the blame and the punishment for the sins of his dog Crab. He hath "sat in the stocks for puddings he hath stolen"; "stood in the pillory for geese he hath killed"; and taken a whipping to save that ill-bred cur from the consequences of his "ungentleman-like conduct" at the Duke's table. Now it is but reasonable to assume that a man, however humble his station in life, who would sacrifice himself so completely for the sake of a dumb animal, would have some sentimentality in the choice of a wife, and however mercenary he might assume to be, his selection would not be influenced by wealth alone, but be governed by the feelings of his heart, rather than by the calculations of his head.

Be that as it may, there is a good deal of sound common sense, even if it was assumed, in the method of selecting a wife as affected by Launce, that might be adopted with advantage by some of our modern young men who so heedlessly assume the responsibilities of marriage. A little more prudence and consideration of their respective qualifications for what should be a life-long

One can easily imagine the sapient and judicial air assumed by Launce, as Speed reads the "catelog" to him; but I shrewdly suspect that the decision of the judge had been made before the trial began, or the evidence was presented. The virtues he appreciates at their practical value, the vices he ingeniously transforms into virtues, and like many in real life of far greater social and intellectual pretensions, finally permits the possession of money to be the deciding factor in his choice. With Launce, wealth appears to have been a cloak whose ample folds are sufficient to cover a multitude of vices, for though she have "more faults than hairs" her wealth was all powerful "to make the faults gracious." I am very much inclined, however, to think that the affectation of prudence was another of the practical jests of this exuberant youth with his friend Speed; that he himself concocted the "cate-log," and the entire matter had its existence only in the vivid and picturesque imagination of our friend Launce; for later we learn that the boy has voluntarily taken upon himself both

the blame and the punishment for the sins of his dog Crab. He hath "sat in the stocks for puddings he hath stolen"; "stood in the pillory for geese he hath killed"; and taken a whipping to save that ill-bred cur from the consequences of his "ungentleman-like conduct" at the Duke's table. Now it is but reasonable to assume that a man, however humble his station in life, who would sacrifice himself so completely for the sake of a dumb animal, would have some sentimentality in the choice of a wife, and however mercenary he might assume to be, his selection would not be influenced by wealth alone, but be governed by the feelings of his heart, rather than by the calculations of his head.

Be that as it may, there is a good deal of sound common sense, even if it was assumed, in the method of selecting a wife as affected by Launce, that might be adopted with advantage by some of our modern young men who so heedlessly assume the responsibilities of marriage. A little more prudence and consideration of their respective qualifications for what should be a life-long

tells you, currish thanks is good enough for such a present.

Pro. But she received my dog?

Launce. No, indeed, did she not: here have I brought him back again.

Pro. What, didst thou offer her this from me? Launce. Ay, sir; the other squirrel was stolen from me by the hangman's boys in the market-place: and then I offered her mine own, who is a dog as big as ten of yours, and therefore the gift the greater.

Poor Launce narrowly escapes the whip at the hands of his outraged master, and is angrily dismissed from his presence. The future of the boy is left to our conjecture. Did he lose his place? Did his master restore him to favor? and did he wed the lady whose qualifications were the source of so much careful calculation? The author does not tell us. Let us, however, express the hope that an indulgent master forgave the exuberant humor of his youthful servant, and permitted Launce and his dog Crab, with possibly the lady Launce has chosen, to share in his own felicity so completely expressed in the concluding lines of the comedy, "One feast, one house, one mutual happiness."

"Poor fool and knave, I have one part in my heart That's sorry yet for thee."

"The fool who labors to outjest

His heart-strook injuries."

HAT an exquisite picture the poet pre

WHA

sents of the Fool in "Lear"! He has no name. He does not need one. It would lessen his significance. His age, his personality, are left to our imagination. Whether the tender pathos, the unswerving loyalty, the shrewd observance, the pointed parables, and the snatches of quaint old songs emanate from the soul of a youth or a man of maturity, we are not informed; but certain 'tis, the tears that force themselves through the fragments of melody and almost choke their