Lavengro quotes

I have been a wanderer the greater part of my life; indeed I remember only two periods, and these by no means lengthy, when I was, strictly speaking, stationary.

I was a soldier’s son, and as the means of my father were by no means sufficient to support two establishments, his family invariably attended him wherever he went, so that from my infancy I was accustomed to travelling and wandering, and looked upon a …

and I have already stated how a viper would permit, without resentment, one child to take it up in his hand, whilst it showed its dislike to the approach of another by the fiercest hissings.

Philosophy can explain many strange things, but there are some which are a far pitch above her, and this is one.

I should scarcely relate another circumstance which occurred about this time but for a singular effect which it produced upon my constitution. Up to this period I had been rather a delicate child;

a book, moreover, to which, from the hardy deeds which it narrates, and the spirit of strange and romantic enterprise which it tends to awaken, England owes many of her astonishing discoveries both by sea and land, and no inconsiderable part of her naval glory.

Hail to thee, spirit of De Foe! What does not my own poor self owe to thee?

England has better bards than either Greece or Rome, yet I could spare them easier far than De Foe, “unabashed De Foe,” as the hunchbacked rhymer styled him.

… degrees more rapid, till at last, under “a shoulder of mutton sail,” I found myself cantering before a steady breeze over an ocean of enchantment, so well pleased with my voyage that I cared not how long it might be ere it reached its termination.

And it was in this manner that I first took to the paths of knowledge.

About this time I began to be somewhat impressed with religious feelings. My parents were, to a certain extent, religious people;

grey coat of Newmarket cut, plush waistcoat, corduroys, and boots, nothing altered; but the head, alas! is bare and so is the neck.

Oh, crime and virtue, virtue and crime!

—it was old John Newton, I think, who, when he saw a man going to be hanged, said: “There goes John Newton, but for the grace of God!”

If you can by any means, either fair or foul, induce him to get by heart Lilly’s Latin Grammar, you may set your heart at rest with respect to him; I, myself, will be his warrant.

I never yet knew a boy that was induced, either by fair means or foul, to learn Lilly’s Latin Grammar by heart, who did not turn out a man, provided he lived long enough.

”

“Can an Arabian steed submit to be a vile drudge?” cries the fatalist. Nonsense! A man is not an irrational creature, but a reasoning being, and has something within him beyond mere brutal instinct.

The greatest victory which a man can achieve is over himself, by which is meant those unruly passions which are not convenient to the time and place.

David did not do this; he gave the reins to his wild heart, instead of curbing it, and became a robber, and, alas! alas! he shed blood—under peculiar circumstances, it is true, and without malice prepense—and for that blood he eventually died, and justly;

“Any other person’s house?” I demanded.

“My own house, the beggar’s house⁠—the accursed house of Cromwell!”

there are now but two that remember him—the one who bore him, and the being who was nurtured at the same breast.

He was taken, and I was left! Truly, the ways of Providence are inscrutable.

“You seem to be very comfortable, John,” said I, looking around the room and at the various objects which I have described above: “you have a good roof over your head, and have all your things about you.”

the cob laughing in his equine way, scattering foam and pebbles to the left and right, and trotting at the rate of sixteen miles an hour.

Oh, that ride! that first ride!⁠—most truly it was an epoch in my existence; and I still look back to it with feelings of longing and regret.

People may talk of first love—it is a very agreeable event, I dare say—but give me the flush, and triumph, and glorious sweat of a first ride, like mine on the mighty cob! My whole frame was shaken, it is true;

Oh, that ride! that first ride!—most truly it was an epoch in my existence; and I still look back to it with feelings of longing and regret.

People may talk of first love⁠—it is a very agreeable event, I dare say⁠—but give me the flush, and triumph, and glorious sweat of a first ride, like mine on the mighty cob!

My whole frame was shaken, it is true; and during one long week I could hardly move foot or hand; but what of that? By that one trial I had become free, as I may say, of the whole equine species.

but, in that case, he should rather be termed a philosopher than a philologist—between which two the difference is wide indeed!

An individual may speak and read a dozen languages, and yet be an exceedingly poor creature, scarcely half a man;

and the pursuit of tongues for their own sake, and the mere satisfaction of acquiring them, surely argues an intellect of a very low order; a mind disposed to be satisfied with mean and grovelling things;

I have heard talk of the pleasures of idleness, yet it is my own firm belief that no one ever yet took pleasure in it.

Mere idleness is the most disagreeable state of existence, and both mind and body are continually making efforts to escape from it.

