One thousand secrets of wise and rich men revealed

Chapter X: Coin Department (2)

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The largest producing farm in the world lies in the southwest corner of Louisiana, owned by a northern syndicate. It runs one hundred miles north and south. The immense tract is divided into convenient pastures, with stations of ranches every six miles. The fencing alone cost nearly $50,000.

The "Seven Wonders of the World" are seven most remarkable objects of the ancient world. They are: The Pyramids of Egypt, Pharos of Alexandria, Walls and Hanging Gardens of Babylon, Temple of Diana at Ephesus, the Statue of the Olympian Jupiter, Mausoleum of Artemisia, and Colossus of Rhodes.

The seven sages flourished in Greece in the 6th century B.C. They were renowned for their maxims of life and as the authors of the mottoes inscribed in the Delphian Temple. Their names are: Solon, Chilo, Pittacus, Bias, Periander, Clebolus and Thales.

The estimated number of Christians in the world is over 408,000,000; of Buddhists, 420,000,000; of the followers of Brahma, 180,000,000; of Mohammedans, 150,000,000; of Jews, 8,000,000; of atheists, deists, and infidels, 85,000,000; of pagans, 50,000,000, and of the 1,100 other minor creeds, 123,000,000.

In 1775 there were only 27 newspapers published in the United States. Ten years later, in 1785, there were seven published in the English language in Philadelphia alone, of which one was a daily. The oldest newspaper published in Philadelphia at the time of the Federal convention was the _Pennsylvania Gazette_, established by Samuel Keimer, in 1728. The second newspaper in point of age was the _Pennsylvania Journal_, established in 1742 by William Bradford, whose uncle, Andrew Bradford, established the first newspaper in Pennsylvania, the _American Weekly Mercury_, in 1719. The next in age, but the first in importance, was the _Pennsylvania Packet_, established by John Dunlop in 1771. In 1784 it became a daily, being the first daily newspaper printed on this continent.

GEMS OF THOUGHT.

POOR RICHARD'S ALMANAC

Benjamin Franklin.

POOR RICHARD'S ALMANAC.

COURTEOUS READER:

I have heard that nothing gives an author so great pleasure as to find his works respectfully quoted by other learned authors. This pleasure I have seldom enjoyed. For though I have been, if I may say it without vanity, an _eminent_ author of _Almanacs_ annually now for a full quarter of a century, my brother authors in the same way, for what reason I know not, have ever been very sparing in their applauses; and no other author has taken the least notice of me; so that did not my writings produce me some solid pudding, the great deficiency of praise would have quite discouraged me.

I concluded at length that the people were the best judges of my merit, for they buy my works; and besides, in my rambles where I am not personally known, I have frequently heard one or other of my adages repeated, with _as Poor Richard says_ at the end of it. This gives me some satisfaction, as it showed, not only that my instructions were regarded, but discovered likewise some respect for my authority; and I own that to encourage the practice of remembering and repeating those sentences, I have sometimes quoted myself with great activity.

Judge, then, how much I must have been gratified by an incident I am going to relate to you. I stopped my horse lately where a great number of people were collected at a vendue of merchant's goods. The hour of sale not being come, they were conversing on the badness of the times; and one of the company called to a plain, clean old man with white locks, "Pray, Father Abraham, what think you of the times? Won't these heavy taxes quite ruin the country? How shall we ever be able to pay them? What would you advise us to do?" Father Abraham stood up and replied: "If you would have my advice, I will give it you in short; for _A word to the wise is enough_, and _Many words won't fill a bushel_, as Poor Richard says." They all joined, desiring him to speak his mind, and gathering round him, he proceeded as follows:

Friends, says he, and neighbors, the taxes are indeed very heavy, and if those laid on by the government were the only ones we had to pay, we might the more easily discharge them; but we have many others, and much more grievous to some of us. We are taxed twice as much by our IDLENESS, three times as much by our PRIDE and four times as much by our FOLLY; and from these taxes the commissioners cannot ease or deliver us, by allowing an abatement. However, let us hearken to good advice, and something may be done for us; _God helps them that help themselves_, as Poor Richard says in his _Almanac_ of 1733.

It would be thought a hard government that should tax its people one-tenth part of their TIME, to be employed in its service, but idleness taxes many of us much more, if we reckon all that is spent in absolute sloth, or doing of nothing, with that which is spent in idle employments or amusements that amount to nothing. Sloth, by bringing on disease, absolutely shortens life. _Sloth, like rust, consumes faster than labor wears; while the used key is always bright_, as Poor Richard says. _But dost thou love life? Then do not squander time, for that's the stuff life is made of_, as Poor Richard says.

