haviour; and in short, there is mercy for every transgression. Bring the licentiate hither; I take off his suspension." with reprimanding him slightly, and gave him the homilies to transcribe. Garcias acquitted himself so well, that he was reestablished in his ministry, and even obtained the living of Gabia, a large markettown in the neighbourhood of Grenada. my own: and the licentiate, who had a specimen in his pocket, shewed me a page that I admired very much, for it looked like a writing master's copy. While I Thus it is, that the most severe men considered this beautiful performance, a abate of their severity, when more dear thought coming into my head, I desired self-interest is concerned. The archbiGarcias to leave the paper, telling him shop granted, without difficulty, to the that I might possibly make some use of vain pleasure of having his works well it, that would turn out to his advantage; writ, that which he had refused to the that I could not explain myself at that most powerful solicitations. I carried time, but would next day tell him more the news immediately to the steward, who of the matter. The licentiate, to whom, imparted them to his friend Garcias; in all probability, the steward had made an who, the very next day, coming to make eulogium of my genius, withdrew as much an acknowledgment of thanks suitable satisfied as if he had been already re-in- to the favour obtained, I presented him stated in his office. I was truly desirous to my master, who contented himself that he might be so; and that same day laboured for him in the following manner: being alone with the archbishop, I shewed him the writing of Garcias, with which my patron seemed quite charmed: then laying hold of the opportunity, "Sir (said I to him), since you won't cause your homilies to be printed, I wish they were at least written in this hand." "I am satisfied with thine (answered the prelate), but I own I should not be sorry to have a copy of my work in that hand." "Your Grace, (I replied) has nothing to do but to speak: the man who paints so well is a licentiate of my acquaintance who will be ravished to do that service for you; the more, because by these means he may interest your goodness in extricating him from the melancholy situation in which he has the misfortune to be at present." The prelate did not fail to ask the name of the licentiate: upon which I said, "He is called Lewis Garcias, and is in despair on account of having incurred your displeasure." "That Garcias (said he, interrupting me) was, if I am not mistaken, chaplain to a convent of nuns, and lies under the censure of the church: I remember some informations that I received against him: his morals are but indifferent." "Sir," said I (interrupting him in my turn,) "I will not undertake to justify him; but I know he has enemies; and pretends, that the authors of those informations which you have seen, were more bent upon doing him ill offices than on telling the truth." "That may be (replied the archbishop); there are abundance of very dangerous dispositions in this world. Besides, granted that his conduct has not been always irreproachable, he may have repented of his misbe While I thus bestowed my service on different people, Don Fernand being about to leave Grenada, I visited that nobleman before his departure, in order to thank him anew for the excellent post which he had procured for me. I appeared to him so well satisfied with my condition, that he said, "My dear Gil Blas, I am ravished to find thee so well pleased with my uncle the archbishop." "I am charmed with him (I replied), and shall never be able to shew myself grateful enough for his generosity to me. Nothing less could have consoled me for the loss of Don Cæsar and his son."-"I am persuaded (answered he) that they are both extremely mortified at your absence; but, perhaps, you are not separated for ever: fortune may one day bring you together again." Melted by these words, I sighed, and found at that instant my love for Don Alphonso so great, that I would have willingly abandoned the archbishop, with all the agreeable hopes he had given me, to return to the castle of Leyva, if the obstacle that banished me from it had been removed. Don Fernand perceived the emotions of my soul, which pleased him so much, that he embraced me with affection, and assured me that his whole family would always bear a part in my destiny Two months after this gentleman's departure, in the very zenith of my favour, we had a hot alarm in the episcopal palace: the archbishop was seized with a fit of apoplexy: he was, however, suc coured immediately, and such salutary of him, and if they were satisfied with his medicines administered, that in a few last discourse. I answered, that his hodays his health was re-established: but his understanding had received a rude shock, which I plainly perceived in the very next discourse which he composed. I did not, however, find the difference between this and the rest so sensible, as to make me conclude that the orator began to flag; and waited for another homily to fix my resolution. This indeed was quite decisive; sometimes the good old prelate repeated the same thing over and over; sometimes rose too high, or sunk too low: it was a vague discourse, the rhetoric of an old professor, a mere capucinade.