It has been said that idleness is the parent of mischief, which is very true; but mischief itself is merely an attempt to escape from the dreary vacuum of idleness.

“

Would it not be a rum thing if divine and devilish were originally one and the same word?

”

Thou wouldst be joyous, wouldst thou? then be a fool. What great work was ever the result of joy, the puny one? Who have been the wise ones, the mighty ones, the conquering ones of this earth? the joyous? I believe not.

The fool is happy, or comparatively so⁠—certainly the least sorrowful, but he is still a fool; and whose notes are sweetest, those of the nightingale, or of the silly lark?

“What ails you, my child?” said a mother to her son, as he lay on a couch under the influence of the dreadful one; “what ails you? you seem afraid!”

they have followed him in his researches, and have never found him once tripping. Oh, he’s a wonderful writer! his power of condensation is admirable; the lore of the whole world is to be found in his pages.

Sometimes in a single note he has given us the result of the study of years; or, to speak metaphorically, ‘he has ransacked a thousand Gulistans, and has condensed all his fragrant booty into a single drop of otto.’

”

and perhaps, among other things, may have translated the Talmud, and some of the great works of the Arabians. Pooh! all this is mere learning and translation, and such will never secure immortality.

Translation is at best an echo, and it must be a wonderful echo to be heard after the lapse of a thousand years.

No! all I have already done, and all I may yet do in the same way, I may reckon as nothing—mere pastime; something else must be done. I must either write some grand original work, or conquer an empire;

“

Life is sweet, brother.

”

“You talk like a gorgio—which is the same as talking like a fool—were you a Rommany Chal you would talk wiser. Wish to die, indeed!

A Rommany Chal would wish to live forever!

”

“

There’s the wind on the heath, brother; if I could only feel that, I would gladly live forever.

Dosta, we’ll now go to the tents and put on the gloves; and I’ll try to make you feel what a sweet thing it is to be alive, brother!”

and to the old town were now flocking the bruisers of England, men of tremendous renown. Let no one sneer at the bruisers of England—what were the gladiators of Rome, or the bullfighters of Spain, in its palmiest days, compared to England’s bruisers?

Pity that ever corruption should have crept in amongst them

—but of that I wish not to talk, let us still hope that a spark of the old religion, of which they were the priests still lingers in the breasts of Englishmen.

I think I now see them upon the bowling-green, the men of renown, amidst hundreds of people with no renown at all, who gaze upon them with timid wonder.

Fame, after all, is a glorious thing, though it lasts only for a day.

There’s Cribb, the champion of England, and perhaps the best man in England; there he is, with his huge, massive figure, and face wonderfully like that of a lion.

Many have heard of that man—many may be desirous of knowing yet more of him. I have nothing to do with that man’s afterlife—he fulfilled his dukkeripen. “A bad, violent man!”

Softly friend; when thou wouldst speak harshly of the dead, remember that thou hast not yet fulfilled thy own dukkeripen!

It consisted of a small room, up two pair of stairs, in which I was to sit, and another still smaller above it, in which I was to sleep. I remember that I sat down, and looked disconsolate about me—everything seemed so cold and dingy.

Yet how little is required to make a situation⁠—however cheerless at first sight⁠—cheerful and comfortable.

The people of the house, who looked kindly upon me, lighted a fire in the dingy grate; and, then, what a change!—the dingy room seemed dingy no more! Oh, the luxury of a cheerful fire after a chill night’s journey!

“Then, sir, I must give up business altogether.

Sir, I have a great respect for the goddess Reason⁠—an infinite respect, sir; indeed, in my time, I have made a great many sacrifices for her; but, sir, I cannot altogether ruin myself for the goddess Reason.

Sir, I am a friend to Liberty, as is well known; but I must also be a friend to my own family.

he fiery, enthusiastic and openhearted, I neither fiery, enthusiastic nor openhearted; he fond of pleasure and dissipation, I of study and reflection. Yet it is of such dissimilar elements that the most lasting friendships are formed: we do not like counterparts of ourselves. “

Two great talkers will not travel far together,

” is a Spanish saying; I will add, “Nor two silent people;” we naturally love our opposites.

It is no easy thing to tell a story plainly and distinctly by mouth; but to tell one on paper is difficult indeed, so many snares lie in the way.

People are afraid to put down what is common on paper, they seek to embellish their narratives, as they think, by philosophic speculations and reflections; they are anxious to shine, and people who are anxious to shine can never tell a plain story.

