To civilize the monkey-weal : So watch'd occasion, broke his chain. And sought his native woods again. The hairy sylvans round him press , Astonished at his strut and dress. Some praise bis sleeve, and others glote Upon his rich embroidered coat ; SELECT PIECES OF POETRY. 287 His dapper perriwig commending , With the black tail behind depending , His powder'd back , above , below , Like hoary frost , or fleecy snow ; But all, with envy and desire, His flutt'ring shoulder-knot admire. « Hear and improve , » he pertly cries ; a I come to make a nation wise. « Weigh your own worth , support your place , «. The next in rank to human race, a In cities long I pass'd my days , « Convers'd with men, and learn'd their ways. a Their dress , their courtly manners see ; a Reform your state , and copy me. « Seek you to thrive ? in flatt'ry deal ; « Your scorn, your hate, with that conceal. « Seem only to regard your friends ; (( But use them for your private ends. a Stint not to truth the flow of wit ; « Be prompt to lie whene'er 'tis fit. a Bend all your force to spatter merit ; Contriving, like a prudent mother, To make one folly cure another. Upon the wall against the seat Which Jessy us'd for her retreat , SELECT PIECES OF POETRY. Whene'er by accident offended , A looking-glass was straight suspended ; That it might show her how deform'd She look'd, and frightful, when she storm'd And warn her, as she priz'd her beauty, To bend her humour to her duty. All this the looking-glass achiev'd , Its threats were minded and believ'd. The maid, who spurn'd at all advice, Grew tame and gentle, in a trice; So , when all other means had fail'd , The silent monitor prevail'd. Wilkie. 289 THE CHAxMELEON. Oft has it been my lot to mark A proud conceited talking spark , With eyes that hardly serv'd at most To guard their master 'gainst a post ; Yet round the world the blade has been , To see whatever could be seen : Returning from his finish'd tour, Grown ten limes perjter than before , Whatever word you chance to drop , The travell'd fool your mouth will stop : « Sir, if my judgment you'll allow — a I've seen — and sure I ought to know, n So begs you'd pay a due submission , And acquiesce in his decision. Two travellers of such a cast , As o'er Arabia's wilds they pass'd , And on their way , in friendly chat , Now talk'd of this , and then of that ; Discours'd awhile , 'mongst other matter , 3? 290 SELECT PIECES OF POETRY. Of the chameleon's form and nature. « A stranger animal , » cries one , « Sure never liv'd beneath the sun : (( A lizard's body, lean and long, u A fish's head , a serpent's tongue ; (( Its tooth with triple claw disjoin 'd, « And what a length of tail behind! « How slow its pace ! and then its hue — « Whoever saw so fine a blue ? » « Hold there , » the other quick replies , « 'Tis green — I saw it with these eyes, « As late with open m#ulh it lay , « And warm'd it in the sunny ray ; « Stretch'd at its ease the beast I view'd. « And saw it eat the air for food. » « I've seen it , sir , as well as you , « And must again affirm it blue; « At leisure I the beast survey 'd , « Extended in the cooling shade. » « 'Tis green, 'tis green, sir, I assure ye. » u Green ! » cries the other in a fury — a Why, sir, d'ye think I've lost my eyes?)) « 'Twere no great loss, » the friend replies; « For if they always serve you thus , « You'll find them of but little use. » So high at last the contest rose, From words they almost came to blows : When luckily came by a third — To him the question they referr'd ; And begg'd he'd tell them, if he knew, Whether the thing was green or blue. « Sirs 3 » cries the umpire , « cease your pother a The creature's neither one nor t'other ; « I caught the animal last night , SELECT PIECES OF POETRY. 291 ft And view'd it o'er by candle-light ; « I mark'd it well — 'twas black as jet — ft You stare — ■ but , sirs , I've got it yet , ft And can produce it. » — « Pray, sir, do: ft I'll lay my life the thing is blue. » ft And I'll be sworn that when you've seen ft The reptile ? you'll pronounce him green. » ft Well then , at once to ease the doubt , » Replies the man , a I'll turn him out ; « And when before your eyes I've set him , « If you don't find him black , I'll eat him. )> He said ; then full before their sight Produc'd the beast, and lo — 'twas white. Both star'd ; the man look'd wond'rous wise ■ — « My children , » the chameleon cries (Then first the creature found a tongue) « You all are right , and all are wrong : « When next you talk of what you view , (c Think others see as well as you : ft Nor wonder if you find that none ft Prefers your eyesight to his own. Merrick. THE BEGGAR'S PETITION. Pity the sorrows of a poor old man , Whose trembling limbs have borne him to your door. Whose days are dwindled to the shortest span ; Oh! give relief, and heav'n will bless your store. These tatter'd clothes my poverty bespeak ; These hoary locks proclaim my lengthen'd years : And many a furrow in my grief-worn cheek Has been the channel to a flood of tears. 