How much more that is necessary do we spend in sleep? Forgetting that _the sleeping fox catches no poultry_, and that _there will be sleeping enough in the grave_, as Poor Richard says. If times be of all things the most precious, _wasting of time must be_, as Poor Richard says, _the greatest prodigality_; since, as he elsewhere tells us, _lost time is never found again_; and what we call _time enough! always proves little enough_. Let us then up and be doing, and doing to the purpose; so, by diligence, shall we do more with less perplexity. _Sloth makes all things difficult, but industry all things easy_, as Poor Richard says; and _He that riseth late must trot all day, and shall scarce overtake his business at night; while laziness travels so slowly that Poverty soon overtakes him_, as we read in Poor Richard; who adds, _Drive thy business! Let not that drive thee!_ and

Early to bed and early to rise
Makes a man healthy, wealthy and wise.

So what signifies _wishing_ and _hoping_ for better times? We may make these times better if we bestir ourselves. _Industry need not wish_, as Poor Richard says, and _He that lives on hope will die fasting_. _There are no gains without pains; then help, hands! for I have no lands_; or if I have they are smartly taxed. And, as Poor Richard likewise observes, _He that hath a trade hath an estate, and he that hath a calling hath an honor_; but then the trade must be worked at, and the calling well followed, or neither the estate nor the office will enable us to pay our taxes. If we are industrious we shall never starve; for, as Poor Richard says, _At the working-man's house hunger looks in, but dares not enter._ Nor will the bailiff or the constable enter, for _Industry pays debts, while despair increaseth them_.

What though you have found no treasure, nor has any rich relation left you a legacy, _Diligence is the mother of good luck_, as Poor Richard says, _and God gives all things to industry_

Then plough deep while the sluggards sleep,
And you shall have corn to sell and to keep,

says Poor Dick. Work while it is called to-day, for you know not how much you may be hindered to-morrow; which makes Poor Richard say, _One to-day is worth two to-morrows_; and farther, _Have you somewhat to do tomorrow? Do it to-day!_

If you were a servant, would you not be ashamed that a good master should catch you idle? Are you then your own master? _Be ashamed to catch yourself idle_, as Poor Richard says. When there is so much to be done for yourself, your family, your country, and your gracious king, be up by peep of day! _Let not the sun look down and say, "Inglorious here he lies!"_ Handle your tools without mittens! remember that _The cat in gloves catches no mice!_ as poor Richard says.

'Tis true there is much to be done, and perhaps you are weak-handed; but stick to it steadily, and you will see great effects; for _Constant dropping wears away stones_; and _By diligence and patience the mouse ate in two the cable_; and _Little strokes fell great oaks_; as Poor Richard says in his _Almanac_, the year I cannot just now remember.

Methinks I hear some of you say, "Must a man afford himself no leisure?" I will tell, thee, my friend, what Poor Richard says, _Employ thy time well, if thou meanest to gain leisure_; and _Since thou are not sure of a minute, throw not away an hour!_ Leisure is time for doing something useful; this leisure the diligent man will obtain, but the lazy man never; so that, as Poor Richard says, _A life of leisure and a life of laziness are two things._ Do you imagine that sloth will afford you more comfort than labor? No! for as Poor Richard says, _Trouble springs from idleness, and grievous toil from needless ease. Many, without labor, would live by their wits only, but they'll break for want of stock_ (i.e. capital); whereas industry gives comfort, and plenty, and respect. _Fly pleasures, and they'll follow you. The diligent spinner has a large shift_; and

Now I have a sheep and a cow,
Everybody bids me good morrow.

All which is well said by Poor Richard. But with our industry we must likewise be steady, settled, and careful, and oversee our own affairs _with our own eyes_, and not trust too much to others; for, as Poor Richard says,

I never saw an oft removed tree,
Nor yet an oft removed family,
That throve so well as those that settled be.

And again, _Three removes are as bad as a fire_; and again, _Keep thy shop, and thy shop will keep thee_; and again, _If you would have your business done, go; if not, send._ And again,

He that by the plough would thrive,
Himself must either hold or drive.

And again, _The eye of the master will do more work than both his hands_; and again, _Want of care does us more damage than want of knowledge_; and again, _Not to oversee workmen is to leave them your purse open._

Trusting too much to others' care is the ruin of many; for, as the Almanac says, _In the affairs of this world men are saved, not by faith, but by the want of it_; but a man's own care is profitable; for saith Poor Dick, _Learning is to the studious and Riches to the careful_; as well as, _Power to the bold, and Heaven to the virtuous._ And further, _If you would have a faithful servant, and one that you like, serve yourself._

And again, he adviseth to circumspection and care, even in the smallest matters; because, sometimes, _A little neglect may breed great mischief_; adding, _for want of a nail the shoe was lost; for want of a shoe the horse was lost; and for want of a horse the rider was lost_; being overtaken and slain by the enemy; all for want of a little care about a horseshoe nail!