“So I went with them to a music booth, where they made me almost drunk with gin, and began to talk their flash language, which I did not understand,” says, or is made to say, Henry Simms, executed at Tyburn some seventy years before the …

“Do I exist? Do these things, which I think I see about me, exist, or do they not? Is not everything a dream—a deceitful dream? Is not this apartment a dream—the furniture a dream? The publisher a dream—his philosophy a dream?

Am I not myself a dream⁠—dreaming about translating a dream?

I can’t see why all should not be a dream; what’s the use of the reality?” And then I would pinch myself, and snuff the burdened smoky light. “I can’t see, for the life of me, the use of all this;

Petulengro and Pakomovna; then, had he clapped his own legs upon the mayor, or anyone else in the concourse, what matter? But I repeat that I have no hope of making heroic pictures out of English mayors, or, indeed, out of English figures in general.

England may be a land of heroic hearts, but it is not, properly, a land of heroic figures, or heroic posture-making.

Italy—what was I going to say about Italy?

And yet I don’t know; didn’t he write Childe Harold and that ode? Yes, he wrote Childe Harold and that ode. Then a time will scarcely come when he will be forgotten.

Lords, squires and cockneys may pass away, but a time will scarcely come when Childe Harold and that ode will be forgotten.

He was a poet, after all, and he must have known it; a real poet, equal to—to—what a destiny! rank, beauty, fashion, immortality—he could not be unhappy; what a difference in the fate of men—I wish I could think he was unhappy.

“On what grounds do you suppose me to be so?”

“Sir,” said the publisher, “you eat meat.”

“Yes,” said I, “I eat meat sometimes: what should I eat?”

The publisher was furious—I was silent.

For want of a pinch of snuff, I had recourse to something which is no bad substitute for a pinch of snuff to those who can’t take it, silent contempt;

at first it made the publisher more furious, as perhaps a pinch of snuff would; it, however, eventually calmed him, and he ordered me back to my occupations, in other words, the compilation.

it, however, eventually calmed him, and he ordered me back to my occupations, in other words, the compilation. To be brief, the compilation was completed, I got paid in the usual manner, and forthwith left him.

He was a clever man, but what a difference in clever men!

“I believe your sole motive for inquiring,” said I, “was to have an opportunity of venting a foolish boast, and to let me know that you were in possession of fifty pounds.”

“What is the use of having money unless you let people know you have it?” said Mr. Petulengro.

“It is not everyone can read faces, brother; and, unless you knew I had money, how could you ask me to lend you any?”

Before I departed I received the twenty pounds, and departed with a light heart to my lodgings.

Reader, amidst the difficulties and dangers of this life, should you ever be tempted to despair, call to mind these latter chapters of the life of Lavengro.

There are few positions, however difficult, from which dogged resolution and perseverance may not liberate you.

Reader, amidst the difficulties and dangers of this life, should you ever be tempted to despair, call to mind these latter chapters of the life of Lavengro.

There are few positions, however difficult, from which dogged resolution and perseverance may not liberate you.

… stick and bundle, and taking off my hat, I advanced slowly, and cast myself—it was folly, perhaps, but I could not help what I did—cast myself, with my face on the dewy earth, in the middle of the portal of giants, beneath the transverse stone.

The spirit of Stonehenge was strong upon me!

And after I had remained with my face on the ground for some time, I arose, placed my hat on my head, and taking up my stick and bundle, wandered around the wondrous circle, examining each individual stone, from the greatest to the least, and …

“You are quite mistaken,” said I, “

I would as soon drink with a convict as with a judge.

I am by no means certain that, under the same circumstances, the judge would be one whit better than the convict. Come along! I will go back to oblige you.

“You are quite mistaken,” said I, “I would as soon drink with a convict as with a judge.

I am by no means certain that, under the same circumstances, the judge would be one whit better than the convict.

Come along! I will go back to oblige you. I have an odd sixpence in my pocket, which I will change, that I may drink with you.”

In about five minutes none of the family looked half so disconsolate as before, and the tinker and I were in deep discourse.

Oh, genial and gladdening is the power of good ale, the true and proper drink of Englishmen.

He is not deserving of the name of Englishman who speaketh against ale, that is good ale, like that which has just made merry the hearts of this poor family;

… about twenty miles from here in a post-chaise at the door of an inn, and as I looked from the window of the chaise, I saw you standing by a gutter with a big tin ladle in your hand, and somebody called you Jack Slingsby.

I never forget anything I hear or see; I can’t, I wish I could.

