he possessed a decent share of candour, would not be happy to own his obligations to that masterly conjunction, which possesses the very essence of wit, for it has the art of bringing the most remote things together. And its generosity is in proportion to its wit, for it always is most profuse of its aid, where it is most wanted.

We must enjoy a pleasant passage with the reader on the subject of this "eternal Now" in Beaumont and Fletcher's play of the Woman Hater.-Upon turning to it, we perceive that our illustrious particle does not make quite so great a figure as we imagined; but the whole passage is in so analogous a taste, and affords such an agreeable specimen of the wit and humour with which fine poets could rally the commonplaces of their art, that we cannot help proceeding with it. Lazarello, a foolish table-hunter, has requested an introduction to the Duke of Milan, who has had a fine lamprey presented him. Before the introduction takes place, he finds that the Duke has given the fish away; so that his wish to be known to him goes with it; and part of the drollery of the passage arises from his uneasiness at being detained by the consequences of his own request, and his fear lest he should be too late for the lamprey elsewhere.

Count. (Aside to the Duke.) Let me entreat your Grace to stay a little,

To know a gentleman, to whom yourself

Is much beholding. He hath made the sport

For your whole court these eight years, on my knowledge.

Duke. His name?

Count. Lazarello.

Duke. I heard of him this morning:-which is he? Count. (Aside to Laz.) Lazarello, pluck up thy spirits. Thy fortune is now raising. The Duke calls for thee, and thou shalt be acquainted with him. Lax. He's going away, and I must of necessity stay here upon business.

Count. "Tis all one: thou shalt know him first.

Lax. Stay a little. If he should offer to take me with him, and by that means I should lose that I seek for! But if he should, I will not go with him.

Count. Lazarello, the Duke stays. Wilt thou lose this opportunity?

Laz. How must I speak to him?

Count. 'Twas well thought of. You must not talk to him as you do to an ordinary man, honest plain sense; but you must wind about him. For example, if he should ask you what o'clock it is, you must not say, "If it please your Grace, 'tis nine;"-but thus; "Thrice three o'clock, so please my Sovereign :"or thus ;

"Look how many muses there doth dwell

Upon the sweet banks of the learned well,

And just so many strokes the clock hath struck;" and so forth. And you must now and then enter into a description.

Lax. I hope I shall do it.

Count. Come.-May it please your Grace to take note of a gentleman, well seen, deeply read, and tho

roughly grounded in the hidden knowledge of all sallets and pot-herbs whatsoever.

Duke. I shall desire to know him more inwardly.

Lax. I kiss the ox-hide of your Grace's foot.

Count. (Aside to Laz.) Very well.-Will your Grace question him a little?

Duke. How old are you?

Laz. Full eight-and-twenty several almanacks Have been compiled, all for several years,

Since first I drew this breath. Four 'prenticeships
Have I most truly served in this world:

And eight-and-twenty times hath Phoebus' car
Run out his yearly course, since

Duke. I understand you, Sir.

Lucio. How like an ignorant poet he talks!

Duke. You are eight-and-twenty years old? What time of the day do you hold it to be?

Lax. About the time that mortals whet their knives On thresholds, on their shoe-soles, and on stairs.

Now bread is grating, and the testy cook

Hath much to do now: now the tables all

Duke. "Tis almost dinner-time?

Lax. Your Grace doth apprehend me very rightly.

XLV. THE HONOURABLE MR. ROBERT BOYLE.

The celebrated Robert Boyle, the chemist, was accounted in his days, a sort of perfection of a man,

especially in all respects intellectual, moral, and religious. This excellent person was in the habit of moralizing upon every thing that he did or suffered, such as "Upon his manner of giving meat to his dog," -"Upon his horse stumbling in a very fair way,"

Upon his sitting at ease in a coach that went very fast," &c. Among other Reflections, is one "Upon a fish's struggling after having swallowed the hook." It amounts to this; that at the moment when the fish thinks himself about to be most happy, the hook "does so wound and tear his tender gills, and thereby puts him into such restless pain, that no doubt he wishes the hook, bait and all, were out of his torn jaws again. Thus," says he, "men who do what they should not, to obtain any sensual desires," &c. &c. Not a thought comes over him as to his own part in the business, and what he ought to say of himself for tearing the jaws and gills to indulge his own appetite for excitement. Take also the following:-" Fifth Section-Reflection 1. Killing a crow (out of window) in a hog's trough, and immediately tracing the ensuing reflection with a pen made of one of his quills.— Long and patiently did I wait for this unlucky crow, wallowing in the sluttish trough (whose sides kept him a great while out of the reach of my gun), and gorging himself with no less greediness than the very swinish proprietaries of the feast, till at length my no less unexpected than fatal shot in a moment struck him down, and turning the scene of his delight into that of his pangs, made him abruptly alter his note, and change his triumphant chaunt into a dismal and

tragic noise. This method is not unusual to divine justice towards brawny and incorrigible sinners," &c. &c. Thus the crow, for eating his dinner, is a rascal worthy to be shot by the Honourable Mr. Robert Boyle, before the latter sits down to his own; while the said Mr. Boyle, instead of contenting himself with being a gentleman in search of amusement at the expence of birds and fish, is a representative of Divine Justice.

We laugh at this wretched moral pedantry now, and deplore the involuntary hard-heartedness which such mistakes in religion tended to produce; but in how many respects should it not make us look about ourselves, and see where we fall short of an enlargement of thinking?

XLVI.-SUPERFINE BREEDING.

THERE is an anecdote in Aulus Gellius (Noctes Atticæ, Lib. 10, cap. vi.) which exhibits, we think, one of the highest instances of what may be called polite blackguardism, that we remember to have read. The fastidiousness, self-will, and infinite resentment against a multitude of one's fellow-creatures for presuming to come in contact with our importance, are truly edifying: and to complete the lesson, this extraordinary specimen of the effect of superfine breeding and blood is handed down to us in the person of a lady. Her words might be thought to have been a