the governor, "or else I am the greatest dunce in the world. And now you shall see whether I have not a head-piece fit to govern a whole kingdom upon a shift."

18. This said, he ordered the cane to be broken in open court, which was no sooner done, than out dropped the ten crowns. All the spectators were amazed, and began to look on their governor as a second Solomon. They asked him how he could conjecture that the ten crowns were in the cane. He told them that, having observed how the defendant gave it to the plaintiff to hold while he took his oath, and then swore he had truly returned the money into his own hands, after which he took his cane again from the plaintiff, it came into his head that the money was lodged within the reed; from whence may be learned, that, though sometimes those that govern may be destitute of sense, yet it often pleases God to direct them in their judgment.

Cervantes.

CIV.-SELECTIONS FROM SHAKESPEARE.

I. THE SEVEN AGES OF MAN.

All the world's a stage, And all the men and women merely players: They have their exits and their entrances; And one man in his time plays many parts, His acts being seven ages. At first, the infant, Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms. Then the whining school-boy, with his satchel And shining morning face, creeping like snail Unwillingly to school.

And then the lover,

Sighing like furnace, with a woful ballad

Made to his mistress' eye-brow. Then a soldier,
Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honor, sudden and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation

Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the Justice,
In fair round belly with good capon lined,-

With eyes severe, and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws and modern instances;
And so he plays his part.

The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slippered pantaloon,

With spectacles on nose, and pouch on side;
His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,

Is second childishness, and mere oblivion,
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans-every thing.

As You Like It, Act ii. Scene 7.

II.-POLONIUS'S ADVICE.

Give thy thoughts no tongue,

Nor any unproportioned thought his act.
Be thou familiar, but by no means vulgar:
The friends thou hast, and their adoption tried,
Grapple them to thy soul with hooks of steel;
But do not dull thy palm with entertainment
Of each new-hatched, unfledged comrade. Beware
Of entrance to a quarrel; but, being in,

Bear it, that the opposèd may beware of thee.

Give every man thine ear, but few thy voice:

Take each man's censure, but reserve thy judgment.
Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy,

But not expressed in fancy; rich, not gaudy:
For the apparel oft proclaims the man.
Neither a borrower, nor a lender be:

For loan oft loses both itself and friend;
And borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry.
This above all,-to thine own self be true;
And it must follow, as the night the day,
Thou canst not then be false to any man.

III.-MAN.

Hamlet, i. 3.

What a piece of work is man! How noble in reason! how infinite in faculties! in form and moving, how express and admirable! in action, how like an angel! in apprehension, how like a god! the beauty of the world! the paragon of animals!

IV.-SLEEP.

Hamlet, ii. 2.

O Sleep! O gentle Sleep!

Nature's soft nurse, how have I frighted thee,

That thou no more wilt weigh my eyelids down,

And steep my senses in forgetfulness?

Why rather, Sleep, liest thou in smoky cribs,

Upon uneasy pallets stretching thee,

And hushed with buzzing night-flies to thy slumber,

Than in the perfumed chambers of the great,

Under the canopies of costly state,

And lulled with sounds of sweetest melody?

O, thou dull god! why liest thou with the vile,
In loathsome beds, and leav'st the kingly couch,

A watch-case, or a common 'larum bell?
Wilt thou upon the high and giddy mast
Seal up the ship-boy's eyes, and rock his brains.
In cradle of the rude, imperious surge,

And in the visitation of the winds,

Who take the ruffian billows by the top,

Curling their monstrous heads, and hanging them
With deaf'ning clamors in the slipp'ry clouds,
That, with the hurly, death itself awakes?
Canst thou, O partial Sleep! give thy repose
To the wet sea-boy in an hour so rude;
And in the calmest and most stillest night,
With all appliances and means to boot,
Deny it to a king? Then, happy low, lie down!
Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown!

II. Henry IV., iii. 1.

V. THE DEATH OF KINGS.

For God's sake, let us sit upon the ground,
And tell sad stories of the death of kings:-
How some have been deposed; some slain in war;
Some haunted by the ghosts they have deposed;
Some poisoned by their wives; some sleeping killed;
All murdered:-for within the hollow crown.
That rounds the mortal temples of a king,
Keeps Death his court, and there the antic sits,
Scoffing his state, and grinning at his pomp;
Allowing him a breath, a little scene,

To monarchize, be feared, and kill with looks;
Infusing him with self and vain conceit,-
As if this flesh, which walls about our life,
Were brass impregnable; and, humored thus,

Comes at the last, and with a little pin

Bores through his castle wall, and—farewell, king! Richard II., iii. 2.

VI.-REPUTATION.

Good name in man and woman, dear my lord,

Is the immediate jewel of their souls:

Who steals my purse, steals trash; 't is something, nothing;

'Twas mine, 't is his, and has been slave to thou

sands;

But he, that filches from me my good name,

Robs me of that which not enriches him,
And makes me poor indeed.

Othello, iii. 3.

VII.-HONOR.

Prince Henry. Why, thou owest God a death. [Exit. Falstaff. 'Tis not due yet; I would be loth to pay him before his day. What need I be so forward with him that calls not on me? Well, 't is no matter; honor pricks me on. Yea, but how if honor prick me off when I come on? how then? Can honor set to a leg? No. Or an arm? No. Or take away the grief of a wound? No. Honor hath no skill in surgery, then? No. What is honor? A word. What is that word, honor? Air. A trim reckoning. Who hath it? He that died on Wednesday. Doth he feel it? No. Doth he hear it? No. Is it insensible, then? Yea, to the dead. But will it not live with the living? No. Why? Detraction will not suffer it-therefore, I'll none of it: honor is a mere scutcheon, and so ends my catechism.

I. Henry IV., v. 1.