ment to their operations, which always opened fresh springs of delight in carrying them on. The first year's campaign was carried on, from beginning to end, in the plain and simple method I've related. In the second year, in which my uncle Toby took Liege and Ruremond, he thought he might afford the expense of four handsome drawbridges. At the latter end of the same year he added a couple of gates with portcullises; and during the winter of the same year, my uncle Toby, instead of a new suit of clothes, which he always had at Christmas, treated himself with a handsome sentry-box, to stand at the corner of the bowlinggreen, betwixt which point and the foot of the glacis there was left a little kind of an esplanade, for him and the Corporal to confer and hold councils of war upon. The sentry-box was in case of rain. All these were painted white three times over the ensuing spring, which enabled my uncle Toby to take the field with great splendour.

My father would often say to Yorick, that if any mortal in the whole universe had done such a thing except his brother Toby, it would have been looked upon by the world as one of the most refined satires upon the parade and prancing manner in which Louis XIV., from the beginning of the war, but particularly that very year, had taken the field. But 'tis not in my brother Toby's nature, kind soul! my father would add, to insult any one. Tristram Shandy.

None of us liveth to himself.

There is not a sentence in Scripture which strikes a narrow soul with greater astonishment:-and one might as easily engage to clear up the darkest problem in geometry to an ignorant mind, as make a sordid one comprehend the truth and the reasonableness of this proposition-No man liveth to himself! Why, does any man live to anything else? In the whole compass of human life can a prudent man steer to a safer point? Not live to himself! To whom, then? Can any interests or concerns which are foreign to a man's self have such a claim over him that he must serve under them-suspend his own pursuits-step out of his right course, till others have passed by him and attained the several ends and purposes of living before him!

Yorick's Sermons, vol. i. ser. 7.

169. Rev. James Hervey, 1714-1758. (Handbook, par. 483.)

The Flower Garden.-The Kitchen Garden.

The spot adjoining to the house was appropriated to the cultivation of Flowers. In a variety of handsome compartments were assembled the choicest beauties of blooming Nature. Here, the Hyacinth hung her silken bells, or the Lilies reared their silver pyramids. There, stood the neat Narcissus, loosely attired in a mantle of snowy lustre; while the splendid Ranunculus wore a full-trimmed suit of radiant scarlet. Pinks were rising to enamel the borders; Roses were opening to dress the walls; surrounded on all sides with a profusion of beauteous forms, either intent in the stalk, or bursting the buds, or blown into full expansion....

This was bounded by a slight partition, a sort of verdant parapet, through which they descend by an easy flight of steps, and are presented with the elegant simplicity of the Kitchen Garden. In one place, you might see the Marigold flowering, or the Beans in blossom. In another, the Endive curled her leaves, or the Lettuce thickened her tufts. Cauliflowers sheltered their fair complexion under a green umbrella; while the Borage dishevelled her locks, and braided them with native jewels, of a finer azure than the finest sapphires. On the sunny slopes, the Cucumber and Melon lay basking in the collected beams. On the raised beds the Artichoke seemed to be erecting a standard, while the Asparagus shot into ranks of spears. The level ground produced all manner of cooling Sallets and nourishing Esculents. Which, like the brows of the Olympic Conquerors, were bound with a fillet of unfading Parsley; or like the pictures of the Mountain Nymphs, were graced with a chaplet of fragrant Marjoram. In short, nothing was wanting to furnish out the wholesome luxury of an Antediluvian banquet.

The Microscope.

Dialogues, i. p. 35.

You know the use of that solar microscope, and are able to inform me of its effects.

Theron. I ought to be pretty well acquainted with these experiments, since it has long been my favourite diversion to employ a few spare hours in such agreeable speculations.

Aspasio. You have seen the body of an insect accommodated to the surprising instrument. When in this situation, the animal was pricked by a very fine needle; your eye, your naked eye, just perceived the puncture; and discovered, perhaps, a speck of moisture oozing from the orifice. But in what manner were they represented by the magnifying instrument?