292 SELECT PIECES OF POETRY. Yon house , erected on Ihe rising ground , With tempting aspect , drew me from my road ; For plenty there a residence has found , And grandeur a magnificent abode. Hard is the fate of the infirm and poor ! Here , as I crav'd a morsel of their bread , A pamper'd menial drove me from the door, To seek a shelter in a humbler shed. Oh, take me to your hospitable dome; Keen blows the wind , and piercing is the cold ; Short is my passage to the friendly tomb , For I am poor and miserably old ! Should I reveal the sources of my grief, If soft humanity e'er touch'd your breast , Your hands would not withhold the kind relief, And tears of pity would not be repress'd. Heav'n sends misfortune ; why should we repine ? Tis heav'n has brought me to the stale you see ; And your condition may be soon like mine, The child of sorrow and of misery. A little farm was my paternal lot., Then , like the lark , I sprightly hail'd the morn But ah ! oppression forc'd me from my cot ; My cattle died, and blighted was my corn. My daughter , once the comfort of my age , Lur'd by a villain from her native home , Is cast abandoVd on the world's wide stage , And doomMin scanty poverty to roam. My tender wife , sweet soother of my care ! Struck with sad anguish at the stern decree, Fell, ling'ring fell, a victim to despair, And left the world to wretchedness and me. SELECT PIECES OF POETRY. ^93 Pity the sorrows of a poor old man , Whose trembling limbs have borne him to your door , Whose days are dwindled to the shortest span , Oh! give relief, and heav'n will bless your store ! WE ARE SEVEN. A simple child, That lightly draws its breath , And feels its life in every limb, What should it know of death ? I met a little cottage girl : She was eight years old , she said ; Her hair was thick with many a curl That cluster'd round her head . She had a rustic , woodland air , And she was wildly clad ; Her eyes were fair , and very fair ; Her beauty made me glad. « Sisters and brothers , little maid , « How many are you , then , » said I , « If they two are in heaven ? » The little maiden did reply , (c Oh , master ! we are seven ! » SELECT PIECES OF POETRY. 295 «But they are dead ; those two are dead ! « Their spirits are in heaven ! » 'Twas throwing words away : for still The little maid would have her will , And said , « Nay , we are seven ! » Wordsworth. THE COMMON LOT. Once in the flight of ages past There lived a man ; — and who was he P Mortal ! howe'er thy lot be cast , That man resembled thee. Unknown the region of his birth, The land in which he died unknown ; His name has perished from the earth, This truth survives alone : — That joy and grief, and hope and fear, Alternate triumph'd in his breast ; His bliss and woe , — a smile , a tear ; Oblivion hides the rest. The bounding pulse , the languid limb , The changing spirits rise and fall ; We know that these were felt by him , For these are felt by all. He suffer'd — but his pangs are o'er ; Enjoy'd — but his delights are fled; Had friends ■ — his friends are now no more And foes — his foes are dead. He lov'd - — but whom he lov'd , the grave Hath lost in its unconscious womb : she was fair ! — but none could save Her beauty from the tomb. 296 SELECT PIECES OF POETRY. He saw whatever thou hast seen ; Encounter'd all that troubles thee; He was — whatever thou hast been ; He is - — what thou shalt be. The rolling seasons, day and nigtrt , Sun, moon and stars, the earth and main , Erewhile his portion, life and light, To him exist in vain. The clouds and sunbeams , o'er his eye That once their shades and glory threw , Have left in yonder silent sky No vestige where they flew. The annals of the human race; Their ruins since the world began, Of him afford no other trace Than this , ■ — there lived a man. Montgomery THE SULTANA'S REMONSTRANCE. It suits thee well to weep , As thou look'st on the fair land , Whose sceptre thou hast held , With less than woman's hand. On yon bright city gaze, With its white and marble halls , The glory of its lofty towers, The strength of its proud walls. And look to yonder palace, With its garden of rose , With groves and silver fountains , Fit for a king's r?pose. SELECT PIECES OF POETRY, 297 There is weeping in that city, And a cry of woe and shame , There's a whisper of dishonour, And that whisper is thy name. And the stranger's feast is spread, But it is no feast of thine ; In thine own halls, accursed lips Drain the forbidden wine. And aged men are in the streets Who mourn their length of days, And young knights stand with folded arms, And eyes they dare not raise. There is not one whose blood was not As the waves of ocean free; Their fathers died for thy fathers, They would have died for thee. Weep not, 'tis mine to weep, That ever thou wert born , Alas , that all a mother's love Is lost in a queen's scorn! Yet weep , thou less than woman weep , Those tears become thine eye ; It suits thee well to weep the land For which thou daredst not die. Miss Lakdon. LORD JOHN OF THE EAST. The fires blazed bright till deep midnight, And the guests sat in the hall,, And the lord of the feast, Lord John of the East, Was the merriest of them all. 38 298 SELECT PIECES OF POETRY. His dark grey eye , that wont so sly , Beneath his helm to scowl , Flash'd keenly hright , like a new-waked sprite , As pass'd the circling bowl. In laughter light , or jocund lay, That voice was heard , whose sound , Stern, loud, and deep, in battle-fray Did foemen fierce astound ; And stretch'd so calm, like lady's palm, To every jester near , That hand which through a prostrate foe Oft thrust the ruthless spear. The gallants sang , and the goblets rang , And they revell'd in careless slate , Till a thundering sound , that shook the ground , Was heard at the castle gate. « Who knocks without , so loud and stout ? Some wandering knight I ween, Who from afar, like a guiding star, Our blazing hall hath seen. a If a stranger it be , of high degree , (No churl durst make such a din), Step forth amain, my pages twain, And soothiy ask him in. « Tell him our cheer is the forest deer , Our bowl is mantling high, And the lord of the feast is John of the East Who welcomes him courteously. » The pages twain return'd again , And a wild scared look had they : « Why look ye so ? — is it Jfriend or foe ? » Did the angry baron say. SELECT PIECES OF POETRY. 299 « A stately knight without doth wait, But further he will not hie , Till the baron himself shall come to the gate, And ask him courteously. « By my mother's shroud he is full proud ! What earthly man is he? « I know not in truth, » quoth the trembling youth, <( If earthly man it be. » « In traveller's plight he is belight, With a vest of the crim'sy meet ; But his. mantle behind , that streams on the wind , Is a corse's bloody sheet. » « Out paltry child ! thy wits are wild , Thy comrade will me true : <*-- Say plainly , then , what hast thou seen ? Or dearly shalt thou rue. » Faint spoke the second page with fear , And bent him on his knee , « Were I on your father's sword to swear , The same it appear'd to me. Then dark , dark lower'd the baron's eye , And his red cheek changed to wan ; For again at the gate more furiously The thundering din began. « And is there ne'er of my vassals here , Of high or low degree , That will unto this stranger go — Will go for the love of me ? » Then spoke and said fierce Donald the red - - (A fearless man was he), <( Yes , I will straight to the castle-gate , Lord John, for the love of thee. » ' 30d Select pieces of poetry. With heart full stout he hied him out , While silent all remain i Nor mov'd a tongue those gallants among % Till Donald return'd again. (cOh speak,» said his lord ; «by thy hopes of grace; What stranger must we hail?)) But the haggard look of Donald's face Made his faltering words to fail. <( It is a knight in some foreign guise — , His like I did never behold ; For the stony look of his beamless eyes Make my very life-blood cold. «Oh such a tone did tongue ne'er own That dwelt in mortal head ; It is like a sOilnd from the hollow ground — - Like the voice of the coffin'd dead. (( I bade him to your social board ; But in he will not hie i Until at the gate this castle's lord Shall entreat him courteously. ((And he stretched him the while, with a ghastly smile? And sternly bade me say , 'Twas no depute's task your guest to ask To the feast of the woody bay. » Pale grew the baron , and faintly said, As he heav'd his breath with pain — « From such a feast as there was spread > Do any return again ? « I bade my guest to a bloody feast , When the death's wound was his fare ; And the isle's bright maid, who my love betray 'd j She tore her raven hair. SELECT PIECES OF POETRY. 301 « The sea-fowl screams , and the watch-tower gleams , And the deafening billows roar, Where the unblest was put to rest On a wild and distant shore. u Do the hollow grave and 'whelming wave Give up their dead again ? Doth the surgy waste waft o'er its breast The spirits of the slain? » But his loosen'd limbs shook fast, and pour'd The big drop from his brow ; As louder still the third time roar'd The thundering gate below. « rouse thee , Baron , for manhood's worth ! Let good or ill befall , Thou must to the stranger knight go forth , And ask him to your hall. » « Rouse thy bold breast , » said each eager guest ; « What boots it shrinking so ? Be it fiend or sprite, or murder 'd knight, In God's name thou must go. « Why shouldst thou fear ; dost thou not wear A gift from the greatf Glendower — Sandals blest by a holy priest , O'er which nought ill hath power ? )> All ghastly pale did the Baron quail, As he turned him to the door, And his sandals blest by a holy priest, Sound feebly on the floor. Then back to the hall , and his merry mates all 7 He cast his parting eye : fc God send thee amain safe back again ! » He heaved a heavy sigh. 302 SELECT PIECES OF PEOTRY. Then listen'd they , on the lengthen'd way , To his faint and lessening tread ; And , when that was past , to the vailing blast , That vail'd as for the dead. But wilder it grew , and stronger it blew , And it rose with an elrich sound, Till the lofty keep on its rocky steep Fell hurtling to the ground. Each fearful eye then glanc'd on high, To the lofty window'd wall ; When a fiery trace of the Baron's face Thro' the casement shone on all. But the vision'd glare pass'd through the air , And the raging tempest ceas'd : And never more , on sea or shore , Was seen Lord John of the East. The sandals blest by a holy priest , Lay unscathed on the swarded green ; But never again, on land or main,, Lord John of the East was seen. Johanna Baillie MARY, THE MAID OF THE INN. Who is she , the poor maniac , whose wildly fix'd eyes Seem a heart overcharg'd to express? She weeps not, yet often and deeply she sighs ; She never complains, but her silence implies The composure of settled distress. No aid, no compassion the maniac will seek, Cold and hunger awake not her care : Through the rags do the winds of the winter blow bleak SELECT PIECES OF POETRY. 