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elsewhere stood Hercules, clad in the lion's skin, and with the club which demolished him.

Nor was this all : the lion was not only triumphed over, mocked, spurned; but he was tortured into extravagant forms, as if he were not only the slave and creature, but the very creation of man. He becaine an artistic decoration, and an heraldic emblazonment. The feet of alabaster tables fell away into lions' paws; lions' faces grinned on each side the shining mantelpiece ; and lions' mouths held tight the handles of the doors. There were sphinxes too, half lion, half woman; there were lions rampant holding flags, lions couchant, lions passant, lions regardant; lions and unicorns; there were lions white, black, and red : in short, there was no variety of misconception or excess of indignity which was thought too great for the lord of the forest and the king of brutes. After he had gone over the mansion, his entertainer asked him what he thought of the splendours it contained ; and he in reply did full justice to the riches of its owner and the skill of its decorators, but he added, “ Lions would have fared better, had lions been the artists."

You see the application, Brothers of the Oratory, before I make it. There are two sides to every thing ; there is a Catholic side of the argument, and there is a Protestant. There is a story of two knights who met together on opposite sides of a monument: one of them praised the gold on the shield of the warrior sculptured upon it, and the other answered that it was not gold but silver. On this issue they fought; and, in the course of the combat, they changed places, and were Aung, dismounted and wounded, each upon the ground occupied originally by his foe. Then they discovered that the

shield was gold on one side, silver on the other, and that both of them were right, and both were wrong. Now Catholic and Protestant are not both right and both wrong: there is but one truth, not two truths; and that one truth, we know, is in the Catholic religion. However, without going on just now to the question where the truth lies (which is a further question not to my present purpose), still it is certain, though truth is one, that arguments are many, and there are always two sides in every dispute, I do not say both of them supported by arguments equally cogent and convincing, of course not; still, there is a Protestant side, and there is a Catholic side, and if you have heard but one of them, you will think nothing at all can be said on the other. If, then, a person listens only to Protestantism, and does not give fair play to the Catholic reply to it, of course he thinks Protestantism very rational and straightforward, and Catholics very absurd ; because he takes for granted the Protestant facts, which are commonly fictions, and opens his mind to Protestant arguments, which are always fallacies. A case may be made out for any one or any thing: the veriest villain at the bar of justice is an injured man, a victim, a hero, in the defence made for him by his counsel. There are writers who dress up vice till it looks like virtue ; Goethe, I believe, has invested adultery with a sentimental grace; and Schiller's drama of the - Robbers" is said to have sent all the young Germans of his day upon the highway. The same has been reported of Gay's “Beggar's Opera ;” and in our own time a celebrated poet has thrown an interest over Cain, the first murderer. Any thing will become plausible, if you read all that can be said in its favour, and exclude all that can be said against it.

Thus it comes to pass, that every one (as I may say), in a measure, has his own sphere of ideas and method of thought, in which he lives, and as to which he differs from every one else ; and, unless he is a philosopher, he will be apt to consider his own view of things, his own principles, his own tastes, just and right, and to despise others altogether. He despises other men and other modes of opinion and action, simply because he does not understand them. He is fixed in his own centre, refers every thing to it, and never throws himself, perhaps cannot throw himself, into the minds of strangers, or into a state of things not familiar to him. So it is especially between country and country; the Englishman thinks his beef and pudding worth all the resources of the French cuisine; and the Frenchman thought for certain, until the peace, that he had gained the battle of Trafalgar. Taking men as they are commonly found, , they are not equal to appreciating the circle of ideas and the atmosphere of thought which is the life of another; and yet they will commonly be forward in criticizing and condemning it; condemning it, not as having heard what it has to say for itself, but simply and precisely for the very opposite reason, because they have not.

You know it is a favourite device with writers of fiction to introduce into their composition personages of very different characters taking their respective views of one and the same transaction, or describing and criticizing each other; the interest which such an exhibition creates in the reader lying in this, that each of the persons in question is living in his own world, and cannot enter into the world of another, and therefore paints that other in his own way, and presents us with a caricature instead of a likeness, though he does not intend it. I recollect an amusing passage of this kind, out of many which might be cited, in one of Sir Walter Scott's tales, which I hope it is not unbecoming to quote, since it is so much to the purpose.

A middle-aged country gentleman and his wife for a while have the care of a very young lady. The host is very matter-of-fact, and his youthful guest, on the other hand, is very romantic; and the humour of the narrative lies in the very opposite judgments passed respectively on the guest by the host, and on the host by the guest. The elderly man, with whom the shadows and illusions of human existence are over, and who estimates things not by their appearance, but by their weight, writing to the father of his young charge with a good deal of kind feeling towards her, and some good-humoured contempt of her flightiness, tells him that she “has much of a romantic turn” in her disposition, with a “ little of the love of admiration;" that “she has a quick and lively imagination, and keen feelings, which are apt to exaggerate both the good and evil they find in life ;” that “she is generous and romantic, and writes six sheets a week to a female correspondent.” “You know," he says, “how I have jested with her about her soft melancholy, and lonely walks at morning before any one is up, and in the moonlight, when all should be gone to bed, or set down to cards, which is the same thing." And he ends by speaking with some apprehension and dislike of a place of amusement near his grounds, which is “ the resort of walking gentlemen of all descriptions, poets, players, painters, musicians, who come to rave and recite and madden about this picturesque land of ours. It is paying some penalties for its beauties,” he adds, “if they

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are the means of drawing this swarm of coxcombs together.”

On the other hand, the young lady, writing to a school acquaintance of her own age, says, “ If India be the land of magic, this is the country of romance. The scenery is such as nature brings together in her sublimest moods; all the wildness of Salvator here, and there the fairy scenes of Claude. I am at present the inmate of an old friend of my father. He is a different, quite a different being from my father, yet he amuses and endures me. He is fat and good-natured, gifted with strong, shrewd sense, and some powers of humour; and having been handsome, I suppose, in his youth, has still some pretension to be a beau garçon, as well as an enthusiastic agriculturist. I delight to make him scramble to the tops of eminences, and to the foot of waterfalls; and am obliged in turn to admire his turnips, his lucerne, and his timothy grass.

He thinks me, I fancy, a simple, romantic miss; so he rallies, hands, and hobbles (for the dear creature has got the gout too), and tells old stories of high life, of which he has seen a good deal ; and I listen, and smile, and look as pleasant and as simple as and we do

well.” This is but a sample of what meets us in life on every hand; the young have their view of things, the old have theirs ; high and low, trader and farmer, each has his own, by which he measures every thing else, and which is proved to be but a view, and not a reality, because there are so many other views just as good as it is. What is true of individuals is true of nations; however plausible, however distinct, however complete the national view of this or that matter may be, it does not follow



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