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THE NATIONAL TRIBUNE: WASHINGTON, D. C, DECEMBER 24, 1881.
2
WORK TOGETHER.
Jf nil men had the self-same mind,
And bought the same position,
The -world would be, as you'll agree,
Chaotic in condition ;
Thus some inul sow, and some mus-t reap,
And some must plow the mighty deep,
And some must wake while others sleep
Each man his given mission.
And though they seek quite different paths,
In bright and cloudy weather,
And seem to stray each his own way,
They really work together;
The one who weaves the one who knits,
The one who cuts, and he who lits,
Bound by a silken tether.
Thus the great world thrives on and grows,
And each man helps his brother;
The great and small, the short and tall,
They all help one another;
For some must print, and some must fold,
Some must carve, and some must mould,
And some count silver, scrip, and gold,
Each one pursuit or other.
Then banish envy from your hearts,
And keep your soul well lighted;
The world should be, as you'll agree,
At peace and all united ;
The water-course will turn the wheel ;
The mill will grind the corn and meal,
And God will reign through woe and weal,
And every wrong be righted.
THE VICTIM OF A VIRTUE.
I am one of those persons, envied for three
months in the year and pitied for nine, -who,
"live a little way " out of London. In the sum
mer our residence is a charming one; the garden
especially is delightful and attracts troops of
London friends. They are not'Only always will
ing to dine with us, hut drop in of their own mo
tion and stay for the hist train to town. The
vague observation " any fine day," or the more
evasive phrase "some fine day." used in compli
mentary invitations, are then very dangerous for
us to employ, for we are taken at our word, just
as though we meant it. This would he very
gratifying, however expensive, if it only happen
ed all the year round. But from October to June
nobody comes near us.
In reply to our modest invitations we then re
ceive such expressions of tender regret as would
convince the most sceptical: "a previous engage
ment," " indisposition of our youngest born," "the
horses ill," some catastrophe or other, always
prevents our friends from enjoying another even
ing with us " like that charming one they spent
last July." They hope, however, to be given that
same happy chance again, " when the weather is a
little less inclement," by which they mean next
summer. As for coming to dine with us in winter,
they will see us further first by which they
mean nearer first. Sometimes at their own
boards we hear this stated, though of course
without any intentional application. Some guests
will observe to us, a propos of dinners, " It is most
extraordinary how people who live half a dozen
miles out of town -w ill attempt to ignore the sea
sons and expect you to go and dine with them
just as if it was August, through four feet of snow.
It does really seem as Jones, our excellent host,
was saying the other day the very height of
personal conceit."
As we have occupied our r)resent residence for
some years, we have long had the conceit taken
out of us ; but we have still our feelings. Our
social toes are not absolutely frost-bitten, and
when thus trodden upon we are aware of the cir
cumstance. It grieves us to know what Jones
has thought (and said) of us, and my wife drops
a quiet tear or two during our drive home in the
brougham. I am bound to confess it is rather a
long ride. I find myself dropping asleep before
we have left brick and mortar behind us, and as
we cross the great common near our home I feel
a considerable change in the temperature. It is
a beautiful breezy spot, with a lovely view in
summer-time : the play-gronnd of the butter-fiy
and the place of business of the bee; but in win
ter it is cold and lonely enough.
In the day-time there is nobody there at all.
In the evening at uncertain intervals there is the
patrol. In old times it used to be a favorite
haunt of the Knights of the Road; during whose
epoch, bT the by, I should fancy that those who
lived in the locality found it even more difficult
to collect their friends around them than now.
It has still a bad name for tramps and vagabonds,
which makes my wife a little nervous when the
days begin to " draw in" and our visitors to draw
off. She insists upon my going over the house be
fore retiring to rest every night and making a re
port of ''All's well." Being myself not much over
five feet high in my boots, and considerably less in
my slippers (in which I am wont to make these
peregrinations), it has often suggested itself to
my mind that it would be more judicious to leave
the burglars to do their woist, as regards the
plate and things, and not risk what is (to me)
much more valuable. Of course I could "hold
the lives of half a dozen men in my hand" a
quotation from my favorite author by merely
arming myself with a loaded revolver; but the
simple fact is, I am so unskilled in the use of
any weapon (unless the umbrella can be called
such), that I should be just as likely to begin
with shooting number one (that is myself), as
number two, the' first ru fiian." "Never willingly,
my dear," say I to Julia, " will I shed the life-bloed
of any human being, and least of all my own."