So there’s nothing strange in my knowing your name; indeed, there’s nothing strange in anything, provided you examine it to the bottom. Now, what am I to give you for the things?

I then pitched the little tent close beside the ash tree to which I have alluded, and conveyed two or three articles into it, and instantly felt that I had commenced housekeeping for the first time in my life.

Housekeeping, however, without a fire is a very sorry affair, something like the housekeeping of children in their toy houses

; of this I was the more sensible from feeling very cold and shivering, owing to my late exposure to the rain, and sleeping in the night air.

“I trust thou dost bear no malice against her.” “No,” said I, “I bear no malice against her.” “Thou art not wishing to deliver her into the hand of what is called justice?” “By no means,” said I; “

I have lived long enough upon the roads not to cry out for the constable when my finger is broken.

I consider this poisoning as an accident of the roads; one of those to which those who travel are occasionally subject.” “In short, thou forgivest thine adversary?” “Both now and forever,” said I.

I slept in a small room alone, to which I ascended by a wooden stair, open to the sky.

I have often thought since that it is not a good thing for children to sleep alone.

“After breakfast I went to school, and endeavoured to employ myself upon my tasks, but all in vain; I could think of nothing but the sin against the Holy Ghost; my eyes, instead of being fixed upon my book, wandered in vacancy.

“

I thought she would have shrunk from me with horror; but she did not; her hand, it is true, trembled once or twice; but that was all.

At last she gave mine a gentle pressure; and, looking up in my face, she said—what do you think my wife said, young man?”

it was there that I completed my studies. But to the point. I was once reading on London Bridge a book which an ancient gentlewoman, who kept the bridge, was in the habit of lending me; and there I found written, ‘

Each one carries in his breast the recollection of some sin which presses heavy upon him. O! if men could but look into each other’s hearts, what blackness would they find there!

’ ”

It has always struck me that there is something highly poetical about a forge.

I am not singular in this opinion: various individuals have assured me that they can never pass by one, even in the midst of a crowded town, without experiencing sensations which they can scarcely define, but which are highly pleasurable.

That may be the case of those who make shoes of leather, but it shan’t be said of the household of him who makes shoes of iron; at any rate, it shan’t be said of mine.

I tell you what, my gry, whilst you continue with me, you shall both be better shod, and better fed, than you were with your last master.

”

Every moment I felt it gathering force, and making me more wholly its own. What should I do?—resist, of course; and I did resist. I grasped, I tore, and strove to fling it from me; but of what avail were my efforts?

I could only have got rid of it by getting rid of myself: it was part of myself, or rather it was all myself.

I rushed amongst the trees, and struck at them with my bare fists, and dashed my head against them, but I felt no pain. How could I feel pain with that horror upon me!

“

Gypsies do not pretend to know anything which relates to themselves

,” said I; “but I advise you, if you ever come again, to come openly.”

and that she hoped, with God’s favour, to be able to take her own part, and to give to perverse customers as good as they might bring.

She had a dauntless heart that same Belle.

Such was the staple of Belle’s conversation. As for mine, I would endeavour to entertain her with strange dreams of adventure, in which I figured in opaque forests, strangling wild beasts, or discovering and plundering the hordes of dragons;

The landlord struck the table before him violently with his fist. “Confound my reputation!” said he. “No reputation that I have will be satisfaction to my brewer for the seventy pounds I owe him.

Reputation won’t pass for the current coin of this here realm; and let me tell you, that if it a’n’t backed by some of it, it a’n’t a bit better than rotten cabbage, as I have found.

Only three weeks since I was, as I told you, the wonder and glory of the neighbourhood;

“No,” said I,

“I am wise enough to wish not to fight at all.”

“And how’s my brewer to be paid?” said the landlord.

“I really don’t know,” said I.

“I’ll change my religion,” said the landlord.

… public-house that the Church of England was a persecuting church, and here in the dingle you have confessed that one section of it is willing to grant perfect freedom to the exercise of all religions, and the other only thinks of leading an easy life.”

“Saying a thing in the public-house is a widely different thing from saying it in the dingle,” said the man in black

; “had the Church of England been a persecuting church, it would not stand in the position in which it stands at present; it might, with its opportunities, have spread itself over the greater part of the world.

“You are right,” said I, “to be afraid of me; I have taught you to decline master in Armenian.”

“You almost tempt me,” said Belle, “to make you decline mistress in English.”

“To make matters short,” said I, “I decline a mistress.”

