Nevertheless, as there were some dull and giddy folk, who, after all the labour of the House of Workers, could or would not know the laws, there were certain meek and lovingkind professors called goodmen guides, an

by the people to the ministers of religion, | book; so clear, so lucid, so direct was it in who from their tenderness, their piety, their its meaning and its purpose. affection towards their flocks, were looked upon as the very porters to heaven. The love of the people placed in the hands of their bishops heaps of money; but as quickly as it was heaped, it was scattered again by the ministers of the faith, who were thus perpet-swering to our attorneys, whose delight it ually preaching goodness and charity at the hearths of the poor, and the poor were every hour lifting up their hands and blessing them. It was not enough that the bishops were thus toilsome in their out-door work of good; but in the making of new laws and amending of old ones, they showed the sweetness, and, in the truest sense, the greatness of the human spirit. During my stay in As-you-like, what we should call the House of Lords, but what in that country was called the House of Virtues, debated on what some of their lordships deemed a very pretty case to go to war upon; and, sooth to say, for a time the House of Virtues seemed to forget the active benevolence that had heretofore been its moving principle. Whereupon the bishops one by one arose, and from their lips there flowed such heavenly music, in their eyes there sparkled such apostolic tears, that all the members of the House of Virtues rose, and with one accord fell to embracing one another, and called all the world their brothers, and vowed they would talk away the misunderstanding between themselves and neighbours; they would not shed blood, they would not go to war.

And this was ever after called the peace of the bishops.

The second deliberative assembly was called the House of Workers. No man could be one of these, who had not made known to the world his wisdom-his justice-his worship of truth for truth's sake. No worker was returned upon the mere chance of his fitness. He must be known as an out-door worker for the good of his fellow-men, before he could be sent, an honoured member, to the House. The duty of the assembly was to make laws; and as these were to be made for all men, it was the prime endeavour and striving of the workers to write them in the plainest words, in the briefest meaning. They would debate and work for a whole day-they always assembled with clear heads and fresh spirits every morning at nine-to enshrine their wisdom in the fewest syllables. And whereas, here with us we give our children "Goody Two Shoes" and "Jack and the Bean Stalk," as the easiest and simplest lessons for their tender minds to fasten on, in As-you-like the little creatures read the Abridgement of the Statutes for their first

was, for the very smallest imaginable sum, to interpret and make known the power and beauty of the statutes. And whereas among us, physicians and surgeons-may the spirits of charity and peace consecrate their firesides!-set apart a portion of the day to feel the pulse of stricken poverty, to comfort and solace the maimed and wasting poor-so in As-you-like, did these goodmen guides give a part of their time to the passionate and ignorant, advising them to abstain from the feverish turmoil of law; showing them how suspense would bake their blood and eat their hearts, and wear and weigh down man's noble spirit. And thus, these goodmen guides would, I say, with a silken string, lead men back to content and neighbourly adjustment. When men could pay for such counsel, they paid a moderate cost; when they were poor, they were advised, as by the free benevolence of the mediator.

The people of As-you-like had, a thousand years or so before, waged war with other nations. There could be no doubt of it, for the cannon still remained. I saw what at one time had been an arsenal. There were several pieces of artillery; the swallows had built their nests under their very mouths. As I will not disguise anything, I own there were a few persons who, when a war was talked of, the war so happily prevented by the bishops, strutted and looked big, and with swollen cheeks gabbled about glory But they were smiled at for their simplicity; advised, corrected by the dominant reason of the country, and, after a time, confessed themselves to be very much ashamed of their past folly.