303 On her poor wither 'd bosom, half bare, and her cheek Has the deathly pale hue of despair. Yet cheerful and happy , not distant the day , Poor Mary , the maniac , has been ; The trav'ller remembers , who journey 'd this way , No damsel so lovely , no damsel so gay , As Mary , the Maid of the Inn. Her cheerful address fill'd the guests with delight , As she welcom'd them in with a smile ; Her heart was a stranger to childish affright , And Mary would walk by the abbey at night, When the wind whistled down the dark aisle. She lov'd , and young Richard had settled the day , And she hop'd to be happy for life ; But Richard was idle and worthless , and they Who knew him would pity poor Mary , and say , That she was too good for his wife. 'Twas in autumn , and stormy and dark was the night, And fast were the windows and door ; Two guests sate enjoying the fire that burned bright , And , smoking in silence , with tranquil delight They listen'd to hear the wind roar. And pluck'd his gown , to share the good man's smile, 310 SELECT PIECES OF POETRY. His ready smile a parent's warmth express'd , Their welfare pleas'd him , and their cares distress'd. To them his heart , his love , his griefs were giv'n , But all his serious thoughts had rest in heay'n. As some tali cliff that lifts its awful form , Swells from the vale , and midway leaves the storm , Though round its breast the rolling clouds are spread Eternal sunshine settles on its head. Goldsmith. FROM COOPER'S HILL. My eye , descending from the hill , surveys Where Thames among the wanton vallies strays. Thames , the most lov'd of all old Ocean's sons By his old sire , to his embraces runs ; Hasting to pay his tribute to the sea , Like mortal life to meet eternity. Though with those streams he no resemblance hold , Whose foam is amber , and their gravel gold ; His genuine and less guilty wealth t'explore , Search not his bottom , but survey his shore , O'er which he kindly spreads his spacious wing, And hatches plenty for th'ensuing spring. Nor with a sudden and impetuous wave, Like profuse kings , resumes the wealth he gave. No unexpected inundations spoil The mower's hopes , nor mock the ploughman's toil : But god-like his unwearied bounty flows : First loves to do, then loves the good he does. Nor are his blessings to his banks confin'd , But free and common, as the sea or wind; When he , to boast or to disperse his stores , Full of the tributes of his grateful shores , SELECT PIECES OF POETRY. Visits the world , and in his flying tow'rs Brings home to us , and makes both Indies ours ; Finds wealth where 'tis, bestows it where it wants, Cities in deserts , wood in cities plants. So that, to us, no thing no place is strange, While his fair bosom is the world's exchange. Oh, could I flow like thee, and make thy stream My great example , as it is my theme ! Though deep , yet clear ; though gentle , yet not dull , Strong without rage, without o'erflowing full. Denham. 311 REFLECTION ON MAN. How poor , how rich , how abject , how august , How complicate, how wonderful is man! How passing wonder He who made him such ! Who centred in our make such strange extremes ! From different natures marvelously mixt, Connection exquisite of distant worlds : Distinguish'd link in being's endless chain ! Midway from nothing to the deity ! A beam ethereal , sully'd and absorpt ! Though sully'd and dishonour'd , still divine ! Dim miniature of greatness absolute ! An heir of glory ! a frail child of dust ! Helpless immortal ! insect infinite ! A worm ! a god ! — I tremble at myself , And in myself am lost ! at home a stranger , Thought wanders up and down, surpris'd , aghast, And wondering at her own ; how reason reels ! , what a miracle is man , to man ! Triumphantly distress'd J what joy, what dread! Alternately transported and alarm'd ; 312 SELECT PIECES OF POETRY. What can preserve my life ! or what destroy ! An angel's arm can't snatch me from the grave, Legions of angels can't confine me Ihere. Young. OZYMANDIAS. I met a traveller from an antique land, Who said : two vast and trunkless legs of stone Stand in the desert. Near them, on the sand, Half sunk , a shattered visage lies , whose frown And wrinkled lip , and sneer of cold command , Tell that the sculptor well those passions read Which yet survive , stamped on these lifeless things , The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed : And on the pedestal these words appear: « My name is Ozymandias , king of kings ; « Look on my works , ye mighty , and despair I * Nothing heside remains ! Round the decay Of that colossal wreck , boundless and bare , The lone and level sands stretch far away. P. B. Shelley. DESCRIPTION OF A HAG. In a close lane , as I pursued my journey , I spied a withered hag, with age grown double, Picking dry sticks, and mumb'ling to herself; Her eyes with scalding rheum were galled and red, Cold palsy shook her head, her hands seem'd withered, And on her crooked shoulders had she wrapp'd SELECT PIECES OF POETRY. 