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will stand by what he shall say.” To this the others agreed, and the Brahmin called out, “0, stranger, what dost thou call this beast?” Surely, 0, Brahmin,” said the knave, “it is a fine sheep."
5. Then the Brahmin said, “Surely the gods have taken away my senses ;” and he asked pardon of him who carried the dog, and bought it for a measure of rice and a pot of ghee, 52 and offered it up to the gods, who, being wroth at this unclean sacri fice, smote him with a sore disease in all his joints.38
6. Thus, or nearly thus, if we remember rightly, runs the story of the Sanscrite Æsop.E1 The moral, like the moral of every fables that is worth the telling, lies on the surface. The writer evidently means to caution us against the practices of puffers, - a class of people who have more than once talked the public into the most absurd errors.
7. It is amusing to think over the history of most of the publications which have had a run during the last few years. The publisher is often the publisher of some periodical work. In this periodical work the first flourish of trumpets is sounded. The peal is then echoed and reëchoed by all the other periodical works over which the publisher, or the author, or the author's côtërie, may have any influence.
8. The newspapers are for a fortnight filled with puffs of all the various kinds which Sheridan has recounted, — direct, oblique, and collusive. Sometimes the praise is laid on thick, for simple-minded people. “Pathetic," "sublime,” “ splendid," “ graceful, brilliant wit,” « exquisite humor,"134 and other phrases equally flattering, fall in a shower as thick and as sweet as the sugar-plums at a Roman carnival. El
9. Sometimes greater art is used. A sinëcure has been offered to the writer if he would suppress his work, or if he would even soften down a few of his incom'parable portraits. A distinguished military and political character has challenged the inimitable sătīrist of the vices of the great; and the puffer is glad to learn that the parties have been bound over to keep the peace.
10. Sometimes it is thought expedient that the puffer should put on a grave face, and utter his pănëgyr’icer in the form of admonition! “Such attacks on private character cannot be too much condemned. Even the exubërant wit of our author, and the irresistible power of his withering sarcasm, are no excuse for that utter disregard which he manifests for the feelings of others.”
11. That people who live by personal slander should practise these arts is not surprising. Those who stoop to write calumni. ous books may well stoop to puff them ; - and that the basest of
all trades should be carried on in the basest of all manners, is quite proper, and as it should be. But how any man who has the least self-respect, the least regard for his own personal dig. nity, can condescend to persecute the public with this rag-fair importunity, we do not understand.
12. Extreme poverty may, indeed, in some degree, be an excise for employing these shifts, as it may be an excuse for steal. ing a leg of mutton. But we really think that a man of spirit and delicacy would quite as soon satisfy his wants in the one way as in the other.
LXXII. — HYMN OF THE HEBREW MAID.
1. WHEN Israël, El of the Lord beloved,
Out from the land of bondage came,
An awful guide, in smoke and fame.
The cloudy pillar glided slow ;
2. Then rose the choral hymn of praise,
And trump and timbrel'l answered keen;
With priest’s and warrior's voice between..
Forsaken Israel wanders lone :
And Thou hast left them to their own.
3. But, - present still, though now unseen!
When brightly shines the prosperous day,
To temper the deceitful ray.
In shade and storm the frequent night,
A burning and a shining light! .
4. Our harps we left by Babel'ger streams,
The tyrant's jest, the Gentile’ser scorn ;
And mute are timubrei, harp, and horn;
The flesh of rams, I will not prize;
Are mine accepted sacrifice.
LXXIII. - THE BRAVE MAN.
1. Loud let the Brave Man's praises swell
As organ blast, or clang of bell !EI
He asks not yold, -- he asks but song!
2. The thaw-wind came from the southern sea,
Dewy and dark o'er Italy;
As flies the fleck before the wolf;
3. The snow-drifts melt, till the mountain calls
With the voice of a thousand water-falls ;
Still doth the land-flood wax and swell;
4. On pillars stout, and arches wide,
A bridge of granite stems the tide ;
Upon the bridge the töll-house stood ,
Loud howls the wind, loud roars the surge;
And he gazed on the waves in their gathering might “ All-merciful God! to our sins be good ! We are lost! we are lost! The flood! the floed!”
6. High rolled the waves! In headlong track
Hither and thither dashed the wrack!
Scarce on their base the arches støed !
7. High heaves the floed-wreck, - block on block
The sturdy pillars feel the shock;
On either side the arches shake.
8. Upon the river’s further strand
A trembling crowd of gazers stand ;
Yet none may aid or succor bring;
9. When shall the Brave Man's praises swell
As organ blast or clang of bell ?-
Name him at last, my glorious song!
10. Quick gallops up, with headlong speed,
A noble Count on noble steed!
A purse well stored with shining gold. “ Two hundred pistoles'er for the man who shall a Yon perishing wretch from the yawning wave!” 11. Who is the Brave Man, say, my song:
Shall to the Count thy meed belong?
I know a braver still than he :
12. And ever higher swell the waves,
And louder still the storm-wind raves,
0, Brave Man! Brave Man! haste, appear! Buttress and pillar, they groan and strain, And the rocking arches are rent in twain !
13. Again, 27 again before their eyes,
High holds the Count the glittering prize;
Of all the thousand stirs not one.
14. But who amid the crowd is seen,
In peasant garb, with simple mien,
In form and feature tall and grave?
15. Into a skiff he boldly sprang;
He braved the storm that round him rang:
He called aloud on God's great name,
And backward a deliverer came.
16. The river round him boiled and surged ;
Thrice through the waves his skiff he urged,
He bore them safely to the shore :
To whom shall that high name belong?
But’t was, perchance, the prize to win.
18. Out spake the Count, “ Right boldly done!
Here, take thy purse ; 't was nobly won ?
And truly the Count right noble is ;
19. “ Poor though I be, thy hand withhold;
I barter not my life for gold!
Great Count, on him thy gift bestow.”
20. Then loudly let his praises swell
As organ blast or clang of bell;
He asks not gold, he asks but song !
FROM THE GERMAN OF BURGH..
LXXIV. — A PUPIL'S TRIBUTE TO HIS TEACHER. 1. JOHN HENDERSON was born at Limerick, in Ireland, but oame to England29 early in life with his parents. From the age of three years he discovered the pres’ages of a great mind. Without retracing the steps of his progression, a general idea may be formed of them from the circumstance of his having professionally