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As the choosing of pertinent circumstances is the life of a story, and that wherein humour principally consists, so the collectors of impertinent particulars are the very bane and opiates of conversation. Old men are great transgressors this way. Poor Ned Poppy-he's gone! - was a very honest man, but was so exceedingly tedious over his pipe, that he was not to be endured. knew so exactly what they had for dinner when such a thing happened, in what ditch his bay horse had his sprain at that time, and how his man John-no, it was William-started a hare in the common field, that he never got to the end of his tale. Then he was extremely particular in marriages and intermarriages, and cousins twice or thrice removed, and whether such a thing happened at the latter end of July or the beginning of August. He had a marvellous tendency likewise to digressions; insomuch, that if a considerable person was mentioned in his story, he would straightway launch out into an episode of him; and again, if in that person's story he had occasion to remember a third man, he

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PROVERBS.

By Archbishop Trench.

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broke off, and gave us his history, and so on. He always put me in mind of what Sir William Temple informs us of the tale-tellers in the north of Ireland, who are hired to tell stories of giants and enchanters to lull people asleep. These historians are obliged, by their bargain, to go on without stopping; so that after the patient hath, by this benefit, enjoyed a long nap, he is sure to find the operator proceeding in his work. Ned procured the like effect in me the last time I was with him. As he was in the third hour of his story, and very thankful that his memory did not fail him, I fairly nodded in the elbow chair. He was much affronted at this, till I told him, "Old friend, you have your infirmity, and I have mine."

As the telling of stories is a great help and life to conversation, I always encourage them, if they are pertinent and innocent, in opposition to those gloomy mortals who disdain everything but matter of fact. Those grave fellows are my aversion, who sift everything with the utmost nicety, and find the malignity of a lie in a piece of humour pushed a little beyond exact truth. I likewise have a poor opinion of those who have got a trick of keeping a steady countenance, that cock their hats and look glum when a pleasant thing is said, and ask, "Well, and what then!" Men of wit and parts should treat one another with benevolence; and I will lay it down as a maxim, that if you seem to have a good opinion of another man's wit, he will allow you to have judgment. (480)

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The fact that they please the people, and have pleased them for ages-that they possess so vigorous a principle of life, as to have maintained their ground, ever new and ever young, through all the centuries of a nation's existence-nay, that many of them have pleased not one nation only, but many, so that they have made themselves a home in the most different lands-and further, that they have, not a few of them, come down to us from remotest antiquity, borne safely upon the waters of that great stream of time, which has swallowed so much beneath its waves - all this, I think, may well make us pause should we be tempted to turn away from them with anything of indifference or disdain.

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And then, further, there is this to be considered, that some of the greatest poets, the profoundest philosophers, the most learned scholars, the most genial writers in every kind, have delighted in them, have made large and frequent use of them, have bestowed infinite labour on the gathering and elucidating of them. fastidious age, indeed, and one of false refinement, they may go nearly or quite out of use among the so-called upper class. No gentleman, says Lord Chesterfield, or "No man of fashion," as I think is his exact word, "ever uses a proverb.' And with how fine a touch of nature Shakspere makes Coriolanus, the man who with all his greatness is entirely devoid of all sympathy for the people, to utter his scorn of them in scorn of their proverbs, and of their frequent employment of these:

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• Hang ' em ! They said they were an hungry, sighed forth proverbs; That, hunger broke stone walls; that, dogs must eat; That, meat was made for mouths; that, the gods sent not Corn for the rich men only:-with these shreds They vented their complainings."