On the other hand, as I believe in the force of
imagination, I always carry on these expeditions,
in the pocket of my dressing-gown, a child's pistol
belonging to our infant, Edward John which
looks like a real one, and would, 1 am persuaded,
have all the effect of a real one in my hands with
out the element of personal peril. " Miserable ruf
fians," I hadraadeupmy mind to say, when coming
upon the gang, "your lives are in my power"
(here I exhibit the pistol's -butt), "but out of
perhaps a mistaken clemency I will only shoot
one of you, the one that is the last to leave my
house. 1 shall count six" (or sixteen, according
to the number of the gang), "and then tire."
Upon vhich they would, I calculated, all ske
daddle helter-pelter to the door they got in at,
which 1 should lock and double-lock after them.
You may ask, Why double-lock? but you will
get no satisfactory reply. I know no more what
to "double-lock" means than you do, but my
favorite novelist a sensational one always uses
it, and I conclude he ought to know.
It was the beginning of a misty October, when
the leaves had fallen off early, and our friends
had followed their example, and I had been sit
ting up alone into the small bom's resolute to
read my favorite author to the bitter end his
third volume, wherein all the chief characters
(except the comic ones) are slain, save one who
is left sound in wind and limb, but with an
hereditary disposition to commit suicide. Some
what depressed by its perusal and exceedingly
sleepy, I went about my usual task of seeing all
was right in a somewhat careless and perfunc
tory manner. All was right appaiently in the
diniug-room, all right in the drawing-room, all
right certainly in the study (where I had myself
been sitting), and all right no, not quite all
right in our little back hall or vestibule, where,
upon the round table the very largest and
thickest pair of navvy's boots I ever saw were
standing between my wife's neat little umbrella
and a pair of her gardening gloves. Even in
that awful moment I remember the sense of
contrast and incongruity struck me almost as
forcibly as the presence of the boots themselves,
and they astonished aud alarmed me as much as
the sight of the famous footprints did Robinson
Crusoe, and for precisely the same reason. The
boots and the print were nothing in themselves,
but my intelligence, now awfully awakened, at
once flew to the conclusion that somebody must
have been there to have left them, and was
probably in the neighborhood, and indeed under
1113' root' at tua' very Moment. If you give
Professor Owen a foot of any creature (just as of
less scientific persons we say: Give them an
inch, they will take an ell ), he will build up the
whole animal out of his own head: and some
thing of the Professor's marvelous instinct was
on this occasion mine. I pictured to myself
(and as it turned out, correctly) a monster more
than six feet high, broad in the shoulders, heavy
in the jowl, with legs like stone balustrades, and
hands, but too often clenched, of the size of
pumpkins. The vestibule led into the pantry,
where no doubt this giant, with his one idea, or
half a one, would conclude the chief part of our
plate to be, whereas it was lying unless he had
already taken it, a terrible thought that flashed
through my mind, followed by a cluster of others.
like a comet with its tail under our bed.
Of course I could have gone into the pantry
at once, but I felt averse to be precipitate ; per
haps (upon finding nothing to steal) this poor
wretch would feel remorse for what he had done
and go away. It would be a wicked thing to
deprive him of the opportunity of repentance.
Moreover, it struck me that he might not be a
thief after all, but only a cousin (considerably
"removed'') of one of the maid-servants. It
would have been very wrong of h?r to have let
him into the house at such an hour, but it was
just possible that she had done so, and that he
was at that momeut supping in the kitchen upon
certain cold grouse which I knew were in the
larder. Such a state of things, I repeat, would
have been reprehensible, but I most sincerely
hoped that it had occurred. A clandestine at
tachment, however misplaced, is better than bur
glary with possible violence. Coughing rather
loudly, to give the gentleman notice that I was
about, and to suggest that he had better take
himself off in my temporary absence, I went up
to the attics to make inquiries.
And here I am tempted to a digression concern
ing the excessive somnolency of female domestics.
As regards our own, at least, they remind me,
except in number, of the Seven Sleepers. I
knocked at their door about a quarter of an
hour before attracting their attention, and it took
me another quarter to convince them (through
the keyhole) that it was not fire. Jf it had been,
they must all have been burnt in their beds.
Relieved upon this point, they were scarcely
less excited and "put out" by the communica
tion 1 was compelled to make to them, though
conveyed with the utmost delicacy and refine
ment of which language is capable. I asked
them whether by any accident one of them
chanced to have a male relative who woie excep
tionally thick highlows; and if he was likely to
have called recently that very evening, for
example?