So much for industry, my friends, and attention to one's own business; but to these we must add frugality, if we would make our industry more certainly successful. _A man may_, if he knows not how to save as he gets, _keep his nose all his life to the grindstone, and die not worth a groat at last. A fat kitchen makes a lean will_, as Poor Richard says; and

Many estates are spent in the getting,
Since women for tea[3] forsook spinning and knitting,
And men for punch forsook hewing and splitting.

[3] Tea at this time was a costly drink, and was regarded as a
luxury.

If you would be wealthy, says he in another Almanac, _Think of saving as well as of getting. The Indies have not made Spain rich; because her outgoes are greater than her incomes._

Away, then, with your expensive follies, and you will not have so much cause to complain of hard times, heavy taxes, and chargeable families; for, as Poor Dick says,--

Women and wine, game and deceit,
Make the wealth small and the wants great.

And farther, _What maintains one vice would bring up two children._ You may think, perhaps, that a _little_ tea, or a _little_ punch now and then; a diet a _little_ more mostly; clothes a _little_ more finer; and a _little_ more entertainment now and then, can be no great matter; but remember what Poor Richard says, _Many a little makes a mickle_; and further, _Beware of little expenses_; _A small leak will sink a great ship_; and again,--

Who dainties love, shall beggars prove;

and moreover, _Fools make feasts and wise men eat them_.

Here are you all got together at this vendue of fineries knick-knacks. You call them _goods_; but if you do not take care, they will prove evils to some of you. You expect they will be sold cheap, and perhaps they may for less than they cost; but, if you have no occasion for them, they must be _dear_ to you. Remember what Poor Richard says: _Buy what thou hast no need of and ere long thou shalt sell thy necessaries._ And again, _At a great pennyworth, pause a while._ He means, that perhaps the cheapness is apparent only, and not real; or the bargain by straitening thee in thy business, may do thee more harm than good. For in another place he says, _Many have been ruined by buying good pennyworths._

Again, Poor Richard says, _'Tis foolish to lay out money in a purchase of repentance_; and yet this folly is practiced every day at vendues for want of minding the _Almanac_.

_Wise men_, as Poor Richard says, _learn by others' harms_; _Fools scarcely by their own_; but _Felix quem faciunt aliena pericula cautum._[4] Many a one for the sake of finery on the back, has gone with a hungry belly, and half-starved their families. _Silks and satins, scarlets and velvets_, as Poor Richard says, _put out the kitchen fire_. These are not the necessaries of life; they can scarcely be called the conveniences; and yet, only because they look pretty, how many _want_ to have them! The artificial wants of mankind thus become more numerous than the natural; and, as Poor Dick says, _For one_ poor _person there are a hundred_ indigent.

[4] He's a lucky fellow who is made prudent by other men's
perils.

By these and other extravagances, the genteel are reduced to poverty, and forced to borrow of those whom they formerly despised, but who, through industry and frugality, have maintained their standing; in which case it appears plainly, that _A ploughman on his legs is higher than a gentleman on his knees_, as Poor Richard says. Perhaps they have had a small estate left them, which they know not the getting of; they think, _'Tis day, and will never be night_, that a _little to be spent out of so much is not worth minding_; (_A child and a fool_, as Poor Richard says, _imagine_ twenty shilling and twenty years can never be spent), but _Always taking out of the meal-tub and never putting in, soon comes to the bottom._ Then, as Poor Dick says, _When the well's dry, they know the_ _worth of water_. But this they might have known before, if they had taken his advice. _If you would know the value of money, go and try to borrow some_; for _He that goes a borrowing, goes a sorrowing_, and indeed, so does he that lends to such people, _when he goes to get it again_.

Poor Dick further advises and says--

Fond pride of dress is, sure a very curse;
Ere fancy you consult, consult your purse.

And again, _Pride is as loud a beggar as Want, and a great deal more saucy._ When you have bought one fine thing, you must buy ten more, that your appearance may be all of a piece; but Poor Dick says, _'Tis easier to suppress the first desire than to satisfy all that follow it._ And 'tis as truly folly for the poor to ape the rich, as for the frog to swell in order to equal the ox.

Great estates may venture more,
But little boats should keep near shore.