313 The tattered remnants of an old strip'd hanging, Which served to keep her carcase from the cold : So there was nothing of a piece about her. Her lower weeds were all o'er coarsely patch'd With different coloured rags, black, red, white, yellow, And seem'd to speak variety of wretchedness. Otway, AN EPITAPH. Interr'd beneath this marble stone Lies sauntering Jack and idle Joan. While rolling threescore years and one Did round this globe their courses run , If human things went ill or well , If changing empires rose or fell, The morning past , the evening came , And found this couple still the same. They walk'd , and eat , good folks : what then ? Why then they walk'd and eat again : They soundly slept the night away ; They did just nothing all the day s And , having buried children four , Wished not in any way for more. Nor sister either had nor brother ; They seem'd just tallied for each other. Their moral and economy Most perfectly they made agree : Each virtue kept its proper bound , Nor trespass'd on the other's ground. Nor fame nor censure (hey regarded ; They neither punished nor rewarded. He cared not what the footman did ; Her maids she neither prais'd nor chid : So every servant took his course, 40 314 SELECT PIECES OF POETRY, And, bad at first, they all grew worse. Slothful disorder fill'd his stable , And sluttish plenty deck'd her table. Their beer was strong ; their wine was port ; Their meal was large, their grace was short. They gave the poor the remnant meat , Just when it grew not fit to eat. They paid the church and parish rate ; And took , but read not , the receipt ; For which they claim'd their Sunday's due j Of slumbering in an upper pew. No man's defects sought they to know ; So never made themselves a foe. No man's good deeds did they commend , So never rais'd themselves a friend. Nor cherish'd they relations poor ; That might decrease their present store : Nor barn nor house did they repair That might oblige a future heir. They neither added nor confounded ; They neither wanted nor abounded. Nor tear nor smile did they employ At news of public grief or joy. When bells were rung and bonfires made, If ask'd , they ne'er denied their aid : Their jug was to the ringers carried, Whoever either died or married. Their billet at the fire was found , Whoever was depos'd or crown'd. Nor good , nor bad , nor fools , nor wise ; They would not learn , nor could advise : Without love, hatred, joy, or fear, They led — a kind of — as it were : Nor wish'd , nor car'd , nor laugh'd , nor cried And so they lived and so they died. Prior. Select pieces of poetry. FROM FRIENDSHIP IN ABSENCE. A thousand pretty ways we'll think upon To mock our separation. Alas ! ten thousand will not do ; My heart will thus no longer stay, No longer 'twill be kept from you , But knocks against the breast to get away. And when no art affords me help or ease , I seek with verse my grief t'appease : Just as a bird that flies about , And beats itself against the cage, Finding at last no passage out, It sits and sings, and so o'ercomes its rage, Cowley. 315 THE RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER PART I. It is an ancient Mariner ^ And he stoppeth one of tjiree : k By thy long grey beard and glittering eye $ Now whercfor stopp'st thou me ? The bridegroom's doors are open'd wide, And I am next of kin ; The guests are met , the feast is set • Mayst hear the merry din* » He holds him with his skinny hand, a There was a ship , » quoth he. « Hold off unhand me , grey -beard loon ! ) Eftsoons his hand dropt he. 316 SELECT PIECES OF POETRY. He holds him with his glittering eye — The wedding guest stood still, And listens like a three year's child: The Mariner hath his will. The wedding-guest sat on a stone : He cannot choose but hear ; And thus spake on that ancient man, The bright eyed Mariner. « The ship was cheer'd , the harbour clear'd , : Merrily did we drop Below the kirk , below the hill , Below the light-house top. The sun came up upon the left , Out of the sea came he; And he shone bright , and on the right Went down into the sea. And now the storm-blast came, and he Was* tyrrannous and strong : He struck with his o'ertaking winds, And chased us south along. And now there came both mist and snow And it grew wonderous cold : And ice , mast-high , came floating by , As green as emerald. The ice was here , the ice was there , The ice was all around : It cracked and growled, and roar'd and howl'd^ Like noises in a swouhd ! At length did cross an Albatross : Thorough the fog it came ; As if it liad been a christian soul j Wc hailed it in God's name. SELECT PIECES OF POETRY. 