They all replied in indignant chorus that they
had never heard of such a thing by which they
meant the suggestion aud that no cousins of
theirs ever did wear highlows, being all females
without exception.
Satisfied as to this (and greatly disappointed),
I felt that it was now incumbent upon me to
pursue my researches. Candle in hand and
pistol in pocket, I therefore explored the pantry.
To my great relief, it way empty. Was it pos
sible that the thief had departed? If so, he had
gone without his highlows, for there they stood
on the vestibule table as large as life, and, from
the necessity of the wise, a size or two larger.
Their build and bulk, indeed, impressed me more
than ever. Was it possible that only one burglar
had come in those boots ?
I entered the kitchen ; not a mouse was stir
ring; on the other hand, there was a legion of
blackbeetles, who scuttled away in all directions
except one. They avoided the dresser beneath
which lay the gentleman I was looking for, curled
up in a space much too small for him, but affect
ing to be asleep. Indeed, though previously I
had not even heard him breathe, no sooner did
the light from my candie fall upon him than he
began to snore slertorousriy. I felt at once that
this was to give me the idea of slumber that fol
lows honest toil. 1 knew before he spoke that
he was going to tell me how, tired and exhausted,
he had taken shelter under my roof, with no
other object (however suspicious might be the
circumstances of his position) than a night's
rest, of which he stood in urgent need.
"Don't shoot, sir," he said, for I took care to let
the handle of Edward John's pistol protrude from
my dressing-gown. "I am poor, but honest; I
only came in here for the warmth and to have a
snooze."
"How did you get in?" I enquired sternly.
" I just prized up the washus winder," was his
plaintive reply, "and laid down, 'ere."
"Then, you put out your boots in the back hall
to be cleaned in the morning, I suppose?"
At this he grinned a dreadful grin. It seemed
to say, "As yon have the whip-hand of me, you
may be as humorous as you please; but if it was
not for that pistol, my fine friend, you would be
laughing on the other side of your mouth, I
reckon."
"Come, march," said 1. "Put on your boots."
He got up as a wild beast rises from his lair,
and slouched before me into the hall.
Though he looked exceedingly wicked, I felt
grateful to him for going so peaceably, and was
moved to compassion.
" Were you really in want, that you camehere?"
I said. "Are you hungry?"
"Not now," he answered with a leer.
Of course he was intimating that he had supped
at my expense, and at the time I thought it frank
of him to acknowledge it. If I had known then,
as I learnt afterwards, that he had eaten a grouse
aud a half, and the whole contents of a large jar
of Devonshire cream Avhich we had just received
as a present. I should have thought it mere
impudence. I did think it rather impudent
when he said as he stood at the front door, which
I had opened for his exit :
"Won't you give me half-a-crown, sir, to put
me in an honest way of business?" But, never
theless, thinking it better to part good friends, I
gave him what he asked for. He spit upon the
coin "for luck," as he was good enough to ex
plain, and also perhaps as a substitute for thanks,
since he omitted to give me any, and slouched
down the gravel sweep and out of the gate.
It Avas three o'clock; the mist had begun to
clear, and the moon and stars were shining. A
sort of holy calm began to pervade me. I felt
that I had donfe a. good action and also got rid of
a very danj ndividual, and that it was high
time that .d go to bed in peace with all
men. My wever, who had been roused
by the servUu,, as on the tip-toe of expectation
to hear all tha had taken place, and of course I
had to tell her. I described each thrilling inci
dent with such dramatic force that she averred
that nothing would ever induce her in my ab
sence to sleep in the house agaiu. This was per
haps but the just punishment for a trifle of exag
geration in the narrative with which I had here
and there indulged myself, but it was very un
fortunate. Now and then I find myself detained
in town, after dining at the club, by circum
stances over which I have no control (such as a
rubber at whist, which will sometimes stretch like
india rubber), and hitherto I had only had to
telegraph in the afternoon to express my regret
that there was a possibility of my non-return.
Here was an end to all this, unless I could re
assure her. I therefore began to dwell upon the
unlikelihood of a second burglar ever visiting the
house, which I compared with that famous hole
made by a cannon-ball, said to be a place of se
curity from cannon-balls for evermore.
"Oh, don't tell me," cried my wife, with just a
trace of impatient irritation in her voice. " Hark !
goodness gracious, what is that coming along the
road?"