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(314)

But that they have been always dear to the true intellectual aristocracy of a nation, there is abundant evidence to prove. The native place of proverbs is easily perceived: Thus our own "Make hay while the sun shines," is truly English, and could have had its birth only under such variable skies as ours not certainly in those southern lands where, during the summer time at least, the sun always shines. In the same manner there is a fine Cornish proverb in regard of obstinate wrongheads, who will take no counsel except from calamities, who dash themselves to pieces against obstacles, which with a little prudence and foresight they might have avoided. It is this: "He who will not be ruled by the rudder must be ruled by the rock." It sets us at once upon some rocky and wreck-strewn coast; we feel that it could never have been the proverb of an inland people. "Do not talk Arabic in the house of a Moor"-that is, because there thy

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The history of the City of London, with that of the great companies or guilds which govern it, is, to a not ordinarily recognised degree, the history of English liberties, and their decisions a potent factor in the history of the race - the adherence of the City often deciding the fate of dynasties. The House of York conquered because London supported it; and when the Duke of Northumberland rode out for Lady Jane Grey against Mary, the silence of the citizens convinced him that his cause was doomed. It was to the Londoners, and not in vain, that Mary appealed in the perilous beginning of Wyatt's rebellion. The sinister uprising under Wat Tyler was cut short by the dagger of a Lord Mayor, and these hardy citizens grappled with and overcame even the redoubtable Elizabeth herself in the matter of patents and

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monopolies. Their stubbornness brought Stratford to the block, and their attitude decided the civil war against the King - their resolute demands for a free parliament overcoming the resistance of the Parliamentary army later, and rendering the Restoration inevitable. Even in Saxon days the citizens of London by their yea or nay decided the succession to the throne, and in the election of the Danish sovereigns the selling merchants of London took a weighty part. To-day no Englishman who has deserved well of his country is held to have been adequately rewarded until he has had conferred upon him the freedom of the City, signmanual of privileges once unique In the early Saxon times certain associations were established which naturally developed into trade guilds. The first royal charter given to these guilds of freemen came from William the Conqueror and is still in the City archives-four lines and a quarter, beautifully written on a slip of parchment of the length of six inches and breadth of one, and in Anglo-Saxon, a great concession from the Norman William. (232)

We fancy (said Mr Fitzgerald) a modern editor would treat such a thing in a more rough and summary manner. Another proof of this general amiability were the letters which he would write to his friends. He was a busy man, overworked with a quantity of things to attend to, and yet he would sit down and write long letters full of fun, good things, thought-I have some fifty or

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sixty of these. We can hardly think of an editor nowadays sitting down to write to one of his young contributors, and filling two or three closely written pages with all that was in his thoughts. And, then, such an editor! If I were asked to say what struck | me most in his engaging character it would be not his brilliant talk, or his never changing good humour, or his high spirit, but his modesty. For only consider what | his position was. No one can have an idea what it was by comparing it with one of the present literary men. In these days, when everyone writes-they are to be counted by the hundred-the writing power is distributed among a vast number of persons. I have seen, at a party, an obtrusive person engross the whole, who | actually made this foolish speech: "You know, Mr Dickens, no novelist can be named with Scott," to which he heartily agreed. (231)

Looking over some old diaries the other day, I found that I had a little account of my first as well as my last interview with him. The account will be more interesting as it brings in Landor also. I had been writing for him, but had never met him. Once he came round to read in the city where | I was then living, and I determined to screw up my courage and go to him. I waited outside the station-rather nervously, I confess -until I saw a cab drive up, with huge portmanteaux on the top, one marked "C. D.," and the other "A. W. S."-Albert Smith's brother, who was his agent. I saw the bronzed keen-eyed | face and figure stride along. He struck me as a fine figure of a man with a brisk stride, resolute, intrepid bearing. He was dressed in a light shooting suit | and a bowler hat, with a gay tie and pin. He liked colours and ornaments. Most striking was the redness of his furrowed cheeks, as though burned or scorched. I waited a

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little, then walked down the platform, and saw him standing by the open door of his carriage, engrossed in his newspaper. I was struck by his resolute, intrepid attitude. He seemed firmly fixed upon his feet, and quite indifferent to the crowds who were hurrying past. I went up to him, naturally a little nervous, and announced myself: "I beg your pardon, Mr Dickens, but my name is P. F.; you may recollect it." He gave a sort of start of pleasant surprise, and wrung my hand heartily, | almost violently, "How do you do," he exclaimed. "I'm very glad to see you spoken in his firm, clear, metallic tones. "I hope you will excuse me," I went on, | "but I am going to Paris to-morrow, and this was my only chance, so it would have been a dreadful disappointment not to have seen you." In his cheerful | way he then went on to tell what he had been doing. "We have just come from Belfast; tremendous houses there; curious people, too; they seem all Scotch, but quite in a state of transition." He then walked briskly along the platform, continuing his talk. letter from Forster yesterday. He is worried to death with old Landor's business," | here he gave an engaging laugh-" but what a pity-too sad." "Yes," I said, "and so wrong-headed." "To be sure," said he eagerly, and taking up the word, "so wrong-headed, and yet there is a great deal behind. You know he is the finest and most chivalrous old fellow in the world." "And you know him?" I said. "Know him? Lord, yes.

"Had a

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known him half my life. The whole thing was his wish to protect a poor governess. Well, he's well off, I suppose; able to pay the damages?" Again a hearty laugh of enjoyment. "Rich! Lord, no, not he. He won't pay a penny. He's in Florence now. Probably has assigned over every bit of his fortune. Of course you have read the case?" Here came up his invaluable agent and friend, whose premature death was such a loss and inconvenience to him. This was | Arthur Smith, Albert's brother, to whom he introduced me. "Mr F. says there was another train after all." Nothing could give an idea of the easy style in which he passed from subject to subject. Those who knew his talk will recognise this. "Well, Forster is deep in his Swift. tell him he will never get through it; but he goes at a thing with all his heart and soul." I ventured to say that I had seen advertisements announcing it as near at hand. "O Lord, no! He'll never have it done." (He was to be a good prophet in this matter. Some eight or ten years passed away, and no Swift. Only just before his death Forster | issued his first few chapters.) Then Boz went on to talk of his tour-would not get home until November. I then thought it time to take my leave, receiving | another of his truly cordial shakes of his hand-up and down, as was his way, with a good genuine wring. It is impossible to give an idea of his pleasant animated manner, his genuine sympathy and interest, and the general liveliness of his talk. All the words were given off in a sharp, decided tone, off-hand to a degree. That was the first time I saw him, and now I turn to the last, years later, making another extract from the same diary. I went to call on him, as I often did, at his office- one of the corners in Wellington street, now a theatrical costumier's. It still stands, but the old Household Words office, recently absorbed into the

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Gaiety Theatre, is now under actual sentence. It was about four weeks before his death, and I wished to persuade him to attend some amateur theatricals, which his friends, Lord Lytton, the brilliant author of "Pelham," the Forsters, and others of his circle were to witness. When we talked of this he spoke sadly of the tremendous calls | on him- the perpetual dinner parties, and others, which he was compelled almost to attend. He looked worn and strained, and so he could not go. However, with his usual good nature he held out a hope that he would try and come on after his dinner party. I see him now before me as he talked thus hopelessly. Then he grew more cheerful, and he brought me into another room to look at one of the great All the Year Round placards, six feet long, and which would presently appear on every hoarding in the kingdom. It was one of his several novelsby myself and was called by him, "The Doctor's Mixture." He then fell to talking of his old friend Regnier, the great French actor, who was in London playing "Les Vieux Garçons." He ruminated sadly for a moment and said, "He looks very old, poor fellow. He is a ' vieux garçon' himself, and so can play it well." I will now pass to something which is specially interesting to us all at this moment-his connection with Bath. Bath is enshrined in his immortal "Pickwick." Did Bath not actually supply the name for the immortal Pickwick," a name known all over the world, the name of | one of its own worthy citizens? When Boz went to Bath in 1832 this name struck him and remained in his memory, Moses Pickwick. (1,106)

(To be concluded.)

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