“How came you to know anything about him?” said the man in black, with a look of some surprise.

“Some of us poor Protestant tinkers,” said I, “though we live in dingles, are also acquainted with a thing or two.”

“I really believe you are,” said the man in black, staring at me; “but, in connection with this Mumbo Jumbo, I could relate to you a comical story about a fellow, an English servant, I once met at Rome.”

“Before we give you an answer,” I replied,

“I would fain know more about you; perhaps you will declare your name?”

“That I will never do,” said the man in black; “no one in England knows it but myself, and I will not declare it, even in a dingle;

Let the enemies of old England make the most of all their blunders and mistakes, they will have no help from me; but enough of the fellow, Belle; let us now have tea, and after that—”

“No Armenian,” said Belle

; “but I want to ask a question: pray are all people of that man’s name either rogues or fools?”

I tell you what, brother; frequently, as I have sat under a hedge in spring or summer time, and heard the cuckoo, I have thought that we chals and cuckoos are alike in many respects, but especially in character.

Everybody speaks ill of us both, and everybody is glad to see both of us again.

”

Isopel Berners stood at the mouth, the beams of the early morning sun shone full on her noble face and figure. I waved my hand towards her. She slowly lifted up her right arm.

I turned away, and never saw Isopel Berners again.

My companions and myself proceeded on our way. In about two hours we reached the place where the fair was to be held. After breakfasting on bread and cheese and ale behind a broken stone wall, we drove our animals to the fair.

if such an ugly scoundrel as Sylvester had no difficulty in getting such a nice wife as Ursula, surely I, who am not a tenth part so ugly, cannot fail to obtain the hand of Isopel Berners, uncommonly fine damsel though she be.

Husbands do not grow upon hedgerows; she is merely gone after a little business and will return tomorrow.

”

You persuaded me to give up that silly drink they call sherry, and drink ale; and what was it but drinking ale which gave me courage to knock down that fellow Hunter—and knocking him down was, I verily believe, the turning point of my disorder.

God don’t love them who won’t strike out for themselves

; and as far as I can calculate with respect to time, it was just the moment after I had knocked down Hunter, that the parson consented to lend me the money, and everything began to grow civil to me.

whereupon he came up to me and said: “Now, brother, do get out of the saddle—you are no bad hand at trotting, I am willing to acknowledge that; but at leaping a horse there is no one like Tawno.

Let every dog be praised for his own gift.

You have been showing off in your line for the last half-hour; now do give Tawno a chance of exhibiting a little; poor fellow, he hasn’t often a chance of exhibiting, as his wife keeps him so much out of sight.”

… another to match it in the country, and if anybody gives you the lie, take him by the nose and tweak it off, just as you would do if anybody were to speak ill of your lady, or, for want of her, of your housekeeper.

Take care of your horse, as you would of the apple of your eye

—I am sure I would if I were a gentleman, which I don’t ever expect to be, and hardly wish, seeing as how I am sixty-nine, and am rather too old to ride—yes, cherish and take care of your horse as perhaps the best friend …

and you will never again have an opportunity of drinking the health of a man on his hundredth birthday.” So I broke my word, and drank. “Yours is a wonderful age,” said I.

“It is a long time to look back to the beginning of it,” said the old man; “yet, upon the whole, I am not sorry to have lived it all.”

“How have you passed your time?” said I. “As well as I could,” said the old man; “always enjoying a good thing when it came honestly within my reach; not forgetting to praise God for putting it there.”

“As well as I could,” said the old man; “always enjoying a good thing when it came honestly within my reach; not forgetting to praise God for putting it there.” “I suppose you were fond of a glass of good ale when you were young?”

“Yes,” said the old man, “I was; and so, thank God, I am still.” And he drank off a glass of ale.

On I went in my journey, traversing England from west to east, ascending and descending hills, crossing rivers by bridge and ferry, and passing over extensive plains. What a beautiful country is England!

On I went in my journey, traversing England from west to east, ascending and descending hills, crossing rivers by bridge and ferry, and passing over extensive plains.

What a beautiful country is England! People run abroad to see beautiful countries, and leave their own behind unknown, unnoticed⁠—their own the most beautiful!

And then, again, what a country for adventures! especially to those who travel it on foot, or on horseback. People run abroad in quest of adventures, and traverse Spain or Portugal on mule or on horseback;

I was disappointed in my wish; she was removed, who constituted my only felicity in this life; desolation came to my heart, and misery to my head. To escape from the latter I had recourse to Chinese.