* milies were always admired, but in my opinion, the last had not succeeded so well as the rest, in affecting the audience. "How, friend! (replied he, with astonishment) has it met with any Aristarchus?" "No, sir (said I) by no means; such works as your's are not to be criticized; every body is charmed with them. Nevertheless, since you have laid your injunctions upon me to be free and sincere, I will take the liberty to tell you, that your last discourse, in my judgment, has not altogether the energy of your other performances. Are not you of the same opinion?" My master grew pale at these words; and said with a forced smile, "So then, Mr. Gil Blas, this piece is not to your taste?" "I don't say so, Sir," cried I, quite disconcerted: "I think it excellent, although a little inferior to your other works." "I understand you (he replied) you think I flag, don't you? Come, be plain: you believe it is time for me to think of retiring." "I should not have been so bold (said I) as to speak so freely, if your grace had not commanded me: Í do no more, therefore, than obey you: and I most humbly beg, that you will not I was not the only person who took notice of this: the greatest part of the audience, when he pronounced it, as if they had been also hired to examine it, said softly to one another, "This sermon smells strong of the apoplexy." Come, master homily-critic (said I then to myself) prepare to do your office: you see that his grace begins to fail: it is your duty to give him notice of it, not only as the depositor of his thoughts, but likewise, lest some one of his friends should be free enough with him to prevent you: in that case you know what would hap-be offended at my freedom." "God forpen your name would be erased from his last will, in which there is, doubtless, a better legacy provided for you, than the library of the licentiate Sedillo. After these reflections, I made others of a quite contrary nature. To give the notice in question, seemed a delicate point: I imagined that it might be ill received by an author like him, conceited of his own works; but rejecting this suggestion, I represented to myself, that he could not possibly take it amiss, after having exacted it of me in so pressing a manner. Add to this, that I depended upon my being able to mention it with address, and make him swallow the pill without reluctance. In a word, finding that I ran a greater risque in keeping silence than in breaking it, I determined to speak. The only thing that embarrassed me now, was how to break the ice. Luckily the orator himself extricated me from that difficulty, by asking what people said *) Capucinade. A sarcasm on the sermons of the Ca puchins, which are not remarkable for correctness of composition. bid (cried he, with precipitation). God forbid that I should find fault with it. In so doing, I should be very unjust. I don't at all take it ill that you speak your sentiment; it is your sentiment only that I find bad. I have been most egregiously deceived in your narrow understanding." Though I was disconcerted, I endeavoured to find some mitigation, in order to set things to rights again: but how is it possible to appease an incensed author, one especially, who has been accustomed to hear himself praised? "Say no more, my child," said he: "you are yet too raw to make proper distinctions. Know, that I never composed a better homily than that which you disapprove; for my genius (thank heaven) hath, as yet, lost nothing of its vigour. Henceforth I will make a better choice of a confident, and keep one of greater ability than you. Go added he, pushing me by the shoulder out of his closet) go tell my treasurer to give you a hundred ducats, and may heaven conduct you with that sum. Adieu, Mr. Gil Blas, I wish you all manner of prosperity, with a little more taste." A BEE STORY BY BRICKTOP. I HAD an improved back yard. I went through a seed store and bought a sample of everything that would grow in this climate. The result was a perfect tangle of flowers and things, from an overgrown sunflower to a forget-me-not. Mrs. Bricktop is very proud of our garden, and while gushing over it the other morning, a happy thought worked its way under her back hair: "What a delightful thing it would be to have a hive of bees, and raise our own honey, as well as everything else!" I have always thought that woman inspired ever since she convinced me that I couldn't do better than to marry her. This was an original, bold idea; a happy thought. I promised her a hive of bees, and went to