317 It ate the food it ne'er had eat , And round and round it flew. The ice did split with a thunder-fit ; The helmsman steer'd us through. And a good south wind sprung up behind ; The Albatross did follow, And every day ,, for food or play , Came to the Mariner's hollo ! » « God save thee , ancient Mariner ! From the fiends that plague thee thus ! — Why looks't thou so? » — « With my cross-bow I shot the Albatross l PART II. The sun now rose upon the right : Out of the sea came he , Still hid in mist, and on the left Went down into the sea. And the good south- wind still blew behind, But no sweet bird did follow , Nor any day for food or play Came to the Mariners' hollo ! And I had done a hellish thing , j And it would work 'em' woe : For all averred I had killed the bird That made the breeze to blow. Ah , wretch ! said they , the bird lo slay , That made the breeze to blow ! Down dropt the breeze , the sails dropt down \ 'Twas sad as sad could be ; And we did speak only to break The silence of the sea ! All in a hot and copper sky , The bloody sun , at noon , 318 SELECT PIECES OF POETRY, Right up above the mast did stand ? No bigger than the moon. Day after day , day after day , We stuck, nor breath nor motion; As idle as a painted ship Upon a painted ocean. Water , water $ everywhere i And all the boards did shrink ; Water , water , everywhere , Nor any drop to drink. The very deep did rot ; Christ ! That ever this should be ! Yea , slimy things did crawl with legs Upon the slimy sea. About ; about j in reel and rout The death-fires danced at night j The water , like a witch's oils , Burnt green , and blue and white. And every tongue , through utter drought Was wither'd at the root ; We could not speak , no more than if We had been choak'd with soot. Ah ! well-a-day ! what evil looks Had I from old and young! Instead of the cross , the Albatross About my neck was hung. PART III; There passed a weary time. Each throat Was parched , and glazed each eye. A weary time ! a weary time ! How glazed each weary eye ! When looking westward , I beheld A something in the sky. SELECT PIECES OF POETRY: 319 At first it seem'd a little speck, And then it seem'd a mist : It moved and moved , and took at last A certain shape , I wist. A speck , a mist , a shape , I wist ! And still it near'd and near d : And as if it dodged a water sprite , It plunged and tack'd and veer'd. With throat unslack'd , with black lips baked , We could nor laugh nor wail; Through utter drought all dumb we stood , I bit my arm , I sucked the blood , And cried , a sail ! a sail ! With throats unslacked, with black lips baked 9 Agape they heard me call : Gramercy ! they for joy did grin , And all at once their breath drew in , As they were drinking all. See ! see ! (I cried ) she tacks no more I Hither to work us weal; Without a breeze , without a tide , She steadies with upright keel! i The western wave was all a-flaniej The day was well nigh done ! Almost upon the western wave Rested the broad bright sunj When that strange shape drove suddenly Betwixt us and the sun. And straight the sun was flecked with bars, ( Heaven's mother send us grace ! ) As if through a dungeon grate he peer'd , With broad and burning face. 320 SELECT PIECES OF POETRY. Alas ! ( thought I p and my heart beat loud ) How fast she nears and nears ! Are those her sails that glance in the sun , Like restless gossameres ! Are those her ribs through which the sun Did peer , as through a grate ? And is that woman all her crew ? Is that a Death ? and are there two ? Is Death that woman's mate? Her lips were red , her looks were free , Her locks were yellow as gold : Her skin was as white as leprosy, The night-mare Life-in-Death was she , Who thicks man's blood with cold. The naked hulk along side came , And the twain were casting dice ; « The game is done ! I've won , I've won ! » Quoth she, and whistles thrice. A gust of wind sterte up behind , And whistled through his bones ; Through the holes of his eyes, and the hole of his mouth, Half whistles and half groans. The sun's rim dips ; the stars rush out : At one stride comes the dark ; With far heard whisper , o'er the sea , Off shot the spectre-bark. We listen'd and looked sideways up ! Fear at my heart , as at a cup , My life-blood seem'd to sip ! The stars were dim , and thick the night , The stearman's face by his lamp gleam'd white. One after one , by the star dogg'd moon , Too quick for groan or sigh, SELECT PIECES OF POETRY. 321 Each turn'd his face with a ghastly pang , And curs'd me with his eye. Four times fifty living men , (And I heard nor sigh nor groan) With heavy thump , a lifeless lump , They dropped down one by one. The souls did from their bodies fly , — They fled to bliss or woe ! And every soul , it passed me by , Like the whiz of my cross-bow ! After a variety of sufferings , he at last reaches his home : and on quitting the wedding-guest says : Farewell, farewell! But this I tell To thee, thou wedding-guest ! He prayeth well , who loveth well Both man and bird and beast. He prayeth best , who loveth best All things both great and small ; For the dear god who loveth us , He made and loveth all. Coleridge. FROM THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. Sir William Deloraine , a bold knight , is sent by the chief of Branksome to Melrose Abbey , to seek a charmed book , buried with a celebrated enchanter many years before. I. <( Sir William of Deloraine , good at need , Mount thee on the swiftest steed ; Spare not to spur , nor stint to ride , Until thou come to fair Tweed side , 41 322 SELECT PIECES OF POETRY. And in Melroses's holy pile, Seek thou the Monk of Saint-Mary aisle. Greet the father well from me ; Say , that the fated hour is come , And to-night he shall watch with thee , To win the treasure of the tomb : For this will be S l . Michael's night , And , though stars