She thought it was a burgler on horseback,
whereas, if I may so express it, it was the very
contrary namely, the horse patrol.
" Knock at the window ; call him in. I insist
upon your seeing him," she exclaimed. I had no
alternative, since she said "insist," (as any mar
ried mj - 'Jki-- nd), but to accede to her
wishes vrrii - and told the patrol what
had h: c--'-
"How long ago was the fellow here, sir?" he
enquired.
"More than an hour. It is quite out of the
question you can overtake him. And besides, I
really think he is repentant, and means for the
future to lead an honest life."
"You do, do you ? " said the patrol, in that soit
of compassionate toue of voice in which the vis
itor of a lunatic asylum addresses an inmate
warranted harmless. "Well, as I am here, I'll
just go over the house and make sure there is no
more of them. It is not impossible, you see, he
may have left a pal behind him."
"There was only one pair of boots," said I con
fidently; "of that I am certain."
" Nevertheless, as I felt it would be a satisfac
tion to my wife, I acceded to his request. He
tied his horse to the scraper, and came in with his
lantern, and looked about him. There was no
body in the front hall, of course, for I had just
come through it ; in the drawing-room nobody,
in the vestibule nobody but on the table where
they had stood before stood a pair of gigantic
navvy's boots.
"What d'ye think of that?" whispered the
patrol, pointing to one of them.
"They're the same," I answered in hushed
amusement, "they're the very same. I could
swear to them among a thousand. What can it
mean?"
" Well, it means that the gentleman who was
going to lead a new life," he answered drily, " has
thought better of it and has comeback again."
And so he had. We found him lying in the
very same place under the dresser, awaiting, I
suppose, events.
"O lor, is that you, Mr. Policeman?" he said
complainingly. "Then, it's all up."
If he had had to deal with me alone, he expected
perhaps to have got another half-crown oat of me.
But the great probability was, he had doubtless
argued, that all suspicion of burglars, for that
night at least, would have died out, and that he
would have had the undisputed range of the
house It was a bold game, but one in which
all the chances seemed to be on his side.
I helped to fasten a strong strap to his wrist,
which was already attached to that of the horse
patrol's. "And now," said the latter coolly, " we
will go and put on our boots."
For the second time that night I saw that op
eration accomplished by my buriilar; for the sec
ond time saw him walk off, though on this occa
sion a captive to his mounted companion. I did
not wish, a3 the judges say when thej- put on the
black cap, to add poignancy to the feelings of this
unhappy man (he was on ticket of leave, and
presently got live years' penal servitude), but I
could not help saying:
" I think you ought to have been content with
your supper and half-crown, and not come here
again, at all events, in search of 'plunder."
This argument, it seemed, had no sort of weight
with him : gratitude was unknown to that savage
breast. Like many more civilized individuals, he
attributed his misfortunes to his own virtue.
" Xo sir, it ain't that," he answered scornfully.
" !"vj the wieiim of Perseverance."
THE WHITE LADY OF HILLBURY.
BY MKS. C. DESPARD.
II.
"All! yes; just so! found her outside, you say.
Could give no aeoount of herself. Very strange ! "
So said Lady Montague's family physician, a
person of some eminence, in one pair of eyes
at least, who was called in on the following day
to see the stranger.
"It was my daughter, Ellen, who took her in,"
said Lady Montague. " The dear child has nerves
of iron. Tender-hearted as I ain I could no
more have done it than flown. Her account
made my blood run cold literally."
"I have always taken Miss Ellen for a brave
girl. Well, your ladyship, I am glad you look
at it so. A good thing for the poor demented
creature that she has fallen amongst amiable
folks. Many a person would have sent her to
the Infirmary straight."
"Doctor, you make me shiver. The Infirmary
for a girl like that!"
"A homeless, friendless, poor, and possibly
mad woman, who has forced herself upon you."
Lady Montague turned and looked at her
doctor. She was a lady who had once been ex
ceedingly pretty ; she had small aristocratic
features, and the softest of brown eyes, which,
however, at this moment were alight with indig
nation. " Say at once that we had better turn
this unfortunate young lady out of doors," she
said, "and, in that case, I will consult another
doctor about her."
"Oh, if you take it in that way "
"I do take it in that way. Possibly I am
foolish. You, no doubt, will call me supersti
tious; but it seems to me that Heaven has
thrown this poor thing at our gates, and that
if we refuse to accept the charge of her we
incur a serious responsibility. I am surprised,
besides, that a man of your experience should
put down a patient as hopelessly insane after
s cursory an examination. I believe but per
haps it is useless to say what I believe until I
know how you intend to act."
The Doctor smiled and bowed. He was a tall,
gaunt, grim-looking man. Lady Montague, to
whom strong feeling had given unusually fluent
speech, and who, now that she had spokea, felt
a little alarmed at her own temerity, was re
lieved to find that her indignant rebuke had not
offended him that, in fact, he wore an expres
sion which the patients who loved him best (and
this grim-looking person was not without adoring
worshipers) liked to see on his face.
"I spoke as a friend just now," he observed.
"I may count myself amongst the number of
your friends, Lady Montague ?"
"How can you ask the question, Dr. Griffith?
I have no truer friend in the world than you."
She held out her hand; her brown eyes were
soft again. She was sorry she had been so hasty.
"And I hope I shall always merit that descrip
tion," he said, bowing low, in a quaint old-world
fashion, over her offered hand. "I wished you
seriously to consider what you are doing," he
proceeded ; " since yon have considered, there is
no more to be said on that head. I speak to you
now as a doctor, professionally."
"Stay ; let me fetch paper and pencil. I have
not a good memory," said Lady Montague.
"I think you will be able to remember mi
dsections. They need not be elaborate. At
this moment all I have to say is, let her sleep."
" But she has slept so long. It frightens us.
When will she be likely to be awake?"
"Don't be frightened if I tell you at once that
this is not an ordinary sleep : it is a trance. It
may last for some hours longer. With your per
mission I will remain in the house for those
hours. In my opinion she is fresh from an
attack of brain-fever, resulting probably from
severe mental and physical strain. I think it
likely that when she awakens you will find her
memory gone. I hope so. That will be a great
help to her recovery."
"And what are we to do in such case?"
"Treat her as if she were really the child
which, in intellect, you will most probably find
her; strengthen her body in every possible wajT;
try to direct her mind ; keep off as long as pos
sible any reference to her past life. For present
purposes it will be sufficient to allow her to be
lieve that, when she opens her eyes presently in
Miss Ellen's room, she opens them in a new world.
It was a pretty idea, by the bye, to have flowers
about. As many of them as you please. You
have some musical friends, have you not?"
"There is Juan, the Clintons' protege. He
plays the violin, you know."
"Ah ! yes. Your little admirer. If he could
be got to play something soft in the ante
room "
"Doctor," cried Lady Montague, laughing,
"never you profess to be a hard-hearted cynic
ajiain. It is not vour role. I believe vou have
been all this time hiding your gifts. You are a
poet."
"Oh! your ladyship; there's a certain force in
associations, you know."
The door opened to admit Ellen Montague.
She was walking slowly, like one in a dream.
"Aud how is our patient now?" asked the
Doctor brisk ly.
"She has not stirred. She is so white, so
placid, I am afraid. Dr. Griffith, you are so
clever; save her if you can."
" I tell you what I shall do, Miss Ellen," re
plied the autocrat. "I shall forbid you to go
into her room for the present. You are be
coming overwrought. Come, come, it is no use
protesting. I have not physicked you from
your babyhood without understanding you a
little. Lady Montague, with your permission,
I will take Miss Ellen's post. Send up your
Anne presently with a handful of biscuits, and
perhaps you could manage to have my horse
put up, aid yes, let ray man go to the Clintons
and bring Juan back." He went towards the
door, Ellen following him. He turned. "If
my orders are not strictly followed," he pro
tested, " I leave the house at once. There is a
bell in your room, Miss Ellen. Yes? When I
want you there I will ying that bell. Until I
do, let no one come up but Anne."
"And how about Juan?" asked Lady Montague.
"He may scrape his fiddle in the timing-hall
if he likes, leaving the door open." '
Two hours of intense anxiety passed away.
By that time the young Juan had arrived, aiid
stationed in the room adjoining Ellen Monta'me's'
was playing some of his sweet dream mu5c on
the violin. The Doctor and old Anne were
with the sleeper; more flowers had been sent
up roses and lilies from the winter garden,
sprays of white lilac and fragant Czar violets!
Lady Montague and her daughter waited in the
garden-parlor below, while the light of the short
winter afternoon waned slowly? Twice Ellen
had said to her mother, " I cannot bear this
suspense;" twice Lady Montague had reminded
her urgently that Dr. Griffith was a man who
would not allow his wishes to be disobeyed.