Ther. The puncture was widened into a frightful gash. The speck of moisture was swelled into a copious stream, and flowed like a torrent from the gaping wound. An ox under the sacrificing knife scarce looks more bulky, or bleeds more largely.

Asp. Don't you apprehend my design? If we, short-sighted mortals, and almost blinded with self-love; if we cannot but be sensible of our faults; how flagrant must they appear, in what enormous magnitude, and with what aggravating circumstances to an Eye perfectly pure and infinitely penetrating?

Dialogues, i. p. 297.

170. William Shenstone, 1714-1763. (Handbook, par. 205.)

A pastoral poet, whose melodious rhythm perpetuates his memory.

The Shepherd's Home.

My banks they are furnished with bees,

Whose murmur invites one to sleep;

My grottoes are shaded with trees,

And my hills are white over with sheep. . . .

One would think she might like to retire
To the bower I have laboured to rear;
Not a shrub that I heard her admire,
But I hasted and planted it there.
O how sudden the jessamine strove
With the lilac render it gay!
Already it calls for my love

To prune the wild branches away.
All her words such a pleasure convey,
So much I her accents adore,
Let her speak, and whatever she say,
Methinks I should love her the more.

From A Pastoral Ballad, in four parts.

The Schoolmistress.

In elbow-chair, like that of Scottish stem,
By the sharp tooth of cank'ring eld defaced,
In which, when he receives his diadem,

Our sov❜reign prince and liefest liege is placed,
The matron sate; and some with rank she grac'd,
(The source of children and of courtier's pride!)
Redress'd affronts, for vile affronts there pass'd;
And warn'd them not the fretfu to deride,
But love each other dear, whatever them betide.
Right well she knew each temper to descry;
To thwart the proud, and the submiss to raise;
Some with vile copper-prize exalt on high,
And some entice with pittance small of praise;
And other some with baleful sprig she frays;
Ev'n absent, she the reins of power doth hold,
While with quaint arts the giddy crowd she sways;
Forewarn'd, if little bird their pranks behold,
"Twill whisper in her ear, and all the scene unfold.
Out of thirty-six stanzas.

171. Thomas Gray, 1716-1771. (Handbook, par. 199.) One of our classical poets, distinguished alike by elegance and fire. On a Distant Prospect of Eton College.

Ye distant spires! ye antique towers!
That crown the watery glade,

Where grateful Science still adores

Her Henry's holy shade;

And ye that from the stately brow

Of Windsor's heights the expanse below

Of grove, of lawn, of mead survey,

Whose turf, whose shade, whose flowers among
Wanders the hoary Thames along

His silver-winding way:

Ah, happy hills! ah, pleasing shade!
Ah, fields beloved in vain!

Where once my careless childhood stray'd,
A stranger yet to pain!

I feel the gales that from ye blow
A momentary bliss bestow,

As, waving fresh their gladsome wing,
My weary soul they seem to soothe,
And, redolent of joy and youth,

To breathe a second spring. . .

[The youth are then called up and their future life sketched :]

These shall the fury Passions tear,

The vultures of the mind,
Disdainful Anger, pallid Fear,

And Shame that skulks behind;
Or pining Love shall waste their youth,
Or Jealousy, with rankling tooth,

That inly gnaws the secret heart;
And Envy wan, and faded Care,
Grim-visaged, comfortless Despair,

And Sorrow's piercing dart. . . .

To each his sufferings; all are men
Condemn'd alike to groan:

The tender for another's pain,

The unfeeling for his own.

Yet ah! why should they know their fate,
Since sorrow never comes too late,

And happiness too swiftly flies?
Thought would destroy their paradise-
No more! Where ignorance is bliss,

"Tis folly to be wise.

Out of ten stanzas.

Elegy written in a Country Churchyard.
The curfew tolls the knell of parting day,
The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea,
The ploughman homeward plods his weary way,
And leaves the world to darkness and to me.

Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight,
And all the air a solemn stillness holds,
Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight,
And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds :