Puslapio vaizdai
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or beast-like emanation, I am informed by an honest young man of Captain Morris's company, in Lieut.-General Ireton's regiment (how very circumstantial the rogue is), that at Cashel, in the county of Tipperary, in the province of Munster, in Carrick Patrick Church, seated on a hill or rock, stormed by the Lord Inchiquin, and where there were near seven hundred put to the sword, and none saved but the major's wife and his son, there were found among the slain of the Irish, when they were stripped, divers that had tails near a quarter of a yard long. The relator, being very diffident of the truth of this story, after inquiry, was insured of the certainty thereof, by forty soldiers that testified upon their oaths that they were eye-witnesses, being present at the action."

All this is highly curious and interesting. The only point to be regretted in it is, that one bearing the name of the author I have quoted, dear to the public as that of an illustrious modern author, should have been so illiberal as to class the Irish among "brutish and strongdocked nations," whereas it is well known that for eloquence, pathos, valour, whisky-punch (since the invention of that classic compound), and all other kinds of civility, the Irish, whether caudati or incaudati, with tails, or without them, have long been remarkable.

A gentleman named Doctor Guindant, doubtless French, relates that the southern part of the

island of Formosa (Formosa, indeed!), the Molucca and Philippine Islands, contain whole races of men with tails; and that in the burning deserts of Borneo the greatest part of the inhabitants are tailed. Of the last-mentioned fact I have no doubt, but I suppose the greater part of the inhabitants have four legs as well.

A judicious person of small imaginative powers has suggested that, in viewing a savage clothed with the skin of a quadruped, a traveller, intent on wonders, might mistake the tail of his garment for a natural appendage. This observation belongs to a high order of sagacity.

EXPERIENCE.

It is a strange thing, but true, that in the affairs of life, both great and small, it happens nine times out of ten, that no one will profit by any experience but his own. It is in vain you tell the sanguine and the confident that they expect what cannot be. They may admit to you, perhaps, that what they look forward to never has been; but they fondly suppose that they will be so fortunate or so prudent as to improve upon all that has gone before. At all events, they are resolved that they will try.

And so they do; and they find, as all have found, that joy is but a will-o'-the-wisp, which only seems to be, and is not—that when they

arrive where they were sure to have found it, it is still in the distance. At length they know that it is never to be found. They have their experience, but this, too, they find to be like counters, which may be of some use to yourself when it is almost too late, but will not pass current. They who have a like experience with yourself don't want it from you-they who have it not, won't take it from

you.

This is the nature of mankind. It may well be supposed that it is all for the best; and we may ourselves plainly see that no one would ever be conscious of the value of any experience which was imparted to him, and not acquired by him. He would say, "I have followed your advice, and I am not happyperhaps if I had followed my own inclination I would have been so." He will not be persuaded that all things must have this result, and that to avoid unhappiness, rather than to achieve happiness, is the most that (generally) our condition permits. "Omne experivi," said the Roman Emperor, "et nihil expedit." If he had not tried everything, all the philosophy and eloquence of man would probably not have brought him to so frank and true an acknowledgment.

Cicero says, that" nescire quid antea natus sis acciderit, id est semper esse puer"-to be unacquainted with that which happened before you were born, is to be always a boy. Alas! it is not enough to know what has happened before

your time, however accurately. Undoubtedly it is better than not to know it, for you have a wider range of observation, and a better chance of drawing a right conclusion. But, no matter what you may know, you will still judge with the buoyancy and sanguine expectation of boyhood, until you have learned to feel the truth of your knowledge in your own proper person, I fear that this must be so; but the lesson to be drawn even from knowledge of our own incapacity to take advantage of experience by inculcation, is to receive it with respect, and to pay it all the deference we can, allowing our judgment at all events to acknowledge the probability that what has happened may happen again, and taking all the precaution we can to guard against ill consequences which will probably arise, supposing, however unlikely it may seem, that what our more experienced friends suggest to us should turn out to be correct.

HYPER-CAUTION.

I Do not-never did-and in all probability never shall, like your over-cautious people. There are those who never so far believed in the continued fineness of a summer day, as to omit the burden of an umbrella, nor lent ten pounds without security, nor gave sixpence to

a beggar lest upon due investigation, held by the street-keeper and beadle, he or she should turn out to be more or less an impostor. Such folks may have what are called "old heads on young shoulders," but it is to be feared that of heart, whether young or old, there is not much. Over-cautious people are like those who are always taking such heed to their steps, and looking so closely on the ground, that they lose all the finest prospects in their way. They see nothing but their own insignificant progress. On the other hand, there are those who by an incautious habit of looking always at what is above them, or in the distance, tumble into holes, and are altogether upset in their progress. Both these habits are to be avoided. We should recollect that there are times and seasons when we cannot proceed too considerately and circumspectly, but that it is a mean and fearful thing to be always on the watch, and taking care against very improbable occurrences, like some wiseacres who make it a rule never to walk under a bridge when they can cross it above; "for," say they, "the bridge must fall some time, and we will make sure not to be under it." There is no must in the case, and, if there were, such remote contingencies are not worth calculating upon.

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