By degrees the misery left my head, but the desolation of the heart yet remains.

”

“Yes,” said the old man,

“I have learnt Chinese.”

“Well,” said I, “I really would counsel you to learn to know what’s o’clock as soon as possible. Consider what a sad thing it would be to go out of the world not knowing what’s o’clock.

“If you please,” said I; “but I tell you, he’s apt to bite.” “He can scarcely be a worse bite than his master,” said the man, looking into the horse’s mouth; “he’s four off. I say, young man, will you warrant this horse?”

“No,” said I; “I never warrant horses; the horses that I ride can always warrant themselves.”

“I wish you would let me speak a word to you,” said he. “Just come aside. It’s a nice horse,” said he in a half-whisper, after I had ridden a few paces aside with him.

“

My grandfather was a shorter, and my father was a smasher; the one was scragg’d, and the other lagg’d.

”

It is true he would scarcely then have been an out and outer at Latin and matthew mattocks, but what need of either to a chap born with a grin?

Talk of being born with a silver spoon in one’s mouth! give me a cove born with a grin on his face⁠—a much better endowment.

“I will now shorten my history as much as I can, for we have talked as much as folks do during a whole night in the Commons’ House, though, of course, not with so much learning, or so much to the purpose, because—why?

The old gentleman was so pleased with my skill, that he took me home with him, and in a very little time into partnership.

It’s a good thing to have a gift, but yet better to have two.

I might have got a very decent livelihood by throwing stones, but I much question whether I should ever have attained to the position in society which I now occupy, but for my knowledge of animals.

I was not sexton then, but something better; helped Mr. ⸻ with his horses, and got many a broad crown.

Those were the days, measter, both for men and horses; and I say, measter, if men and horses were so much better when I was young than they are now, what, I wonder, must they have been in the time of Oliver and his men?

”

“

I had rather the Honourable Company should serve me,

” said I.

and, consequently, of storing in a memory, which never forgets anything, a passage which contained a balm for the agonised mind of poor Peter Williams.

The best medicines are not always found in the finest shops.

Suppose, for example, if, instead of going to London Bridge to read, he had gone to Albemarle Street, and had received from the proprietors of the literary establishment in that very fashionable street, permission to read the publications on the tables of the saloons there, …

… a quarter high, “than whom,” as his wife said in a coronach she made upon him, “no man who stood at Cuiloitr was taller”—Giles Mac Bean the Major of the clan Cattan—a great drinker—a great fisher—a great shooter, and the champion of the Highland host.

The last of the Stuarts was a cardinal.

Such were the Stuarts, such their miserable history. They were dead and buried in every sense of the word until Scott resuscitated them—how? by the power of fine writing, and by calling to his aid that strange divinity, gentility.

When you set a good dinner before your guests, you do not expect that they should gorge themselves with the victuals you set before them.

Wine may be abused, and so may a leg of mutton.

Second. It is lawful for anyone to use his fists in his own defence, or in the defence of others, provided they can’t help themselves; but it is not lawful to use them for purposes of tyranny or brutality.

not one of these, however, has been detected and pointed out; but the best passages in the book, indeed whatever was calculated to make the book valuable, have been assailed with abuse and misrepresentation.

The duty of the true critic is to play the part of a leech, and not of a viper.

Upon true and upon malignant criticism there is an excellent fable by the Spaniard Iriarte. The viper says to the leech, “Why do people invite your bite, and flee from mine?” “Because,” says the leech, “people receive health from my bite, and poison from yours.”

Upon true and upon malignant criticism there is an excellent fable by the Spaniard Iriarte. The viper says to the leech, “Why do people invite your bite, and flee from mine?” “Because,” says the leech, “people receive health from my bite, and poison from yours.”

“There is as much difference,” says the clever Spaniard, “between true and malignant criticism, as between poison and medicine.”

Certainly a great many meritorious writers have allowed themselves to be poisoned by malignant criticism; the writer, however, is not one of those who allow themselves to be poisoned by pseudo-critics; no! no!

These two men, along with five others, were executed, and their heads hacked off, for levying war against George the Fourth; the whole seven dying in a manner which extorted cheers from the populace, the most of them uttering philosophical or patriotic sayings.

Thistlewood, who was, perhaps, the most calm and collected of all, just before he was turned off, said, “We are now going to discover the great secret.”

Ings, the moment before he was choked, was singing “Scots wha hae wi’ Wallace bled.” Now there was no humbug about those men, nor about many more of the same time and of the same principles.