nurse thyself, Trim; and what with thy care of him, and the old woman's, and his boy's, and mine together, we might recruit him again at once, and set him upon his legs.. In a fortnight or three weeks, added my uncle Toby, smiling, he might march. He will never march, an't please your honour, in this world, said the Corporal He will march, said my uncle Toby, rising up, from the side of the bed, with one shoe off. An't please your honour, said the Corporal, he will never march but to his grave. He shall march, cried my uncle Toby, marching the foot. which had a shoe on, though without advancing an inch, he shall march to his regiment. He cannot stand it, said the Corporal. He shall be supported, said my uncle Toby. He'll drop at last, said the Corporal, and what will become of his boy? He shall not drop said my uncle Toby, firmly. A well o'day, do what we can for him, said Trim, maintaining his point, the poor soul will die. He shall not die, by H-n, cried my uncle Toby. -The ACCUSING SPIRIT, which flew up to Heaven's chancery with the oath, blushed as he gave it in and the RECORDING ANGEL, as he wrote it down, dropped a tear upon the word, and bloited it out forever. -My uncle Toby went to his bureau, and put his purse into his pocket, and having ordered the Corporal to go early in the morning for a physician, he went to bed and fell asleep. The sun looked bright the morning after, to every eyein the village but Le Fever's and his afflicted son's; the hand of death pressed heavy upon his eyelids, and hardly could the wheel at the cistern turn round its circle, when my uncle Toby, who had got up an hour before his wonted time, entered the Lieutenant's room, and without preface or apology, sat himself down upon the chair upon the bed side, and independently of all modes and customs, opened the curtain, in the manner an old friend and brother officer would have done it, and asked him how he did and how he had rested in the night-what was his complaint where was his pain-and what he could do to help him? And without giving him time to answer any one of these inquiries, went on and told him of the little plan which he had heen concerting with the Corporal, the night before for him. -You shall go home directly, Le Fever, said my uncle Toby, to my house-and we'll send for a doctor to see what's the inatter-and we'll have an apothecary-and the corporal shall be your nurse-and I'll be your servant, Le Fever. There was a frankness in my uncle Toby-not the effect of familiarity, but the cause of it-which let you at once into his soul, and showed you the goodness of his nature; to this there was something in his looks, and voice, and mauner, superadded, which eternally beckoned to the unfortunate to come and take shelter under him; so that before my uncle Toby had half finished the kind offers he was making to the father, had the son insensibly pres sed up close to his knees, and had taken hold of the breast of his coat, and was pulling it towards him. The blood and spirit of Le Fever, which were waxing cold and slow within him, and were retreating to their last citadel the heart, rallied back-the film forsook his eyes for a moment, he looked up wishfully in my uncle Toby's face then cast a look upon his boy. Nature instantly ebb'd again-the film returned to its place-the pulse fluttered, stopped-went on-throbbed -stopped again-moved-stopped-shall I go on?-No. SECTION VI. I.-The Shepherd and the Pphilospher. REMOTE from cities, liv'd a swain, Unvex'd with all the cares of gain. His head was silver'd o'er with age, And long experience made him sage; In summer's heat and winter's cold, He fed his flock and penn'd the fold: His hours in cheerful labour flew, Nor envy nor ambition knew; His wisdom and his honest fame, Through all the country rais'd his name. A deep philosopher, (whose rules Of moral life were drawn from schools) The shepherd's homely cottage sought; And thus explor'd his reach of thought. Whence is thy learning? Hath thy toil O'er books consum'd the midnight oil? Hast thou old Greece and Rome survey'd, And the vast sense of Plato weigh'd? Hath Socrates thy soul refin'd? And hast thou fathom'd Tully's mind? Or, like the wise Ulysses thrown, By various fates on realms unknown? Hast thou through many cities stray'd, Their customs, laws and manners weigh'd ? The shepherd modestly reply'd, I ne'er the path of learning try'd; Nor have I roam'd in foreign parts, To read mankind, their laws and arts; For man is practis'd in disguise; He cheats the most discerning eyes; Who by that search shall wiser grow, When we ourselves can never know? The little knowledge I have gain'd, Was all from simple nature drain'd; Hence my life's maxims took their riseHence grew my settled hate to vice. The daily labours of the bee, Can grave and formal pass for wise, Kites, hawks, and wolves deserve their fate. Against the toad and serpent kind? Thy fame is just the sage replies: But he who studies nature's laws, # From certain truth his maxims draws; And those, without our schools, suffice II-Ode to Leven Water. ON Leven's banks while free to rove III.-Ode from the 19th Psalm. Th' unwearied sun from day to day, |