business with a lighter heart, and firmer belief in the genuineness of home comforts and amusements. I bought a hive of honey-bees and brought it home with me that very night. It was one of those patent hydrostatic, back-action hives, in which the bees have peculiar accommodations and all the modern improvements. It was a nice little hive, none of your old-fashioned barn-size affairs. It even had windows in it, so that the bees could look out and see what was going on, and enjoy themselves. Both myself and Mrs. B. were delighted; and before dark I arranged a stand for the hive in the garden, and opened the bay-windows so that the bees could take an early start and get to business by sunrise next morning. Mrs. B. called me honey several times during the evening; and such sweet dreams as we had! and over in the grass, bounding up and down, anon darting through the bushes and foliage, standing on his head, and then trying to drive his tail into the ground, and all the while keeping up the most confounded yowling that was ever heard. "The cat is mad," said Mrs. B., affrighted. "Why shouldn't he be? the bees are stinging him," said I, comprehending the trouble. Mrs. B. flew to the rescue of her cat, and the cat flew at her. So did the bees. One of them drove his drill into her nose, another vaccinated her on the chin, while another began to lay out his work near her eye. Then she howled, and began to act almost as bad as the cat. It was quite an animated scene. She cried murder, and the neighbors looked out from their back windows and cried out for the police, and asked where the fire was. This being a trifle too much, I threw a towel over my head and rushed to her rescue. In doing so, I ran over and knocked her down, trod upon the cat, and made matters no better. Mrs. B. is no child on a wrestle, and she soon had me under her, and was tenderly stamping down the garden-walk with my head, using my ears for handles. Then I yelled, and some of the bees came to her assistance, and stung me all over the face. In the mean time the neighbors were shouting, and getting awfully excited over the show, while our servant, supposing us fighting, opened the basement door and admitted a policeman, who at once proceeded to go between man and wife. The bees hadn't got at Mrs. B.'s tongue yet, and she proceeded to show the policeman that I had abused her in the most shameful manner, and that I had bought a hive of bees on purpose to torment her We intended to be up early next morn-into the grave. I tried to explain; but ing to see how our little birds took to our just then a bee stung the officer on the flowers; but a good half-hour before we nose, and he understood it all in less than probably should have done so we were a minute. He got mad and actually lost awakened by the unearthly yells of a cat. his temper. He rubbed his nose and did Mrs. B. leaped from her downy couch, some official cussing. But as this didn't exclaiming, "What can be the matter help matters any, he drew his club and with our yellow Billy?" The yells of proceeded to demolish that patent beeanguish convinced us that something hive. The bees failed to recognize his more than ordinary was the matter with badge of office, and just swarmed on him. him, and so we hurried into our toilets. They stung him wherever he had no We rushed out into our back yard, and, clothing, and in some places where he oh, what a sight met our astonished gaze! did have it. Then he howled, and comThe sight consisted of a yellow cat that menced acting after the manner of the cat appeared to be doing its best to make a and its mistress. He rolled on the ground pin-wheel of itself. He was rolling over for a moment, and then got up and made for the street, shouting "fire." Then the| And ask his errand up to town. By this time a fire-engine had arrived, and a line of hose was taken through the house into the back yard. One of the hosemen asked where the fire was; but With potent ale his heart grows warm, But, lest our clown the trick should trace, just then one of the bees bit him behind A well-fed cur supplies the place. the ear, and he knew. They turned a The point clear'd up of what's to pay, stream upon that half-wrecked bee-hive, Our clown in peace pursued his way. and began to "play away" with one hand Arrived, he makes his awkward bow, and fight bees with the other. But the With many a Wherefore, and As how. water had the desired effect, and those Heaven bless your honour many a year! bees were soon among the things that Look what a pig I've brought you here.' were. A terrible crowd had gathered in The sack untied without demur, the mean time in front of the house, but Forthwith out gently crept the cur. a large portion of it followed the flying Both stood aghast with eager eyes, policeman, who was rubbing his affected- And both, no doubt, look'd wondrous wise. parts, and making tracks for the station-The clown, who saw the lawyer