We have written enough, we think, to convince the most skeptical that Mandeville is a pre-eminent fabulist, worthy to stand like a Colossus among the great Fibbers of the Past. A closer comparison of his claims to distinction in this regard will add fresh leaves to his crown. We have not forgotten the Pantagruel and Gargantua of Rabelais; the tin horn and cherry tree of Munchausen; the Lilliputians that beset Gulliver, nor the extraordinary means which he subdued great conflagrations withal; but for "large discourse" in fiction, we prefer Mendez Pinto to all of them, and Mandeville to Pinto.

Complete. From his «Prose

Miscellanies.»

MATTHIAS CLAUDIUS

(1740-1815)

ATTHIAS CLAUDIUS, the German poet, born at Reinfeld in 1740,

M

lived the life of a "country editor" in the village of Wands

beck near Hamburg, where for many years he published the Wandsbeck Messenger (Bote). In this he published the lyrics and short essays which made him famous. He was naturally a humorist, but the intensely religious undertone of his character became dominant as he grew older. Before his death he collected from the Messenger eight volumes of his verse and prose which he published under the name of "Asmus." He died January 21st, 1815.

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NEW YEAR GREETINGS

HAPPY New Year! A happy New Year to my dear country, the land of old integrity and truth! A happy New Year to friends and enemies, Christians and Turks, Hottentots and Cannibals! To all on whom God permits his sun to rise and his rain to fall! Also to the poor negro slaves who have to work all day in the hot sun. It's wholly a glorious day,—the New Year's Day! At other times I can bear that a man should be a little patriotic, and not make court to other nations. True, one must not speak evil of any nation. The wiser part are, everywhere, silent; and who would revile a whole nation for the sake of the loud ones? As I said, I can bear at other times that a man should be a little patriotic; but on New Year's Day my patriotism is dead as a mouse; and it seems to me on that day as if we were all brothers, and had one Father who is in heaven; as if all the goods of the world were water which God has created for all men, as I once heard it said.

And so I am accustomed, every New Year's morning, to sit down on a stone by the wayside to scratch with my staff in the sand before me, and to think of this and of that. Not of my readers. I hold them in all honor; but on New Year's morning, on the stone by the wayside, I think not of them; but I sit there

and think that during the past year I saw the sun rise so often, and the moon,- that I saw so many rainbows and flowers, and breathed the air so often, and drank from the brook,- and then I do not like to look up, and I take, with both hands, my cap from my head and look into that.

Then I think also of my acquaintance who have died during the year; and how they can talk now with Socrates and Numa, and other men of whom I have heard so much good, and with John Huss. And then it seems as if graves opened round about me, and shadows with bald crowns and long gray beards came out of them and shook the dust out of their beards. That must be the work of the "Everlasting Huntsman," who has his doings about the twelfth. The old pious long-beards would fain sleep. But a glad New Year to your memory and to the ashes in your graves!

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HOW TO TALK TO HEAVEN

O DISTORT one's eyes in prayer does not seem to me necessary; I hold it better to be natural. But then one must not blame a man on that account, provided he is no hypocrite. But that a man should make himself great and broad in prayer, - that, it seems to me, deserves reproach and is not to be endured. One may have courage and confidence, but he must not be conceited and wise in his own conceit; for if one knows how to counsel and help himself, the shortest way is to do it. Folding the hands is a fine external decorum, and looks as if one surrendered himself without capitulation, and laid down his arms. But the inward, secret yearning, billow-heaving, and wishing of the heart, that, in my opinion, is the chief thing in prayer; and therefore I cannot understand what people mean who will not have us pray. It is just as if they said one should not wish, or one should have no beard and no ears. That must be a blockhead of a boy who should have nothing to ask of his father, and who should deliberate the whole day whether he will let it come to that extremity. When the wish within you concerns you nearly, Andrew, and is of a warm complexion, it will not question long; it will overpower you like a strong and armed man. It will just hurry on a few rags of words, and knock at the door of heaven.

Whether the prayer of a moved soul can accomplish and effect anything, or whether the Nexus Rerum does not allow of that, as some learned gentlemen think-on that point I shall enter into no controversy. I have great respect for the Nexus Rerum, but I cannot help thinking of Samson who left the Nexus of the gate leaves uninjured and carried the whole gate, as every one knows, to the top of the hill. And, in short, Andrew, I believe that the rain comes when it is dry, and that the heart does not cry in vain after fresh water, if we pray aright and are rightly disposed.

"Our Father" is once for all the best prayer, for you know who made it. But no man on God's earth can pray it after him, precisely as he meant it. We cripple it with a distant imitation; and each more miserably than the other. But that matters not, Andrew, if we only mean well; the dear God must do the best part at any rate, and he knows how it ought to be. Because you desire it, I will tell you sincerely how I manage with "Our Father." But it seems to me a very poor way, and I would gladly be taught a better.

Do you see, when I am going to pray, I think first of my late father, how he was so good and loved so well to give to me. And then I picture to myself the whole world as my Father's house, and all the people in Europe, Asia, Africa, and America are then, in my thoughts, my brothers and sisters; and God is sitting in heaven on a golden chair, and has his right hand stretched out over the sea to the end of the world, and his left full of blessing and good; and all around the mountain tops smoke and then I begin:

"Our Father who art in heaven,
Hallowed be thy name."

Here I am already at fault. The Jews are said to have known special mysteries respecting the name of God. But I let all that be, and only wish that the thought of God, and every trace by which we can recognize him, may be great and holy above all things, to me and all men.

"Thy kingdom come."

Here I think of myself, how it drives hither and thither within me, and now this governs and now that; and that all is sorrow

of heart and I can light on no green branch. And then I think how good it would be for me if God would put an end to all discord and govern me himself.

"Thy will be done as in heaven so on earth.”

Here I picture to myself heaven and the holy angels who do his will with joy, and no sorrow touches them, and they know not what to do for love and blessedness, and frolic night and day; and then I think: if it were only so here on the earth!

"Give us this day our daily bread."

Everybody knows what daily bread means, and that one must eat as long as one is in the world, and also that it tastes good. I think of that. Perhaps, too, my children occur to me, how they love to eat, and are so lively and joyful at table. And then I pray that the dear God would only give us something to eat.

"Forgive us our debt as we forgive our debtors."

It hurts when one receives an affront; and revenge is sweet to man. It seems so to me, too, and my inclination leads that way. But then the wicked servant in the Gospel passes before my eyes and my heart fails, and I resolve that I will forgive my fellow-servant and not say a word to him about the hundred

pence.

"And lead us not into temptation."

Here I think of various instances where people, in such and such circumstances, have strayed from the good and have fallen; and that it would be no better with me.

"But deliver us from evil.”

Here I still think of temptations and that man is so easily seduced and may stray from the straight path. But at the same time I think of all the troubles of life, of consumption and old age, of the pains of childbirth, of gangrene and insanity, and the thousandfold misery and heart sorrow that is in the world and that plague and torture poor mortals, and there is none to