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side, and falling down upon his knee, took the ring in his hand, and kissed it too,-then kissed his father, and sat down upon the bed and wept.

I wish, said my uncle Toby, with a deep sigh,-I wish, Trim, I was asleep.

Your honour, replied the Corporal, is too much concerned-shall I pour your honour out a glass of sack to your pipe ?-Do, Trim, said my uncle Toby.

I remember, said my uncle Toby, sighing again, the story of the ensign and his wife-and particularly well, that he, as well as she, upon some account or other I forget what was universally pitied by the whole regiment ;-but finish the story. 'Tis finished already, said the Corporal-for I could stay no longer -so wished his honour a good-night. Young Le Fevre rose from off the bed, and saw me to the bottom of the stairs; and as we went down together, told me they had come from Ireland, and were on their route to join the regiment in Flanders.-But, alas! said the Corporal-the Lieutenant's last day's march is over. Then what is to become of his poor boy? cried my uncle Toby.

Thou hast left this matter short, said my uncle Toby to the Corporal, as he was putting him to bed -and I will tell thee in what, Trim.-In the first place, when thou madest an offer of my services to Le Fevre, as sickness and travelling are both expensive, and thou knewest he was but a poor Lieutenant, with a son to subsist, as well as himself, out of his pay that thou didst not make an offer to him of my purse; because, had he stood in need, thou knowest, Trim, he had been as welcome to it as myself. Your honour knows, said the Corporal, I had no orders. True, quoth my uncle Toby-thou didst very right, Trim, as a soldier,-but certainly very wrong as a man:

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In the second place, for which, indeed, thou hast the same excuse, continued my uncle Toby, when thou offeredst him whatever was in my house,-thou shouldst have offered him my house too,-a sick brother-officer should have the best quarters, Trim; and if we had him with us we could tend and look to

him: thou u art an excellent nurse thyself, Trim; and what with thy care of him, and the old woman's, and his boy's, and mine together, we might recruit him again at once, and set him upon his legs.

In a fortnight or three weeks, added my uncle Toby, smiling, he might march. He will never march, an't please your honour, in this world, said the Corporal. He will march, said my uncle Toby, rising up from the side of the bed with one shoe off. -An't please your honour, said the Corporal, he will never march, but to his grave. He shall march, cried my uncle Toby, marching the foot which he had a shoe on, though without advancing an inch,-he shall march to his regiment. He cannot stand it, said the Corporal.-He shall be supported, said my uncle Toby. He'll drop at last, said the Corporal; and what will become of his boy. He shall not drop, said my uncle Toby firmly.-A-well-a-day, do what we can for him, said Trim, maintaining his pointthe poor soul will die.

My uncle Toby went to his bureau,-put his purse into his pocket, and having ordered the Corporal to go early in the morning for a physician, he went to bed and fell asleep.

The sun looked bright the morning after to every eye in the village but Le Fevre's and his afflicted son's; the hand of death pressed heavily upon his eyelids and hardly could the wheel at the cistern turn round its circle, when my uncle Toby, who had got up an hour before his wonted time, entered the Lieutenant's room, and without preface or apology, sat himself down upon the chair by the bedside, and, independently of all modes and customs, opened the curtain, in the manner an old friend and brother-officer would have done it, and asked him how he did,— how he had rested in the night,-what was his complaint, where was his pain,-and what he could do to serve him? and without giving him time to answer any one of the inquiries, went on and told him of the little plan which he had been concerting with the Corporal, the night before, for him.

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-You shall go home directly, Le Feyre, said my

uncle Toby, to my house,—and we'll send for a doctor to see what's the matter,-and we'll have an apo thecary, and the Corporal shall be your nurse,-and I'll be your servant, Le Fevre.

There was a frankness in my uncle Toby,—not the effect of familiarity, but the cause of it,-which let you at once into his soul, and showed you the goodness of his nature;-to this, there was something in his looks, and voice, and manner, superadded, which eternally beckoned to the unfortunate, to come and take shelter under him; so that before my uncle Toby had half finished the kind offers he was making to the father, the son had insensibly pressed up close to his knees, and had taken hold of the breast of his coat, and was pulling it towards him. The blood and spirits of Le Fevre, which were waxing cold and slow within him, and were retreating to their last citadel, the heart, rallied back-the film forsook his eyes for a moment-he looked up wishfully in my uncle Toby's face-then cast a look upon his boy. And that ligament, fine as it was, was never broken!