be dim , the moon is bright , And the cross of bloody red , Will point to the grave of the mighty dead. II. « What he gives thee , see thou keep ; Stay not thou for food or sleep : Be it scroll or be it book , If thou readest thou art lorn ! Better thou hadst ne'er been born. » III. • Short halt did Deloraine make there; Little recked he of the scene so fair : With dagger's hilt , on the wicket strong , He struck full loud , and struck full long ; The porter hurried to the gate — a Who knocks so loud , and knocks so late ? «/From Branksome 1, » the Warrior cried; And strait the wicket opened wide ; For Branksome's chiefs had in battle stood , To fence the rights of fair Melrose ; And lands and living, many a rood , Had gifted the shrine for their soul's depose. IV. Bold Deloraine his errand said ; The porter bent his humble head ; SELECT PIECES OF POETP.Y. 323 With torch in hand , and feet unshod , And noiseless step, the path he trod : The arched cloisters, far and wide, Rang to the Warrior's clanking stride ; Till stooping low his lofty crest , He entered the cell of the ancient priest , And lifted his barred evantayle , To hail the. Monk of S l Mary's aisle. V. The Ladye of Branksome greets thee by me ; Says that the fated hour is come , And that to-night I shall watch with thee , To win the treasure of the tomb. From sackloth couch the Monk arose ; With toil his stiffened limbs he reared ; A hundred years had flung their snows On his thin locks and floating beard. VI. And strangely on the knight looked he, And his blue eyes gleamed wild and wide ; « And , dar'st thou , Warrior ! seek to see W 7 hat heaven and hell alike would hide ? My breast , in belt of iron pent , With shirt of hair and scourge of thorn , For threescore years in penance spent ; My knees those flinty stones have worn ; Yet all too little to atone For knowing what should ne'er be known. Wouldst thou thy every future year In ceaseless prayer and penance drie, Yet wait thy latter end with fear — Then , daring Warrior , follow me ! » VII. <( Penance , Father , will I none ; Prayer know I hardly one ; 324 SELECT PIECES OF POETRY. For mass or prayer can I rarely tarry , Save to palter an Ave Mary , When I ride on a Border foray : Olher prayer can I none ; So speed me my errand , and let me be gone. » — VIII. Again on the Knight looked the churchman old , And again he sighed heavily ; For he had himself been a warrior bold , And fought in Spain and Italy. And he thought on the days that were long since by , When his limbs were strong, and his courage was high : — Now slow and faint, he led Ihe way, Where cloistered round, the garden lay; The pillared arches were over his head , And beneath their feet were the bones of the dead. IX. They sate them down on a marble stone , A Scottish monarch slept below ; Thus spoke the Monk , in solemn tone : •a I was not always a man of woe ; For Paynim countries I have trod , And fought beneath the cross of God : Now strange to my eyes thine arms appear, And their iron clang sounds strange to my ear. X. « In these far climes , it was my lot To meet the wond 'rous Michael Scott ; A wizard of such dreaded fame , That when , in Salamanca's cave , Him listed his magic wand to wave ; The bells would ring in Notre Dame ! Some of his skill he taught to me ; SELECT PIECES OF POETRY. 325 And , Warrior , I could say to thee The words that cleft Eildon hills in three , And bridled the Tweed with a curb of stone : But to speak them were a deadly sin ; And for having but thought them my heart within , A triple penance must be done. XI. a When Michael lay on his dying bed , His conscience was awakened ; He bethought him of his sinful deed , And he gave me a sign to come with speed ; I was in Spain when the morning rose , But I stood by his bed ere the evening close. The words may not again be said, That he spoke to me , on death-bed laid : They would rend this Abbaye's massy nave , And pile it in heaps above his grave. XII. « I swore to bury his Mighty Book , That never mortal might therein look ; And never to tell where it was hid , Save at his Chief of Branksome's need : And when that need was past and o'er , Again the volume to restore. I buried him on St. Michael's night, When the bell lolled one, and the moon was bright, And I dug his chamber among the dead, When the floor of the chancel was stained red , That his patron's cross might over him wave , And scare the fiends from the Wizard's grave. XIII. « It was a night of woe and dread , When Michael in the tomb I laid ! 326 SELECT PIECES OF POETRY. Strange sounds along the chancel past , The banners waved without a blast » — — Still spoke the Monk , when the bell tolled one ! — I tell you , that a braver man Than William of Deloraine , good at need , Against a foe ne'er spurred a steed ; Yet somewhat was he chilled with dread, And his hair did bristle upon his head. XIV. (( Lo , Warrior! now the Cross of Red Points to the grave of the mighty dead ; Within it burns a wondrous light , To chase the spirits that love the night : That lamp shall burn unquenchably , ^ Until the eternal doom shall be. » Slow moved the Monk to the broad flag stone , Which the bloody Cross was traced upon : He pointed to a secret nook ; An iron bar the Warrior took ; And the Monk made a sign , with his withered hand , The grave's huge portal to expand. XV. With beating heart to the task he went ; His sinewy frame o'er the grave-stone bent; With bar of iron heaved amain , Till the toil-drops fell from his brows, like rain. It was by dint of passing strength , That he moved the massy stone at length. I would you had been there to see, How the light broke forth so gloriously , Streamed upward to the chancel roof, And through the galleries far aloof! No earthly flame blazed e'er so bright : It shone like heaven's own blessed light ; SELECT PIECES OF POETRY. 