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doom, but these are arraigned at every table, in every tavern, and at such variety of judicatures; there will be as great variety of sentences, only they concur in this one, that he is a hypocrite, and then what complacency, what triumph have they in such a discovery. There is not half so much epicurism in any of their more studied luxuries, no spectacle affords them so much pleasure, as a bleeding fame thus lying at their mercy.

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I shall conclude this section of my work with another of Æsop's fables.

THE ASS AND THE LAP-DOG.

It is a strong and tenable position,
That, if we speak of man, or beast,
There's scarcely one, or very few at least,
Who does not feel the goad of competition?
At my assertion, you, perhaps, may sneer;
But that wise man, nay, wisest man of old,
Esop, who many a warning lesson told,
A fable wrote, in which he makes it clear,
That beasts can jealous be, and strive to vie
With other beasts: if you the fact deny,
Pray read this fable, first-rate of its class,

And call'd, my friends,-the Lapdog, and the Ass.

There was a gentleman of good renown,
Who dwelt, I fancy, in a country town,
And had a Lapdog, a most merry thing,

Black nos'd, like spaniel dogs, that pleas'd a king,
(That king I mean whose foolish conduct tries one,
Who ne'er said foolish thing, nor did a wise one,)
He had a donkey also, long-ear'd elf!

Whom he permitted to enjoy himself
In a green paddock, at the end of which,
As the good gentleman was very rich,

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And could afford himself indulgencies,

There was a smart alcove, with a veranda,

To shade his eyes from day's too strong effulgencies,
And o'er it, sweetest flowers were taught to wander.
There sat our gentleman to read or sleep,

While up his lap, the little dog would creep,
Whene'er his master dos'd,

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And there, like dormouse, he repos'd;
Then, when he woke, with winning grace,
He would jump up and lick his face;
Or, by some other fond caress,
His grateful tenderness express:
And then, the acme of his joy to show,
He ne'er would fail

To wag his tail,

And treat his master with a sharp bow vow.
So pass'd of man and dog, the summer hours,

But not unmark'd by him upon the grass,
The thistle-loving ass,

Whose heart the canker, envy, thence devours.

At length, he sought a neighbouring pond, and there,
Within its face, as in a glass reflected,

He all his features, and his face inspected;
Then cried, 66

why surely, I'm as fair,

As that mean, little, noisy, capering dog,
That's not much bigger than a full-siz'd hog;
His ears are short, but mine are long,
So is my nose, and as to powers of song,
In my opinion, they could have no ear,
Who could the barking of that cur compare
With the pathetic and sonorous sound

Of my deep bray, that wakes the echoes round;
Yet, I must own, our master is so blind,
And to that animal so strangely kind,
That ev'ry day one sees

The creature on his knees;

And when he licks his face,
He gives him an embrace;
If he puts out his paws,
Oh! then such loud applause!

But when he barks, and makes his odious din,
Then most he seems approving smiles to win;
While I, unheeded eat my grass, or roots,
Or, if I'm notic’d, when I dare draw nigh,
My master soon averts his eye,

And cries, go, get out of my way thou brute!

Well, I'm resolv'd, I too will strive to please
My dear protector, by such tricks as these;
He does not know how charming I can be:
He never saw me give my foot to shake,
Nor in the air like dancer spring;
And I believe, I don't mistake,
When I assert, he never heard me sing.
Then how can he admire, poor man,
The charms he never saw?

I'll go upon a different plan,

And try upon myself to draw

The love and praise that short-legg'd elf

Has, hitherto, attracted to himself."

So said, so done, and the next time, 'tis said,

His master came to seek his bower's green shade,

The donkey would not let him pass,

But such a caper gave upon the grass;

Heels overhead,

That full of dread,

The good old gentleman made a swift retreat,

And too alarm'd to speak, ran to his seat;

For bit by fly, call'd gad,

He thought the tumbling brute was grown quite mad;

And he thought so still more,

When setting up his bray or roar,

The donkey, mimic-like,

Held up his foot, less form'd to coax, than strike;

And little made like tiny dogs to tap.

Then, rushing on his wond'ring master,
Who little look'd for such great disaster,
Tried, vain attempt! to sit upon his lap!

In short, could never lapdog, poodle, monkey,
More fond and playful be, than was our donkey.

O! what caresses and what melody!
No wonder, that, too terrify'd to fly,
The gentleman cried out amain:

"Will! Thomas! come this moment, or I'm slain."
Will, Thomas, heard and soon dislodg'd our hero,
Who look'd, and felt a Zero;

But harder soon his plight,

His hand each servant raises,

And stead of kind caress and grateful praises,
They rain down blows upon the luckless wight;
Then to the stable dragg'd, no more a ranger
In the green paddock, tie him to the manger!-
There, in revenge for this unkind partiality,
What could our ass, poor Don Dismality,
Do you think, to save him from distraction,
Since for assault he could not bring an action?
Know then, he tried to give his wrath relief,
By harsh remarks upon his cause of grief.
Against the lapdog he essayed,

Midst grooms, and men, and boys, to raise a faction,
By underrating the poor thing's pretensions,
And imputations, that were half inventions.
In short, the donkey plied that common trade,
I mean that common trade, yclept, detraction,
And I begin and end, with this position,
The source from which detraction springs,
The power which imps its harpy wings;

IS CHIEFLY UNSUCCESSFUL COMPETITION.

RECAPITULATION:-That ministers of the gospel are, like other men, exposed to the danger of competition, and should therefore watch. That they should also set their faces against mischievous gossip.

That philanthropists, who are often in competition at public meetings and committees, should also be on their guard.

Lastly, by one of Esop's fables, I illustrate the power of unsuccessful competition.

من

CHAPTER VIII.

ON DETRACTION.

detract

WHAT is detraction? According to the derivation of the word, it means to draw or take from, alias to depreciate. The province of detraction is to lessen the merit of persons, objects, and things, by severe comments, by finding fault, by ridicule, and by mimickry; relating degrading anecdotes of those whom he wishes to lower.

Detraction is of two kinds, it may be acted as well as spoken. I shall begin with the latter species, and endeavour to describe its varieties. I endeavoured in my former chapter to prove that general and particular competition were, consciously or unconsciously, the principal and most pernicious source of detraction, and I shall try to show, in some of the following pages, in what manner a detracting spirit endeavours to effect its purposes. Though detraction is one of the most powerful rulers in society, it does not affect the pomp of a sovereign; it has no levées or gala days, but it delights quite as much in the privacy of a tête-à-tête, in the domestic circle of a large family, or even more, perhaps, than in an as

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