the street with more application than ours do our bedchambers. The town seems so full of people, with such busy faces, all in motion, that I can hardly fancy it is not some celebrated fair; but I see it is every day the same. 'Tis certain no town can be more advantageously situated for commerce. Here are seven large canals, on which the merchants' ships come up to the very doors of their houses. The shops and warehouses are of a surprising neatness and magnificence, filled with an incredible quantity of fine merchandise, and so much cheaper than what we see in England, that I have much ado to persuade myself I am still so near it.-MARY WORTLEY MONTAGUE.

97. CASTLES IN THE AIR.

(Voyez LA LAITIÈRE ET LE POT AU LAIT, dans La Fontaine, liv. vii. fab. x.)

Alnaschar was an idle fellow, that would never set his hand to any business during his father's life. When his father died, he left him to the value of a hundred drachmas. Alnaschar, in order to make the best of it, laid it out in bottles and glasses. These he piled up in a large open basket; and having made choice of a very little shop, placed the basket at his feet, and leaned his back upon the wall in expectation of customers.

As he sat in this posture, with his eyes upon the basket, he fell into a most amusing train of thought, and was overheard by one of his neighbours, as he talked in the following manner :

"This basket," said he, "cost me at the wholesale merchant's a hundred drachmas. I shall quickly make

two hundred by selling it in retail. These two hundred drachmas will in a very little rise to four hundred, which will amount in time to four thousand. Four thousand drachmas cannot fail of making eight thousand. As soon as by these means I am master of ten thousand, I will lay aside my trade of a glassman, and turn jeweller. I shall then deal in diamonds, pearls, and all sorts of rich stones. When I have got together as much wealth as I can well desire, I will make a purchase of the finest house I can find, with lands, slaves, and horses. I shall then begin to enjoy myself, and make a noise in the world. I will not, however, stop there, but still continue my traffic until I have got together a hundred thousand drachmas.

When I have thus made myself master of a hundred thousand drachmas, I shall naturally set myself on the footing of a prince, and will demand the grand vizier's daughter in marriage. When I have brought the princess to my house, I shall take particular care to breed her in due respect for me. To this end I shall confine her to her own apartments, make her a short visit, and talk but little to her. Her women will represent to me that she is inconsolable by reason of my unkindness, but I shall still remain inexorable. Her mother will then come and bring her daughter to me, as I am seated on a sofa. The daughter, with tears in her eyes, will fling herself at my feet, and beg me to receive her into my favour. Then will I, to imprint her with a thorough veneration for my person, spurn her with my foot in such a manner that she shall fall down several paces from the sofa.

Alnaschar was entirely swallowed up in his vision, and

could not forbear acting with his foot what he had in his thoughts; so that, unluckily striking his basket of brittle ware, he kicked his glasses to a great distance from him into the street, and broke them into ten thousand pieces. -ADDISON.

98. BYRON.

The pretty fable by which the Duchess of Orleans illustrated the character of her son, the Regent, might, with little change, be applied to Byron. All the fairies, save one, had been bidden to his cradle. All the gossips had been profuse of their gifts. One had bestowed nobility, another genius, a third beauty. The maligant elf who had been uninvited came last, and, unable to reverse what her sisters had done for their favourite, had mixed up a curse with every blessing. In the rank of Lord Byron, in his understanding, in his character, in his very person, there was a strange union of opposite extremes. He was born to all that men covet and admire. But in every one of those eminent advantages which he possessed over others was mingled something of misery and debasement. He was sprung from a house, ancient indeed and noble, but degraded and impoverished by a series of crimes and follies which had attained a scandalous publicity. The kinsman whom he succeeded had died poor, and, but for merciful judges, would have died upon the gallows. The young peer had great intellectual powers; yet there was an unsound part in his mind. He had naturally a generous and feeling heart; but his temper

was wayward and irritable.

He had a head which

statuaries loved to copy, and a foot the deformity of which the beggars in the streets mimicked. Distinguished at once by the strength and by the weakness of his intellect; affectionate, yet perverse; a poor lord and a handsome cripple, he required, if ever man required, the firmest and most judicious training. But, capriciously as nature had dealt with him, the parent to whom the office of forming his character was entrusted was more capricious still. She passed from paroxysms of rage to paroxysms of tenderness. At one time she stifled him with her caresses; at another time she insulted his deformity. He came into the world; and the world treated him as his mother had treated him, sometimes with fondness, sometimes with cruelty, never with justice. It indulged him without discrimination, and punished him without discrimination. He was truly the spoiled child, not merely the spoiled child of his parent, but the spoiled child of nature, the spoiled child of fortune, the spoiled child of fame, the spoiled child of society. His first poems were received with a contempt which, feeble as they were, they did not absolutely deserve. The poem which he published on his return from his travels was, on the other hand, extolled far above its merit. Αι twenty-four he found himself on the highest pinnacle of literary fame, with Scott, Wordsworth, Southey, and a crowd of other distinguished writers beneath his feet. There is scarcely an instance in history of so sudden a rise to so dizzy an eminence.-MACAULAY, Essays.

99. A FAMILY IN DISTRESS.

NICHOLAS NICKLEBY INTRODUCED TO HIS UNCLE.

A lady in deep mourning rose as Mr Ralph Nickleby entered, but appeared incapable of advancing to meet him, and leant upon the arm of a slight but very beautiful girl of about seventeen, who had been sitting by her. A youth, who appeared a year or two older, stepped forward, and saluted Ralph as his uncle.

"Oh!" growled Ralph, with an ill-favoured frown, "you are Nicholas, I suppose ?”

"That is my name, sir," replied the youth.

"Well,

"Put my hat down," said Ralph, imperiously. ma'am, how do you do? You must bear up against sorrow, ma'am; I always do."

"Mine was no common loss!" said Mrs Nickleby, applying her handkerchief to her eyes.

"It was no Uncommon loss, ma'am," returned Ralph, as he coolly unbuttoned his spencer.

every day, ma'am, and wives too."

"Husbands die

"And brothers also, sir," said Nicholas with a glance of indignation.

"Yes, sir, and puppies, and pugdogs likewise," replied his uncle, taking a chair.

"You didn't mention in your

letter what my brother's complaint was, ma'am."

"The doctors could attribute it to no particular disease," said Mrs Nickleby, shedding tears. "We have too much reason to fear that he died of a broken heart." "Pooh!" said Ralph, "there is no such thing. can understand a man's dying of a broken neck, or suffering from a broken arm, or a broken head, or a broken

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