the Vicar of Wakefield, men cheat honest Farmer Flamb but still the honest farmer gre poor, and so Jenkinson began in the wrong track after all oaths declares a brokenwind and thus gets fifty pounds fo ten, and then declares with never warranted the horse, m in money by that transactio than he gains. The man friends of the man whom he again; and he soon acquires one who is compelled to h stands on his guard, and do says. I do not mention here how the gain and loss may b other world; nor do more tha question as to the profit wh

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much more than forty pounds, by means which would damage something possessed by every man. All trickery is folly. Every rogue is a fool. The publisher who advertises a book he has brought out, and appends a flattering criticism of it as from the Times or Fraser's Magazine which never appeared in either periodical, does not gain on the whole by such petty deception; neither does the publisher who appends highly recommendatory notices, marked with inverted commas as quotations, though with the name of no periodical attached, the fact being that he composed these notices himself. You will say that Mr. Barnum is an instance of a man who made a large fortune by the greater and lesser arts of trickery; but would you, my honest and honourable friend, have taken that fortune on the same terms? I hope not. And no blessing seems to have rested on Barnum's gains. Where are they now? The trickster has been tricked

the doer done. There is a hollowness about all prosperity which is the result of unfair and underhand means. Even if a man who has grown rich through trickery seems to be going on quite comfortably, depend upon it he cannot feel happy. The sword of Damocles is hanging over his head. Let no man be called happy before he dies.

I believe, indeed, that in some cases the conscience grows quite callous, and the notorious cheat fancies himself a highly moral and religious man; and although it is always extremely irritating to be cheated, it is more irritating than usual to think that the man who has cheated you is not even made uneasy by the checks of his own conscience. I would gladly think that in most cases,

Doubtless the pleasure is as great
Of being cheated as to cheat.

sympathetically at the more s And probably, when he refle merely thinks that he was sl analogy between these small several respects. Each is i caused by each gradually dep nant at first learning that you are rather sore, even the day that you are less sore at havin the rogue who was fool enoug I am writing only of that a blister of humanity; as I numerous forms of petty tric but merely amuse. Such ar some people try to represent creatures as richer, wiser, be connected, more influential an fact. I felt no irritation at t site me the other day in a rai ed that he was reading a Gre

fancy his trick had succeeded, and conversed with him of the characteristics of Eschylus. He did not know much about them. A friend of mine, a clergyman, went to the house of a weaver in his parish. As he was about to knock at the door, he heard a solemn voice within; and he listened in silence as the weaver asked God's blessing upon his food. Then he lifted the latch and entered: and thereupon the weaver, resolved that the clergyman should know he said grace before meat, began and re peated his grace over again. My friend was not angry; but he was very, very sorry. And never, till the man had been years in his grave, did he mention the fact. As for the fashion in which some people fire off, in conversation with a new acquaintance, every titled name they know, it is to be recorded that the trick is invariably as unsuccessful as it is contemptible. And is not a state dinner, given by poor people, in resolute imitation of people with five times their income, with its sham champagne, its disguised greengrocers, and its general turning the house topsy-turvy, is not such a dinner one great trick, and a very transparent one?

The writer is extremely tired. Is it not curious that to write for four or five hours a day for four or five successive days, wearies a man to a degree that ten or twelve daily hours of ploughing does not weary the man whose work is physical? Mental work is much the greater stretch: and it is strain, not time, that kills. A horse that walks at two miles and a half an hour, ploughing, will work twelve hours out of the twenty-four. A horse that runs in the mail at twelve miles an hour, works an hour and a half and rests twenty-two and a half; and with all that rest soon breaks down. The bearing of all this is, that it is time to stop; and so, my long black goosequill, lie down!

does so whose

ural and unsophisticated co training and by the force o am aware, come to have a petite, for work; but it is a as that which impels a lad prefer pickles to sugar-plur with the word morbid, and hard work is a healthy ta will give up that phrase, strong one that a liking for that which leads you and beer. Such a man, for ins brought himself to that st actually enjoys the thought work which he goes throu does a thing as completely Indian fakir, who feels a gl on the success with which h