Perhaps the manner in which the As-youlikeans transacted business was strange; it may appear incredible. I was never more surprised than when I first overheard two men dealing for a horse. One was a seller of horses, the other seemed a comfortable yeoman. "That is a pretty nag of yours," said the yeoman. "Pretty enough outside," said the horse-dealer. "I will give you ten lumps for it," said the farmer (the lump sig nifying our pound). No, you shall not,' answered the horse-dealer, for the nag shies, and stumbles, and is touched a little in the wind. Nevertheless, the thing is worth four lumps." "You have said it?" cried

likeans.

work, and taught the wickedness, the very folly of guilt. As the state, however, with paternal love, watched, I may say it, at the very cradles of the poor,-teaching the pauper, as he grew, a self-responsibility; showing to him right and wrong, not permitting to grow up, with at best, an odd, vague notion, a mere guess at black and white,there were few criminals. The state did not expose its babies-for the poor are its children-to hang them when men.

So dear were the wants of the poor to the rulers of As-you-like, that on one occasion,

horses-the beautiful cattle went at seventy thousand lumps-and laid out the money in building school-rooms and finding teachers for pauper babies.

And the state, believing man to be something more than a thing of digestion, was always surrounding the people with objects of loveliness, so that a sense of the beautiful might be with them even as the colour of their blood, and thus might soften and elevate the spirit of man, and teach him true gentleness out of his very admiration of the works of his fellow. Hence, the museums and picture galleries, and abbeys and churches, were all thrown open to the people, who always seemed refined, subdued by the emanations of loveliness around them.

The shops in As-you-like are very beautiful. All the goods are labelled at a certain price. You want, let us say, a pair of stockings. You enter the shop. The common salutation is "Peace under this roof," and the shopkeeper answers, Peace at your home." You look at the stockings, and lay-in a year of scarcity, the monarch sold all his ing down the money, take the goods and depart. The tradesman never bends his back in thankfulness until his nose touches the counter; he is in no spasm of politeness; not he; you would think him the buyer and not the seller. I remember being particularly astonished at what I thought the ill-manners of a tradesman, to whom I told my astonishment. "What, friend," he said, "should I do? My neighbour wants a fire-shovel-I sell a fire-shovel. If I ought to fling so many thanks at him for buying the fire-shovel, should he not first thank me for being here with fire-shovels to sell? Politeness, friend, as you call it, may be very well; but I should somehow suspect the wholesale dealer in it. Where I should carry away so much politeness, I should fear I had short weight." A There were very many rich people in Asstrange people, you must own, these As-you-you-like, but I never knew them to be thought a bit the better off for their money. They were thought fortunate, no more. They were looked upon as men, who, having put into a lottery, had had the luck to draw a prize. As for the poor, they were always treated with a softness of manner that surprised me. The poor man in As-you-like seemed privileged by his property. He seemed to have a stronger claim to the sympathies of those in worldly substance over him. Had a rich man talked brutally, or domineered over, or ill-used a pauper in As-you-like, he would have been looked upon as we look upon a man who beats a woman. There was thought to be a moral cowardice in the act that made its doer despicable Hence, it was as common in As-you-like to see the rich man first touch his hat to the poor, as with us for the pauper to make preliminary homage to wealth. Then, in As-you-like, no man cared to disguise the smallness of his means. To call a man a pauper was no more than with us to say his eyes are gray or hazel. And though there were poor men, there were no famishing creature, no God's image, sitting with his bony, idle hands before him, like a maniac in a cage-brutalized, maddened, by the world's selfishness.

Taxation was light, for there was no man idle in As-you-like. Indeed, there was but one tax; it was called the truth-tax, and for this reason: Every man gave in an account of his wealth and goods, and paid in proportion to his substance. There had been no other taxes, but all these were merged into this one tax, by a solemn determination of the House of Virtues. "Since Providence has given to us the greatest measure of its gifts, it has thereby made us the chancellors to poorer men." Upon this avowed principle, the one tax was made. "Would it not be the trick of roguery to do otherwise?" they said. "Should we not blush to see the ploughman sweating at his task, knowing that, squared by his means, he paid more than we? Should we not feel the robbers of the man-not the Virtues banded together to protect him?" And thus, there was but one tax. In former ages there had been many; for I was shown in the national museum of As-you-like, several mummies, dry and coloured like saddleleather, that in past centuries had been living custom-house officers and excisemen.