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Nature instantly ebbed again-the film returned to its place the pulse fluttered-stopped-went onthrobbed-stopped again-moved-stopped. Shall I go on?-No.

Sterne.

Thoughts on Hunting.

Ir was there the fox I saw, as we came down the hill; those crows directed me which way to look, and the sheep ran from him as he passed along. The hounds are now on the very spot, yet the sheep stop them not, for they dash beyond them. Now see with what eagerness they cross the plain!-Galloper no longer keeps his place; Brusher takes it-see how he flings for the scent, and how impetuously he runs! -How eagerly he took the lead, and how he strives to keep it; yet Victor comes up apace. He reaches

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him! See what an excellent race it is between them! It is doubtful which will reach the cover first. How equally they run! How eagerly they strain! Now, Victor, Victor!-Ah! Brusher, you are beaten ; Victor first tops the hedge.-See there! see how they all take it in their strokes !—The hedge cracks with their weight; so many jump at once.

Now hastes the whipper-in to the other side of the cover; he is right, unless he head the fox.-Listen! the hounds have turned.-They are now in two parts. The fox has been headed back, and we have changed at last.

Now, my lad, mind the huntsman's halloo, and stop to those hounds which he encourages. He is right!-that, doubtless, is the hunted fox ;—now they are off again.

Ha! a check. Now for a moment's patience !—— We press too close upon the hounds!-Huntsman, stand still! as yet they want you not. How admirably they spread! How wide they cast! Is there a single hound that does not try? If there be, never shall he hunt again. There! Trueman is on the scent-he feathers, yet still is doubtful-'tis right! How readily they join! See those wide-casting hounds, how they fly forward to recover the ground they have lost! Mind Lightning-how she dashes! and Mungo, how he works! Old Frantic, too, now pushes forward;-she knows, as well as we, the fox is sinking.

Huntsman! at fault at last! How far did you bring

the scent? Have the hounds made their own cast?

Now make yours. You see that the sheep-dog has been coursing the fox ;-get forward with your hounds, and make a wide cast.

Hark! that halloo is indeed a lucky one if we can hold him' on, we may yet recover him; for a fox so much distressed must stop at last. We now shall see if they will hunt as well as run; for there is but little scent, and the impending cloud still makes that littl less. How they enjoy the scent!-see how busy they all are, and how each in his turn prevails! oil: We now must give them time; see where they

bend towards yonder furze-brake-I wish he may have stopped there!-Mind that old hound, how he dashes over the furze! I think he minds him.-Now for a fresh entapis !-Hark! they halloo ! Aye, there he goes!

Beckford.

We have here much eager and energetic admiration—that which is to be seen in all persons who take pleasure in the chase. This extract, of course, if read or recited, must have those tones and actions or gestures which nature, in similar circumstances, obviously exhibits.

Equality.

AND where is equality to be found? With the birds of the air? Ask the eagle and the heron; the game-cock and the bantam; the hawk and the sparrow.-Amongst the fishes of the sea? Witness the whale and the herring; the shark and the dolphin.Search the insect tribe. Will the queen and the working bee, the spider and the fly, be admitted as instances of equality ?-Or the beasts of the field? The lion and the kid; the greyhound and the hare.

But if equality is not to be met with in the dispensation of Providence, will it be found amongst the votaries of equality and reform? Attend a meeting of reformers: one takes the chair; a dozen crowd the hustings; five hundred brawny fellows push the weak ones to a distance: and this is their public specimen of equality. Removed from the public gaze, a few cunning fellows pocket the cash, which thousands of their deluded followers are silly enough to give them. But where, then, is equality to be found? Why, in the Constitution and the laws of Old England! Let a peer murder a peasant, and he will be hanged for it; let a servant murder his master, and he must share the same fate. If the first man in the land assault a beggar, he is liable to fine and imprisonment, the same as if the beggar had assaulted

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