nounce to be incomparable. In short, it wants nothing to recommend it but a slight foundation in truth.

"True philosophy," says my honorable friend, "will always continue to lead men to virtue by the instrumentality of their conflicting vices. The virtues, where more than one exists, may live harmoniously together. But the vices bear mortal antipathy to one another, and, therefore, furnish to the moral engineer the power by which he can make each keep the other under control."

Admirable! But, upon this doctrine, the poor man who has but one single vice must be in a very bad way. No fulcrum, no moral power, for effecting his cure! Whereas, his more fortunate neighbor, who has two or more vices in his composition, is in a fair way of becoming a very virtuous member of society. I wonder how my learned friend would like to have this doctrine introduced into his domestic establishment.

For instance, suppose that I discharge a servant because he is addicted to liquor, I could not venture to recommend him to my honorable and learned friend. It might be the poor man's only fault, and therefore clearly incorrigible. But, if I had the good fortune to find out that he was also addicted to stealing, might I not, with a safe conscience, send him to my learned friend with a strong recommendation, saying, "I send you a man whom I know to be a drunkard; but I am happy to assure you he is also a thief. You can not do better than to employ him. You will make his drunkenness counteract his thievery, and no doubt you will bring him out of the conflict a very moral personage!" FROM CANNING.

CLXXVI. THE EDITOR.

THE editor sat in his easy chair,
But he sat not easy: there being an air
Of anxious thought beclouding his brow,
As if rightly he knew not what or how
To do in some matter of moment great,
On which depended a throne or a state;

When, all of a sudden, flew open wide
The office door, and, with hasty stride,
A loaferish figure came stalking in
With a rubicund phiz, and hairy chin,
(The former a product directly of gin,)
And with fiery eye and menacing air,
He made right up to the editor's chair.

"Are you the man

What edits the paper?

I've come to tan

Your hide for that caper.

You called me a villain; you called me a rogues A way of speaking, sir, too much in vogue, With you fellows that handle the printing press. Defend yourself, sir! I demand a redress."

The editor quailed,

Decidedly paled.

But just at the moment his courage gave way, His genius stepped in, and gained him the day, "I'm not the person you seek," he said; "If you want redress, go strait to the head. He's not far off, and will settle affairs,

I have n't a doubt. I'll call him up stairs."

Then down he went,

As if he were sent,

A fire, or something worse to prevent.
Meantime there came, through a door below,
Another somebody to deal him a blow;
A scamp well known to annals of fame,
Whom, the hapless editor hoping to tame,
Had ventured to publish, and that by name.

At the foot of the stair,

Or near it somewhere,

The monster met him, demanding redress,
And, just like the other, began to press
Poor editor hard with a Billingsgate mess,
And threaten forthwith his hide to dress,
When necessity, mother of all invention,
And a brain editorial, used to tension,
Contrived a means of diverting attention.

"Stranger," said he,

"Be not too free,

In applying abusive words to me;

Up stairs is the person you wish to see."
Up stairs all raging the rowdy flew,
(Neither complainant the other knew,)
So the moment they met without more ado,
At it they went, in a regular set to.

A terrible tussle,

A terrible bustle,

They make, as round the room they wrestle;
There were but few words, but plenty of blows,
For they fought like a couple of deadly foes,
Till each had acquired a bloody nose;
And each had the pleasure distinctly to spy,
In the face of the other, a very black eye?

CLXXVII. THE QUIZ.

(Enter Sir Christopher and Quiz.)

Sir Christopher. AND so, you are just come from college?

Quiz. Yes, sir.

Sir Ch. Ah, I once loved the name of a college, until my son proved so worthless.

Quiz. In the name of all the literati, what do you mean? You fond of books, and not bless your stars in giving you such a son!

Sir Ch. Ah, sir, he was once a youth of promise. But do you know him?

Quiz.

be praised!

What! Frederic Classic? Ay, that I do, Heaven

Sir Ch. I can tell you, he is wonderfully changed. Quiz. And a lucky change for him. What! I suppose he was once a wild young fellow?

Sir Ch. No, sir, you don't understand me, or I don't you. I tell you, he neglects his studies, and is foolishly

in love; for which I shall certainly cut him off with a

shilling.

Quiz. You surprise me, sir. I must beg leave to undeceive you. You are either out of your senses, or some wicked enemy of his has, undoubtedly, done him this injury. Why, sir, he is in love, I grant you, but it is only with his books. He hardly allows himself time to eat; and, as for sleep, he scarcely takes two hours in the twenty-four. (Aside.) This is a thumper; for the dog has not looked into a book these six months, to my certain knowledge.

Sir Ch. I have received a letter from farmer Downright this very day, who tells me he has received a letter from him, containing proposals for his daughter.

Quiz. This is very strange. I left him, at college, as close to his books as-oh, oh-I believe I can solve this mystery, and much to your satisfaction.

Sir Ch. I should be very happy indeed if you could.

Quiz. Oh, as plain as that two and three are five. 'Tis thus. An envious fellow, a rival of your son's, a fellow who has not as much sense in his whole corporation, as your son has in his little finger, yes, I heard this very fellow ordering a messenger to farmer Downright with a letter; and this is, no doubt, the very one. Why, sir, your son will certainly surpass the Admiral Crichton. Sir Isaac Newton will be a perfect automaton, compared to him; and the sages of antiquity, if resuscitated, would hang their heads in despair.

Sir Ch. Is it possible that my son is now at college, making these great improvements?

Quiz. Ay, that he is, sir.

Sir Ch. (Rubbing his hands.) Oh, the dear fellow! the dear fellow!

Quiz. Sir, you may turn to any part of Homer, and repeat one line, he will take it up, and, by dint of memory, continue repeating to the end of the book.

Sir Ch. Well, well, well! I find I was doing him great injustice. However, I'll make him ample amends. the dear fellow! the dear fellow! the dear fellow! He will

Oh,

be immortalized; and so shall I; for, if I had not cherished the boy's genius in embryo, he would never have soared above mediocrity.

Quiz.

True, sir.

Sir Ch. I can not but think what superlative pleasure I shall have, when my son has got his education. No other man's in England shall be equal to it; of that I am positive. We shall never think of addressing cach other in plain English; no, no, we will converse in the pure classical language of the ancients. You remember the Eclogues of Virgil?

Quiz.

ends.

my life.

Oh, yes, sir, perfectly; have 'em at my finger (Aside.) Not a bit of a one did I ever hear of in

Sir Ch. How sweetly the first of them begins!
Quiz.

Very sweetly, indeed, sir.

I wish he would change the subject.

(Aside.) Bless me!

Sir Ch. "Tytire tu petula recubans;" faith, 't is more musi cal than fifty hand-organs.

Quiz. (Aside.) I had rather hear a Jews-harp.

Sir Ch. Talking of music, though, the Greek is the language for that.

Quiz. (Aside.) Faith, I have stooped too far. All's

over now!

Sir Ch. Ha! ha! ha! A plaguy good pun.

Quiz. Tolerable. (Aside.) I am well out of that scrape, however.

Sir Ch. Pray, sir, which of the classics is your favorite? Quiz. Why, sir, Mr. Frederic Classic, I think; he is so great a scholar.

Sir Ch. Po! po! you don't understand me. I mean, which of the Latin classics do you admire most?