Think, Madam, when you stretch your lungs,
That all your neighbours too have tongues:
One slander must ten thousand get;

The world with interest pays the debt."1

(1) The Chinese have a proverb, that a word spoken cannot be brought back by a thousand horses; and every poet, from Virgil to Butler, has commented upon the prolific power of Fame; the last indeed gives a history of the progress of this dame, which,

"Like a thin chameleon, boards

Herself on air, and eats her words."

Well would it be, if we could adopt Sheridan's advice in the "School for Scandal," and, if unable to find "the drawer of the lie," should give a right to the injured parties to come on any of the indorsers. "But most of all, domestic strife is a premium upon foreign malice," and if persons, to use Voltaire's quaint simile, "will not wash their dirty linen at home," they must not be surprised if the world exaggerate the foul state of their laundry. When anger gets astride of the reason, the latter at once runs away under the goad of the fiery Tybalt; and slander, like a second Phaeton, gives impulse to a career which terminates in the destruction of a world of peace, marking its course with myriad reputations, slain at every word!

spy,

A SNEAKING Cur, the master's
Rewarded for his daily lie,
With secret jealousies and fears
Set all together by the ears.
Poor puss to-day was in disgrace,
Another cat supplied her place;
The hound was beat, the Mastiff chid,
The monkey was the room forbid;

Each to his dearest friend grew shy,
And none could tell the reason why.1

A plan to rob the house was laid:
The thief with love seduced the maid,
Cajol'd the Cur, and stroked his head,
And bought his secrecy with bread.
He next the Mastiff's honour tried,
Whose honest jaws the bribe defied:
He stretch'd his hand to proffer more;
The surly Dog his fingers tore.

Swift ran the Cur; with indignation
The master took his information.

Hang him, the villain's cursed," he cries;
And round his neck the halter ties.

The Dog his humble suit preferr'd,
And begg'd in justice to be heard.
The master sat. On either hand
The cited Dogs confronting stand;
The Cur the bloody tale relates,
And like a lawyer, aggravates.

"Judge not unheard," the Mastiff cried,
"But weigh the cause of either side.
Think not that treachery can be just;
Take not informers' words on trust;
They ope their hand to every pay,
And you and me by turns betray."

He spoke; and all the truth appear'd
The Cur was hang'd, the Mastiff clear'd.2

(1) "Where there is no talebearer, the strife ceaseth."-Prov. xxvi. 20. (2) From the above fable we learn not only the insidious destructiveness of calumny, but the certain vindication of truth by the exposure of falsehood. A liar to be successful ought to possess three qualities, each of which, from the

very nature of his profession, he is void of. He ought to have invincible courage, to meet the overwhelming obloquy of mankind, which is sure to overtake his detection: the greatest foresight, to provide against the numerous unseen perplexities which the contradictions, incident to falsehood, engender; and perfect confidence and trust in his agents, who otherwise may deceive him, and destroy his schemes in an instant. Now the nature, I say, of falsehood precluding the possibility of obtaining these, ought at once to prove the danger of such a course.

Some vices attach to certain states of life, and falsehood may be said to be a poor vice; the children of the lower orders, servants especially, almost from their birth, "going astray and speaking lies;" whereas in the higher ranks, the fashionable relation to it, admitted into the upper circles, is its half-brother, hypocrisy, for a downright lie is against the world's Bible,-honour, and is therefore expelled from genteel company, less for its irreligion, than for its bad

"Is there no hope?" the sick man said.
The silent doctor shook his head;

And took his leave with signs of sorrow,
Despairing of his fee to-morrow.

When thus the Man, with gasping breath; "I feel the chilling wound of Death! Since I must bid the world adieu,

Let me my former life review.

I grant my bargains well were made;
But all men over-reach in trade: