thank you for your lecture, and promise a reformation:- —but hint,-hint but a defect in his intellectuals,-touch but that sore place, from that moment you are locked upon as an enemy sent to torment him before his time, and in return may reckon upon his resentment and ill-will for ever so that, in general, you will find it safer to tell a man he is a knave than a fool,--and stand a better chance of being forgiven, for proving he has been wanting in a point of common honesty, than a point of common sense. Strange souls that we are! as if to live well was not the greatest argument of wisdom;and as if what reflected upon our morals did not most of all reflect upon our understandings!

Sermon xxvi.

CORPORAL TRIM'S REFLECTIONS ON

DEATH.

My young master in London is dead! said Obadiah. A green satin night-gown of my mother's, which had been twice scoured, was the first idea which Obadiah's exclamation brought into Susannah's head. Then, quoth Susannah, we must all go into mourning-Oh! 'twill be the death of my poor mistress, cried Susannah.-My mother's whole wardrobe followed--What a

procession! her red damask,-her orange tawny, her white and yellow iustrings,her brown taffeta, her bone-laced caps, her bed-gowns, and comfortable underpetticoats.-Not a rag was left behind.No, she will never look up again, said Susannah.

We had a fat, foolish scullion-my father, I think, kept her for her simplicity ;— she had been all autumn struggling with a dropsy. He is dead!-said Obadiah, he is certainly dead!-So am not I, said the foolish scullion.

-Here is sad news, Trim! cried Susannah, wiping her eyes, as Trim stepped into the kitchen.- -Master Bobby is dead and buried, the funeral was an interpolation of Susannah's-we shall have all to go into mourning, said Susannah.

I hope not, said Trim!-You hope not! cried Susannah earnestly.The mourning ran not into Trim's head, whatever it did in Susannah's.-I hope-said Trim, explaining himself, I hope in God the news is not true. I heard the letter read with my own ears, answered Obadiah. Oh! he's dead, said Susannah-As sure, said the scullion, as I am alive.

I lament for him from my heart and my

soul, said Trim, fetching a sigh-Poor creature!-poor boy!-poor gentleman!

-He was alive last Whitsuntide, said the coachman. Whitsuntide! alas! cried Trim, extending his right arm, and falling instantly into the same attitude in which he read the sermon,-what is Whitsuntide, Jonathan, (for that was the coachman's name,) or Shrovetide, or any tide, or time past, to this? Are we not here now, continued the corporal, (striking the end of his stick perpendicularly upon the floor, so as to give an idea of health and stability)—and are we not- -(dropping his hat upon the 'Twas inground) gone! in a moment!finitely striking! Susannah burst into a flood of tears. We are not stocks and stones. Jonathan, Obadiah, the cook-maid, all melted.--The foolish, fat scullion herself, who was scouring a fish-kettle upon her knees, was roused with it. The whole kitchen crowded about the corporal.

-To us, Jonathan, who know not what want or care is, who live here in the service of two of the best of masters-(bating in my own case his majesty, King William III., whom I had the honour to serve both in Ireland and Flanders)-I own it, that from Whitsuntide to within three weeks of

but to

Christmas,-'tis like nothing those, Jonathan, who know what death is, and what havoc and destruction he can make, before a man can wheel about,-'tis like a whole age.-O Jonathan! 'twould make a good-natured man's heart bleed, to consider (continued the corporal, standing perpendicularly) how low many a brave and upright fellow has been laid since that time! And trust me, Susy, added the ccrporal, turning to Susannah, whose eyes were swimming in water--before that time comes round again,-many a bright eye will be dim. Susannah placed it to the right side of the page--she wept-but she courtesied too. Are we not, continued Trim, looking still at Susannah,-are we not like a flower of the field-a tear of pride stole in betwixt every two tears of humiliation -else no tongue could have described Susannah's affliction-is not all flesh grass? 'Tis clay, 'tis dirt.-They all looked directly at the scullion,-the scullion had just been scouring a fish-kettle- -It was

not fair.

-What is the finest face that ever man looked at!--1 could hear Trim talk so for ever, cried Susannah-what is it! (Susannah laid her hand upon Trim's shoulder)but corruption? Susannah took it off.

-Now I love you for this-and 'tis the delicious mixture within you, which makes you, dear creatures, what you are-And he who hates you for it-all I can say of the matter is that he has either a pumpkin for his head-or a pippin for his heart, and whenever he is dissected, it will be found so.

For my own part, I declare it, that out of doors, I value not death at all :-not this ... added the corporal, snapping his fingers, -but with an air which no one but the corporal could have given to the sentiment.

Never

-In battle, I value death not this... and let him not take me cowardly, like poor Joe Gibbins, in scouring his gun.- -What is he? A pull of a trigger-a push of a bayonet an inch this way or that—makes the difference. Look along the line-to the right-see! Jack's down! well,-'tis worth a regiment of horse to him. No'tis Dick. Then Jack's no worse. mind which, we pass on,-in hot pursuit, the wound itself which brings him is not felt, the best way is to stand up to him; the man who flies is in ten times more danger than the man who marches up into his jaws. I've looked him, added the corporal, a hundred times in the face,-and know what he is. He's nothing, Obadiah,