There were prisons in As-you-like, in which the idle and the vicious were made to

DOUGLAS JERROLD.

A BRIDAL SONG.

Roses, their sharp spines being gone,
Not royal in their smells alone,

But in their hue;

Maiden pinks, of odour faint;
Daisies smell-less, yet most quaint,
And sweet thyme true;

Primrose, first-born child of Ver,
Merry spring-time's harbinger,
With her bells dim;

Oxlips in their cradles growing,
Marigolds on death-beds blowing,
Lark-heels trim;

All, dear Nature's children sweet,
Lie 'fore bride and bridegroom's feet,
Blessing their sense!

Not an angel of the air,
Bird melodious, or bird fair,
Be absent hence!

The crow, the slanderous cuckoo, nor
The boding raven, nor chough hoar,
Nor chattering pie,

May on our bride-house perch or sing,
Or with them any discord bring,
But from it fly!

BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER.

DISPROPORTION OF MAN.

God, that our imagination loses itself in this thought.

Let man, having returned to himself, consider what he is, compared to what is; let him regard himself as a wanderer into this remote province of nature; and let him, from this narrow prison wherein he finds himself dwelling (I mean the universe), learn to estimate the earth, kingdoms, cities, and himself, at a proper value.

What is man in the midst of the infinite? But to show him another prodigy equally astonishing, let him seek in what he knows things the most minute; let a mite exhibit to him in the exceeding smallness of its body, parts incomparably smaller, limbs with joints, veins in these limbs, blood in these veins, humors in this blood, globules in these humors, gases in these globules; let him, still dividing these last objects, exhaust his powers of conception, and let the ultimate object at which he can arrive now be the subject of our discourse; he will think, perhaps, that this is the minutest atom of nature. I will show him therein a new abyss. I will picture to him not only the visible universe, but the conceivable immensity of nature, in the compass of this abbreviation of an atom. Let him view therein an infinity of worlds, each of which has its firmament, its planets, its earth, in the same proportion as the visible world; and on this earth animals, and in fine mites, in which he will find again what the first have given; and still finding in the others the same things, without end, and without repose, let him lose himself in these wonders, as astonishing in their littleness as the others in their magnitude; for who will not marvel that our body, which just before was not perceptible in the universe, itself imperceptible in the bosom of the all, is now a colossus, a world, or rather an all in comparison with the nothingness at which it is impossible to

Whoever shall thus consider himself, will be frightened at himself, and observing himself suspended in the mass of matter allotted to him by nature, between these two abysses of infinity and nothingness, will tremble at the sight of these wonders; and I believe that his curiosity being changed into admiration he will be more disposed to contemplate them in silence, than to investigate them with presumption.

Let man contemplate entire nature in her height and full majesty; let him remove his view from the low objects which surround him; let him regard that shining luminary placed as an eternal lamp to give light to the universe; let him consider the earth as a point, in comparison with the vast circuit de-arrive? scribed by that star (sun); let him learn with wonder that this vast circuit itself is but a very minute point when compared with that embraced by the stars which roll in the firmament. But if our view stops there, let the imagination pass beyond: it will sooner be wearied with conceiving than nature with supplying food for contemplation. All this visible world is but an imperceptible point in the ample bosom of nature. No idea approaches it. In vain we extend our conceptions beyond imaginable spaces; we bring forth but atoms, in comparison with the reality of things. It is an infinite sphere, of which the centre is everywhere, the circumference nowhere. In fine, it is the greatest discernible character of the omnipotence of

For, in fine, what is man in the midst of nature? A nothing in comparison with the infinite, an all in comparison with nothingness: a mean between nothing and all. In finitely far from comprehending the extremes, the end of things and their principle are for him inevitably concealed in an impenetrable

secret; equally incapable of seeing the nothingness whence he is derived, and the infinity in which he is swallowed up.

