round to reason: for, as he had nothing to say to him, he said nothing, and went on with his work. And here it is our duty as observers of mankind, and Stumble-kind, and of every kind of kind, to warn the playfully-disposed, the pleasant practisers of jokes practical, and the facetiously-given in general, that if they design, at any time, to carry on a merry deception or mysticism, and to crack a joke upon the head of a friend, whom they respect all the while they are playing him this prank, and would not hurt for all the world-meaning nothing more than to teach him some good truth through the simple medium of a fable-we here warn these pleasant persons never, if they are wise, or would be thought to be, to select one of the race of the Stumbles for so parlous an experiment for they are sure, the whole of that family-we know them-to kick at the lesson, if not at the teacher: perhaps at both, alternately; and a kick from one of that brotherhood is a souvenir of which no man who has felt it can speak lightly. We speak this and thus from experience, which is said to make even the Stumbles wiser than they were at one time. Dil had now taken two-dozen turns round the ride, and Stumble was still doggedly silent: indeed Dil only knew that he was stupidly staring at him all this while by looking downward below his goggles, when he saw the shadows of two very long ears moving about, and a most ludicrous distortion and abortion of a head, sketched by that most ancient Cruikshank in photogenic caricature, the Sun, who was comically projecting the twinkling ears and hanging head of the creature who thought so much of himself in most extravagant proportions along the ground within the door. If Stumble had looked at his own shadow, instead of staring at honest Dil, how it must have humbled him! At length, "Breaking the silence he with sweetness mended," as some poet has said of the nightingale, he made another caustic remark upon the obnoxious goggles. "And so you are obliged to wear those ugly-what-do-you-call-'ems?" "Goggles," said Dil. Goggles! Phoebus, what a name!"" cried Stumble. "And you really do wear them, you say, to preserve your precious sight in travelling-hah! hah!- -as you pleasantly call this monotonous, melancholy, mill-horse round? 66 Exactly so," said drudging Dil; "and I have worn them off and on "You could not wear them off: you can only wear them on," said Stumble critically, correcting him. "Perhaps so," said Dil, bowing to his superior judgment. about terms.' 66 ،، But we won't quarrel "I will," said Stumble; and he kicked at a little cur that had crept between his legs, not knowing his "antic disposition." 66 "I won't," said Dil; and he let the little cur dog his heels without hurting him, as he was in the habit of doing. However, as I was going to say when you rudely interrupted me"I rudely interrupt you? Impossible!" said Stumble. 66 -I have worn these goggles you despise for these ten years last past," said Dil; "Sundays, of course, and nows and thens, and occasional trips to the town with our Tom, excepted; during which time I reckon that I have travelled thirty miles a day, on the average, in this mill-ride round. If you have a head for such calculations, cast up the working-days in ten years, deducting the Sundays, and you will find that I have travelled, in that time, in this monotonous, melancholy, miserable mill-horse round, as you call it, some thirty thousand miles. And yet I do not complain of the sameness of my existence : while you, who are as free as the air when compared with me, are ever murmuring, and making mouths at your hard fate! Oh, Stumble, Stumble! when will you begin to find out what a fortunate ass you are?" "Bah!" cried Stumble, indignantly turning away; and, flinging his dernier heels out in disdain, he kicked the mill-door to, and left the gentle in the dark. 66 "Guide, philosopher, and friend" Stumble and Dil never from that day spoke more. Tom and the Sandman, who quarrelled not about terms, so long as the ale was good, and the landlady gracious, as often as ever sat toe and toe together at the settle-table over a cool, quiet quart (“the last," always the last," till another quart came in) of indisputable humming-bub; and when they could hold no more, so as to carry it off without spilling it, they staggered home on horseback and assback as before. But Dil and Stumble were no more sociable over the horse-trough at the door of the Three Jolly Coopers. Sam and Tom noticed the unintimacy of their beasts of burden, who erewhile would be pulling the clover out of each other's mouths in the playfulness of friendship, and waiving their turn to drink with an "After you, Dil" sort of air, and "The trough, I believe, stands with you, Stumble" politeness. No more of these offices of friendship passed between these once-fast friends. The moral poet says—— "A generous friendship no cold medium knows ; My friend must hate the foe that injures me!" On the contrary, Stumble saw a swaggering Captain - the leader of a waggoner's team-kick the gentle Dil in bully-like fashion, simply because he stood in his way to the hay; and if he felt anything, it was that inward satisfaction which spiteful minds enjoy when some one capable of violence does that which they would like to do if they dared. The Sandman, who knew the disposition of his drudge, was quite right in saying that the misunderstanding was of Stumble's making or seeking; and good-humouredly boxed his head, and bade him be better tempered, and take example from Dil, who offered many times to make it up. But no it was not in Stumble's nature, when once offended, to forgive. Dil would have compounded with him to kick once a-piece, mutually explain, and be friends again; but Stumble was determined the quarrel should not so easily be made up. Pythias was implacable, and Damon might be dd for all he cared. Accordingly, Pythias would not even drink at the same time with Damon, though the trough was long enough and full enough for a troop of Stumbles, if it were a bumper-toast, and no heel-taps. He would not even pull a wisp of dusty hay from the same crate, if he saw Dil at it: he preferred to pick up the scattered waste about the ground. If they met face to face, and Damon looked, with all his habitual mildness of expression, in the severe eye of his dear Pythias, that " oncefamiliar gave him the cut decided-treated him to the cold shoulder, as the phrase goes-turned away-turned right round till tail diphthonged with tail-sent him unmistakeably to Coventry; and if, after this, he persevered in forcing himself into his company, he walked off to the other side of the way, and placed a good turnpike-road-a three-waggon-wide interval—a disrespectful distance between him and Damon: for there is no creature so unforgiving as an incensed scion of the great Stumble family, when once he takes a prejudice into his irritable head. Therefore, you worthy wayfarers all-you gentle Dils and Damons of every degree if you would eschew falling out with these particular villains, begin by not falling in with them. But, if you are haply obliged to mix, and not mingle, with them in the thoroughfares of this world, take good heed what you say in their presence, and speak as if you spoke by the card for these Stumbles have no notion-not an inkling even-of tropes, figures, metaphors, fables, similitudes, parables, riddles, enigmas, crotchets, conundrums, puns, quirks, quibbles, quiddities, quodlibets, and such like questionable figments of the ingenious wit. They have ears, eyes, minds, apprehensions, and comprehensions for the literal only. Therefore avoid them-come out from among them-be not seen with them! Meet not with them-eat not with them-drink not with them-think not with them-talk not with them-walk not with them: for your ways are not their ways; but presently, with the discreet Dogberry, discharge yourself of their company: for, truly, they are "neither fish, nor flesh, nor good salt-herring! The Moral needs no further pointing; nor the Tale any more adorning. ONWARD! THERE is a voice in everything, One autumn morn I careless laid, But as I listened to its sigh, A merry bee came buzzing by, It lighted on a budding flower Tarried awhile-then rose again Then chose another from the bower; "Twas "Onward! Onward !-Onward, still!" A brook went rippling down the dell, The voice of the incessant rill, Was "Onward! Onward!-Onward, still!" Then, Onward! Onward! be our cry, Our hearts are firm-our hopes are high Onward! through childhood-manhood-youth: From fact to fact-from truth to truth! Onward! till freed from misery's power The poor man knows a happy hour: Men's thoughts are free as God's own wind: |