He U(1 he capable of leaving the house,"
she said. Then, at last, when their suspense
was at its height, the little bell tinkled, and
Ellen, with a beating heart, ran up stairs to
her room.
For a few moments she stood astonished on
the threshold. She scarcely knew the place.
Bright lights were burning everywhere, and
flowers, exquisitely grouped, filled every corner.
Besides, she had been expecting to see the
Doctor and old Anne. Where were they? At
first sight it appeared that the room had but
one occupant, and she, the fanciful might have
imagined, was the spirit of the place: a bright
emanation from the flowers. Ellen went for
ward slowly. She was possessed by a deep and
overpowering awe, though she saw at once thai
she was in the presence not of death, but of
life.
Yet how strange a life ! There was the stately
form she had seen on New Year's morning, and
the fine chiselled face, and the stream of golden
hair; but the horror in the face had gone; its
lips were parted in a smile; its eyes looked out
with dreamy wonder ; its fair, smooth brow was
unclouded by sorrow.
As Ellen advanced, her pace keeping time
with the music which came in melodions gusts
from the adjoining room, the White Lady lifted
her head from the pillow and gazed at her
steadily, like a young child in view of some
thing strange but not uupleasing. Ellen smiled ;
her smile was immediately reflected. "Ah!""
said the young girl softly, "I see you are better.'1"
Her visitor continued to gaze and smile.
" What have become of the Doctor and Anne?:r
she asked ; but received no answer. She became
perplexed, fearing the beautiful creature might
be dumb, and then, remembering to have heard
her speak on the previous evening, she looked
round for the Doctor to solve her perplexities
He increased them immensely. She had dis
covered him behind the window curtains ; bnty
instead of obeying her vigorous signs, he set
himself to creep out of the room, in such a way
as to be neither seen nor heard by the visitor
But old Anne was at Ellen's elbow with a howl
of strong soup.
"The young lady is to lake this at once, Miss,""
she said.
To be continued.
DEATHS OF KINGS AND QUEENS IN ENG
LAND, William the Conqueror died from enormous fatr
from drink, and from the violence of his passions
William Rufus died the death of the poor stags
which he hunted.
Henry I. died of gluttony.
Henry II. died of a broken heart, occasioned by
bad conduct of his children.
Richard Comr de Leon, like the animal from
which his heart was named, died by au arrow
from an archer.
John died nobody knows how, but it is said
from chagrin, which we suppose is another name
for hellebore.
Henry III. is said to have died a "natural
death."
Edward I. is said to have died of a "natural
sickness " a sickness which would puzzle all the
college physicians to denominate.
Edward II. was barbarously and indecently
murdered by ruffians employed by his own wife
and her paramour.
Edward III. died of dotage, and Richard II. of
starvation the very reverse of George IY.
Henry IV. is said to have died of fits caused by
uneasiness, and uneasiness in palaces in those
times was a very common complaint.
Henry V. is said to have died of a painful af
fliction, prematurely. This is a courtly term for
getting rid of a king.
Henry VI. died in prison, by means known
then only to his jailor, aud now only in heaven.
Edward V. was strangled by his uncle. Richard
III.
Richard III. was killed in battle.
Henry VII. wasted away, as a miser ought to..
Henry VIII. died of carbuncles and fury.
Edward VI. died of a decline.
Queen Mary is said to have died of a broken
heart.
Old Queen Bess is said to have died of melan
choly, from having sacrificed Essex to his ene
mies. James I. died from drinking and the effects of
vice.
Charles I. died on the scaffold.
Charles IT. died suddenly it is said of apo
plexy. William III. died of consumptive habits of
body and from the stumbling of his horse.
Queen Anne died from dropsy.
George J. died from druunkeness, which his
physicians politely called an apoplectic fit.
George II. died of a rupture of the heart which
the periodicals of that day termed a visitation of
God.
George III. died as he had lived a madman.
Throughout life he was, at least, a consistent
monarch.
George IV. died of gluttony and drunkeuness.
He that holds fast the golden nietui.
And lives contentedly between
The little and the great,
Feels not the wants that pinch the poor,
Nor plagues that haunt the rich man's door.
Cotcper's Trans. Horace.
In the lexicon of youth, which fate reserves
For a bright manhood, there is no such word
As fail. Edivard Eulivtr Lyttoit.
The drying up a single tear has more
Of honest fame than shedding seas oCove.