foam, house and a surgeon. This little adventure somehow dampened our enthusiasm regarding the delight of making our own honey. During the next week we wore milk-and-water poultices pretty ardently, but not a word was said about honey; and now Mrs. B. has gone to stay a week with her mother; leaving me and the convalescent cat and the tickled neighbors to enjoy our own felicity. J. B. COLLIN. THE PIG IN A POKE. A TALE. A FARMER's lease contain'd a flaw; The pig, secured within a sack, A half-way house convenient stood, A quart of stout, to wet my whistle!' Eased of his load, he takes a chair, And quaffs oblivion to all care. Three artful wags accost the clown, Swore 'twas a pig when brought from home: Well pleased to see him take the bait, Th' impatient farmer hails the clown, Is changed into a puppy dog' 'A dog!''Nay, since my word you doubt, How hoarse his voice! his face how grim! F. THE WIT'S Magazine, 1784.] TAM O'SHANTER. A TALE. "Of Brownyis and of Bogillis full is this Buke." -GAWIN DOUGLAS. (Edinburgh Ed., 1793.) [ROBERT BURNS, the great lyric poet of Scotland, was born 25th January, 1759, in a small cottage near Ayr. His father, then a nursery gardener, and afterwards the occupant of a small farm, had to struggle all his life with poverty and misfortune, but made every exertion to give his children a good education; and the young poet enjoyed an amount of instruction and miscellaneous reading which, to those unacquainted with the habits of the Scottish peasantry, would seem incompatible with the straitened circumstances and early toil which were his lot. About his sixteenth year, he began composing verses in the Scottish dialect, which attracted notice in the vicinity, and extended the circle of his acquaintance; and thus he became exposed to temptations which, acting on an extremely sociable and passionate disposition, broke in upon the previous sobriety and correctness of his life. A small farm, on which he had entered with his brother in 1781, proved far from a prosperous undertaking; and being harassed and imbittered by other misfortunes-the result of imprudence-he resolved to leave his native land, and go to Jamaica. Partly to procure the means of paying his passage, he published a collection of his poems at Kilmarnock in 1786. The reception these met with was highly favorable, and his genius was recognized in quarters where he had not looked for notice. While preparing to embark, he received a letter encouraging him to go to Edinburgh, and issue a new edition. This was the turning point of his life. During his stay in the Scottish metropolis, he associated with all that was eminent in letters, rank, and fashion, and his conversational powers excited little less admiration than his poetry. The profits of the publication were considerable, and enabled him to take the farm of Ellisland, near Dumfries, where he settled in 1788, having publicly ratified his marriage with Jean Armour. With his farm he conjoined the office of an exciseman; but, after three or four years, he was obliged to give up farming, and from that time lived in Dumfries, dependent on his salary from the excise, which, at first only £50, never rose above £70. The striking contrasts in the lot of the rich and the poor with which his residence in Edinburgh had impressed him, made him hail the French revolution with enthusiasm; and some imprudent expressions of his having been reported to the authorities, destroyed his prospects of promotion in the service, and only the interference of an influential friend prevented him from losing his office. Such was then the terror of innovation, and the hatred of everything like liberal opinions, that many of the better classes, who had feted tne poet, now shunned the "Jacobin," as they stigmatized him. Imbittered by what he felt to be injustice, he recklessly allowed those habits of dissipation to grow upon him which made the more respectable of all classes look coldly on him; and the remorse thus occasioned in his calmer moments aggravated that tendency to melancholy which the gloom and toil of his early years had probably implanted in his constitution. Broken in health, he died 21st of July, 1796.] [In order to facilitate the reading of Burns, for those unfamiliar with the Scottish dialect, we have, where necessary, placed the English equivalent in note form at the bottom of the page.] [This is a west of Scotland legend embellished by Genius-no other poem in our language displays such a variety of power in the same number of lines. "In the inimitable tale of Tam O'Shanter," says Scott, "Burns has left us evidence of his ability to combine the ludicrous with the awful. No poet, with the exception of Shakespeare, ever possessed the power of exciting the most varied and discordant emotions with such rapid transitions."] When I chapman billies leave the street, This truth fand honest TAM O'SHANTER, O Tam! had'st thou but been sae wise, |