will stand by what he shall say." To this the others agreed, and the Brahmin called out, "O, stranger, what dost thou call this beast?". Surely, O, Brahmin," said the knave, "it is a fine sheep." 52 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, 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 ΕΙ 6. Thus, or nearly thus, if we remember rightly, runs the story of the Sanscrit sop. The moral, like the moral of every fable 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 cōtërie," 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," and other phrases equally flattering, fall in a shower as thick and as sweet as the sugar-plums at a Roman carnival.E 9. Sometimes greater art is used. A sinecure has been offered to the writer if he would suppress his work, or if he would even soften down a few of his incomparable 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 panegyric in the form of admonition! "Such attacks on private character cannot be too much condemned. Even the exuberant 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 calumnious 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 dignity, 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 excuse for employing these shifts, as it may be an excuse for stealing 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. MACAULAY. LXXII. - HYMN OF THE HEBREW MAID. 1. WHEN Israël, of the Lord beloved, Out from the land of bondage came, 2. Then rose the chōral hymn of praise, And trump and timbrel1 answered keen; Forsaken Israel wanders lone : 3. But, present still, though now unseen! And, O! when stoops on Judah's path 4. Our harps we left by Babel's streams, And mute are timbrel, harp, and horn; SCOTT. 1. LOUD let the Brave Man's praises swell He asks not gold, he asks but song! 2. The thaw-wind came from the southern sea, The scattered clouds fled far aloof, As flies the flock before the wolf; It swept o'er the plain, and it strewed the wood, 3. The snow-drifts melt, till the mountain calls 4. On pillars stout, and arches wide, 5. Near and more near the wild waves urge; 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 Scarce on their base the arches stood ! They totter! they sink 'neath the whelming wave 8. Upon the river's further strand And the hapless toll-man, with babes and wife, 9. When shall the Brave Man's praises swell Ah! name him now, he tarries long; O speed, for the terrible death draws near; 10. Quick gallops up, with headlong speed, And, lo! on high his fingers hold A purse well stored with shining gold. "Two hundred pistoles' for the man who shall Yon perishing wretch from the yawning wave!" 11. Who is the Brave Man, say, my song : Though, Heaven be praised, right brave he be O, Brave Man! O, Brave Man! arise, appear! 12. And ever higher swell the waves, And louder still the storm-wind raves, O, Brave Man! Brave Man! haste, appear! 13. Again, 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, He hears the Count, and the scream of fear; 15. Into a skiff he boldly sprang; He braved the storm that round him rang: He called aloud on God's great name, 16. The river round him boiled and surged; 17. Who is the Brave Man? Say, my song, But 't was, perchance, the prize to win. 18. Out spake the Count, "Right boldly done! 19. "Poor though I be, thy hand withhold; Yon hapless man is ruined now; Great Count, on him thy gift bestow." 20. Then loudly let his praises swell So glory to God, by whose gift I raise The tribute of song to the Brave Man's praise! FROM THE GERMAN OF BURGER. LXXIV. A PUPIL'S TRIBUTE TO HIS TEACHER. 1. JOHN HENDERSON was born at Limerick, in Ireland, but came to England 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 |