What can he do, then, but perceive some appearance of the midst of things, in eternal despair of knowing either their principle or their end? All things have sprung from nothingness, and are carried onward to the infinite. Who shall follow this astonishing procession of things? The Author of these wonders comprehends them; no other can.

Through want of having contemplated these infinities, men are rashly born to the investigation of nature, as if they had some proportion with it.

It is a strange thing that they have wished to comprehend the principles of things, and from thence even to reach a knowledge of all, by a presumption as infinite as their object. For it is unquestionable that such a design cannot be formed without a presumption or capacity infinite like nature.

and yet it requires no less capacity to reach
nothingness than to reach the all.
It re-
quires infinite capacity for either; and it
seems to me that whoever should have com-
prehended the ultimate principles of things
might also arrive at a knowledge of the in-
finite. One depends upon the other, and the
one leads to the other.

The extremes touch and unite by reason of their remoteness from each other, and are found in God and in God only.

Let us know then our range; we are something and not all. What we have of being deprives us of the knowledge of first principles, which spring from nothingness, and the little that we have of being conceals from us the view of the infinite.

Our intellect holds in the order of things intelligible the same rank as our body in the extent of nature.

Limited in every way, this state which holds the mean between two extremes is found in all our powers.

Too

When we are instructed, we comprehend that nature, having engraved her image and Our senses perceive nothing extreme. that of her Author upon all things, they almost much noise deafens us; too much light dazall participate in her double infinity. Thus zles us; too much distance or too much proxwe see that all the sciences are infinite in the imity impedes vision; too much length or too extent of their researches; for who doubts that much brevity of discourse obscures it; too geometry, for example, has an infinity of in- much truth astonishes us: I know those who finities of propositions to exhibit? They are cannot comprehend that when four are taken also infinite in the multitude and delicacy of from nothing, nothing remains. First princitheir principles; for who does not see that ples have too much evidence for us. Too those which are proposed as the ultimate are much pleasure incommodes. Too much harnot self-sustaining, and that they rest upon mony in music displeases; too many benefits others which, having still others for a sup-irritate: we wish to have wherewith to report, never admit an ultimate?

But we do with ultimates that appear to reason as we do in regard to material things, wherein we call that an indivisible point beyond which our senses perceive nothing more, although it is by its nature infinitely divisible. Of these two infinities of science, that of magnitude is much more obvious, and therefore it has happened to few persons to pretend to all knowledge of all things. "I am about to speak of all things," said Democritus.

But the infinity in littleness is much less discernible. The philosophers have much sooner pretended to arrive at it; and here it is where they have all stumbled. It is what has given place to these very common titles, "Principles of things," "Principles of philosophy," and the like, as ostentatious in reality, although not in appearance, as this other which galls the eye.

We naturally believe ourselves much more capable of reaching the centre of things than of embracing their circumference. The visible extent of the world obviously surpasses us; but as we surpass little things, we believe ourselves capable of possessing them;

pay the debt.

We feel neither extreme heat nor extremɔ cold. Excessive qualities are inimical to us, and not discernible; we no longer feel them, we suffer them. Too much youth and too much age obstruct the mind; too much or too little instruction. In fine, extreme things are for us as if they were not, and we are not in regard: they escape us, or we them.

Such is our true state. This is what renders us incapable of certain knowledge and absolute ignorance. We drift on а vast ocean always uncertain and floating, driven from one extreme towards the other. Some term, whereat we think to fix ourselves and become settled, wavers and quits us; and if we follow it, it escapes our grasp, slips from us, and flies with an eternal flight.

Nothing stops for us. This is the state natural to us, and yet the most contrary to our inclination: we burn with desire to find a firm seat and an ultimate constant basis, in order to build upon it a tower that shall reach to the infinite; but our whole foundation cracks, and the earth opens to the abyss.

BLAISE PASCAL