327 And , issuing from the tomb , Showed the Monk's cowl, and visage pale, Danced on the dark-browed Warrior's mail , And kissed his waving plume. XVI. Before their eyes the Wizard lay , As if he had not been dead a day. His hoary beard in silver rolled , He seemed some seventy winters old ; A palmer's amice wrapped him round , With a wrought Spanish baldric bound , Like a pilgrim beyond the sea ; His left hand held his Book of Might ; A silver cross was in his right ; The lamp was placed beside his knee : High and majestic was his look , At which the fellest fiends had shook , And all unruffled was hi a face : They trusted his soul had gotten grace. XVII. Often had William of Deloraine Rode through the battle's bloody plain , And trampled down the warriors slain , And neither known remorse or awe; let now remorse and awe he owned; His breath came thick , his head swam round , ^ When this strange scene of death he saw. Bewildered and unnerved he stood , And the priest prayed fervently and loud : With eyes averted prayed he ; He might not endure the sight to see , Of the man he had loved so brotherly. 328 SELECT PIECES OF POETRY. XVIII. And when the priest his death -prayer had prayed , Thus unto Deloraine he said : — « Now speed thee what thou hast to do , Or , Warrior , we may dearly rue ; For those , thou mayst not look upon , Are gathering fast round the yawning stone ! » — Then Deloraine , in terror , took From the cold hand the Mighty Book , With iron clasped , and with iron bound : He thought as he took it , the dead man frowned ; But the glare of the sepulchral light, Perchance , had dazzled the Warrior's sight. XIX. When the huge stone sunk o'er the tomb , The night returned in double gloom , For the moon had gone down , and the stars were few ; And as the Knight and Priest withdrew , With wavering steps and dizzy brain , They hardly might the postern gain. 'Tis said, as through the aisles they past, They heard strange noises on the blast ; And through the cloister-galleries small, Which at mid-height thread the chancel wall , Loud sobs , and laughter louder , ran , And voices unlike the voice of man ; As if the fiends kept holiday, Because these spells were brought to day. I cannot tell how the truth may be ; I say the tale as 'twas said to me. XX. a Now , hie thee hence , » the Father said , « And when we are on death-bed laid , SELECT PIECES OF POETRY. 329 i may our dear Lad ye , and sweet St. John, Forgive our souls for the deed we have done ! » — The Monk returned him to his cell , And many a prayer and penance sped. When the convent met at the noon-tide bell — The Monk of St. -Mary's aisle was dead ! Before the cross was the body laid , With hands clasped fast, as if still he prayed. XVIII. The knight breathed free in the morning wind , And strove his hardihood to find : He was glad when he passed the tomb-stones grey , Which girdle round the fair Abbaye ; For the mystic Book , to his bosom prest , Fell — like a load upon his breast ; And his joints , with nerves of iron twined , Shook, like the aspen leaves in wind. Full fain was he when the dawn of day Began to brighten Cheviot grey : He joyed to see the cheerful light, And he said Ave Mary, as well as he might. Walter Scott. PARADISE AND THE PERI. One morn a Peri at the gate Of Eden stood disconsolate ; And as she listen'd to the Springs Of life within , like music flowing , And caught the light upon her wings Through the half-open portal glowing , She wept to think her recreant race Should e'er have lost that glorious place ! 42 330 SELECT PIECES OF POETRY. « How happy , » exclaim 'd this child of air , Are the holj spirits who wander there, 'Mid flowers that never shall fade or fall ; Though mine are the gardens of earth and sea , And the stars themselves have flowers for me , One blossom of heaven out-blooms them all! Though sunny the lake of cool Cashmere, With its plane-tree isle reflected clear, And sweelly the founts of that valley fall ; Though bright are the waters of Sing-su-hay, And the golden floods that thitherward stray, Yet, oh ! 'tis only the Blest can say How the waters of heaven outshine them all ! « Go , wing thy flight from star to star , From world to luminous world, as far As the universe spreads its flaming wall ; Take all the pleasures of all the spheres , And multiply each through endless years , One minute of heaven is worth them all ! » The glorious angel, who was keeping The gates of light , beheld her weeping ; And as he nearer drew and listen'd To her sad song, a tear drop glisten'd Within his eye-lids, like the spray From Eden's fountain, when it lies On the blue flower, which Bramins say Blooms no where but in Paradise !