their way to power." Accordingly, he expresses in the strongest terms his purpose of resisting to the last extremity the tendency to anarchy, which commercial distress had generated, and disaffection was endeavoring to turn to its own purposes. His poetry expresses similar sentiments: "It is not that I adulate the people; Without me there are demagogues enough, And set up in their stead some proper stuff, I do not know; -I wish men to be free As much from mobs as kings-from you as me. I shall offend all parties." We are not, however, Byron's apologists,-for now alas! he needs none. His excellences will now be universally acknowledged, and his faults (let us hope and believe) not remembered in his epitaph. It will be recollected what a part he has sustained in British literature since the first appearance of "Childe Harold," a space of nearly sixteen years. There has been no reposing under the shade of his laurels, no living upon the resource of past reputation; none of that coddling and petty precaution, which little authors call "taking care of their fame." Byron let his fame take care of itself. His foot was always in the arena, his shield hung always in the lists; and, although his own gigantic renown increased the difficulty of the struggle, since he could produce nothing, however great, which exceeded the public estimate of his genius, yet he advanced to the honorable contest again and again and again, and came always off with distinction, almost always with complete triumph. As various in composition as Shakespeare himself (this will be admitted by all who are acquainted with his "Don Juan") he has embraced every topic of human life, and sounded every string on the divine harp, and from its slightest to its most powerful and heart-astounding tones. There is scarce a passion or a situation which has escaped his pen; and he might be drawn, like Garrick, between the weeping and the laughing muse, although his most powerful efforts have certainly been dedicated to Melpomene. His genius seemed as prolific as various. The most prodigal use did not exhaust his powers, nay, seemed rather to increase their vigor. Neither "Childe Harold," nor any of the most beautiful of Byron's earlier tales, contain more exquisite morsels of poetry than are to be found scattered through the cantos of "Don Juan," amidst verses which the author appears to have thrown off with an effort as spontaneous as that of a tree resigning its leaves to the wind. But that noble tree will never more bear fruit or blossom! It has been cut down in its strength, and the past is all that remains to us of Byron. We can scarce reconcile ourselves to the idea scarce think that the voice is silent forever, which, bursting so often on our ear, was often heard with rapturous admiration, sometimes with regret, but always with the deepest interest,— "All that's bright must fade, The brightest still the fleetest!" With a strong feeling of awful sorrow, we take leave of the subject. Death creeps upon our most serious, as well as upon our most idle, employments; and it is a reflection solemn and gratifying that he found our Byron in no moment of levity, but contributing his fortune, and hazarding his life in behalf of a people only endeared to him by their past glories, and as fellowcreatures suffering under the yoke of a heathen oppressor. From "Biographies.» OHN JOHN SELDEN (1584-1654) SELDEN, remembered now as the author of Selden's "Table-Talk," was in his generation a man of great and varied activities. He was born in Sussex, England, December 16th, 1584, and was thus contemporary with many of the greatest men of what still remains the most remarkable age of England. Lyttleton, Herbert, Drayton, and Ben Jonson were among his intimates. He was a lawyer and jurist of reputation, and among his forgotten works are "England's Epinomis," "Janus Anglorum," and a 'History of Luther," published in 1618 and suppressed. He was committed to the Tower for sedition in 1621 and seven years later he helped to draw up the Petition of Right. In 1640 he was elected to the Long Parliament, and he was a member of the committee which impeached Archbishop Laud. He died at London, November 30th, 1654. TABLE-TALK CHANGING SIDES Is the trial of a man to see if he will change his side; and if he be so weak as to change once, he will change again. Your country fellows have a way to try if a man be weak in the hams, by coming behind him and giving him a blow unawares; if he bend once, he will bend again. The lords that fall from the king after they have got estates by base flattery at court and now pretend conscience, do as a vintner, that when he first sets up, you may go to his house, and carouse there; but when he grows rich, he turns conscientious, and will sell no wine upon the Sabbath Day. Col. Gering, serving first the one side and then the other, did like a good miller that knows how to grind which way soever the wind sits. After Luther had made a combustion in Germany about religion, he was sent to by the Pope, to be taken off, and offered any preferment in the Church that he would make choice of: Luther answered, if he had offered half as much at first, he would have accepted it; but now he had gone so far, he could not come back. In truth, he had made himself a greater thing than they could make him; the German princes courted him, he was become the author of a sect ever after to be called Lutherans. So have our preachers done that are against the bishops; they have made themselves greater with the people than they can be made the other way; and, therefore, there is the less probability of bringing them off. Complete. I' CONTRACTS F OUR fathers have lost their liberty, why may not we labor to regain it? Answer: We must look to the contract; if that be rightly made, we must stand to it; if we once grant we may recede from contracts upon any inconveniency that may afterwards happen, we shall have no bargain kept. If I sell you a horse and do not like my bargain, I will have my horse again. Keep your contracts- so far a divine goes; but how to make our contracts is left to ourselves; and as we agree upon the conveying of this house or that land, so it must be. If you offer me a hundred pounds for my glove, I tell you what my glove is, a plain glove, pretend no virtue in it, the glove is my own, I profess not to sell gloves, and we agree for a hundred pounds, I do not know why I may not with a safe conscience take it. The want of that common obvious distinction of jus præceptivum and jus permissivum does much trouble men. Lady Kent articled with Sir Edward Herbert that he should come to her when she sent for him, and stay with her as long as she would have him, to which he set his hand; then he articled with her that he should go away when he pleased, and stay away as long as he pleased, to which she set her hand. This is the epitome of all the contracts in the world betwixt man and man, betwixt prince and subject; they keep them as long as they like them, and no longer. Complete. HR EVIL SPEAKING E THAT speaks ill of another, commonly before he is aware, makes himself such a one as he speaks against: for if he had civility or breeding, he would forbear such kind of language. A gallant man is above ill words; an example we have in the old Lord of Salisbury, who was a great wise man. Stone had called some lord about court, "Fool": the lord complains and has Stone whipped; Stone cries, "I might have called my Lord of Salisbury fool' often enough before he would have had me whipped." Speak not ill of a great enemy, but rather give him good words, that he may use you the better if you chance to fall into his hands. The Spaniard did this when he was dying. His confessor told him (to work him to repentance) how the devil tormented the wicked that went to hell: the Spaniard, replying, called the devil "my lord": "I hope my lord the devil is not so cruel." His confessor reproved him. "Excuse me," said the Don, "for calling him so; I know not into what hands I may fall, and if I happen into his I hope he will use me the better for giving him good words." Complete. WR THE MEASURE OF THINGS Bring a pear to the E MEASURE from ourselves; and as things are for our use and purpose, so we approve them. table that is rotten, we cry it down, bring a medlar that is rotten, and "Tis a I'll warrant you the pear thinks as well of itself as the medlar does. "'Tis naught "; but fine thing" and yet We measure the excellency of other men by some excellency we conceive to be in ourselves. Nash, a poet, poor enough (as poets used to be), seeing an alderman with his gold chain, upon his great horse, by way of scorn said to one of his companions, "Do you see yon fellow, how goodly, how big he looks? Why, that fellow cannot make a blank verse!" Nay, we measure the goodness of God from ourselves; we measure his goodness, his justice, his wisdom, by something we |