'Tis, however, a folly soon punished; for, _Pride that dines on vanity sups on contempt_, as Poor Richard says. And in another place, _Pride breakfasted with Plenty, dined with Poverty and supped with Infancy_.

And after all, what use is this pride of appearance, for which so much is risked, so much is suffered? It cannot promote health or ease pain; it makes no increase of merit in the person; it creates envy; it hastens misfortune.

What is a butterfly? At best
He's but a caterpillar drest,
The gaudy fop's his picture just,

as poor Richard says.

But what madness must it be to _run into debt_ for these superfluities! We are offered, by the terms of this vendue, six months' credit; and that, perhaps, has induced some of us to attend it, because we cannot spare the ready money, and hope now to be fine without it. But, ah! think what you do when you run in debt: _You give to another power over your liberty._ If you cannot pay at the time, you will be ashamed to see your creditor; you will be in fear when you speak to him; you will make poor, pitiful, sneaking excuses, and by degrees come to lose our veracity, and sink into base, downright lying; for, as Poor Richard says, _The second vice is lying, the first is running into debt_; and again, to the same purpose, _lying rides upon debt's back_; whereas a free-born Englishman ought not to be ashamed or afraid to see or speak to any man living. But poverty often deprives a man of all spirit and virtue. _'Tis hard for an empty bag to stand upright!_ as Poor Richard truly says. What would you think of that prince, or that government who should issue an edict forbidding you to dress like a gentleman or gentlewoman, on pain of imprisonment or servitude? Would you not say that you are free, have a right to dress as you please, and that such an edict would be a breach of your privileges, and such a government tyranical? And yet you are about to put yourself under such tyranny, when you run in debt for such dress! Your creditor has authority, at his pleasure, to deprive you of your liberty, by confining you in jail for life, or to sell you for a servant, if you should not be able to pay him.[5] When you have got your bargain you may, perhaps, think little of payment; but _Creditors_ (Poor Richard tells us) _have better memories than debtors_; and in another place says, _Creditors are a superstitious set, great observers of set days and times._ The day comes round before you are aware, and the demand is made before you are prepared to satisfy it; or, if you will bear your debt in mind, the term which at first seemed so long will, as it lessens, appear extremely short. Time will seem to have added wings to his heels as well as his shoulders. _Those have a short Lent_, saith Poor Richard, _who owe money to be paid at Easter._ Then since, as he says, _The borrower is a slave to the lender, and the debtor to the creditor_, disdain the chain, preserve your freedom, and maintain your independency. Be _industrious_ and _free_; be _frugal_ and _free_. At present, perhaps, you may think yourself in thriving circumstances, and that you can bear a little extravagance without injury; but--

For age and want, save while you may,
No morning sun lasts a whole day.

[5] At the time when this was written, and for many years
afterward, the laws against bankrupts and poor debtors were
extremely severe.

As Poor Richard says, gain may be temporary and uncertain; but ever, while you live, expense is constant and certain; and _'Tis easier to build two chimneys than to keep one in fuel_, as Poor Richard says; so, _Rather go to bed supperless than rise in debt._

Get what you can and what you get hold:
'Tis the stone that will turn all your lead in gold,[6]

as Poor Richard says; and, while you have got the Philosopher's stone, sure, you will no longer complain of bad times or the difficulty of paying taxes.

[6] In the Middle Ages there was a great search made for the
philosopher's stone, as it was called, a mineral which should
have the power of turning base metals into gold.

This doctrine, my friends, is reason and wisdom; but, after all, do not depend too much upon your own industry and frugality and prudence, though excellent things; for they may all be blasted without the blessing of Heaven; and therefore, ask that blessing humbly, and be not uncharitable to those that at present seem to want it, but comfort and help them. Remember Job suffered, and was afterwards prosperous.

And now, to conclude, _Experience keeps a dear school, but fools will learn in no other, and scarce in that_; for it is true, _We may give advice, but we cannot give conduct_, as Poor Richard says. However, remember this, _They that won't be counselled, can't be helped_, as Poor Richard says; and further, that, _If you will not hear reason, she'll surely rap your knuckles._

Thus the old gentleman ended his harangue. The people heard it, and approved the doctrine; and immediately practiced the contrary, just as if it had been a common sermon. For the vendue opened, and they began to buy extravagantly, notwithstanding all his cautions, and their own fear of taxes. I found the good man had thoroughly studied my _Almanacs_, and digested all I had dropped on those topics during the course of five-and-twenty-years. The frequent mention he made of me must have tired any one else; but my vanity was wonderfully delighted with it, though I was conscious that not a tenth part of the wisdom was my own which he ascribed to me, but rather the gleanings that I had made of the sense of all ages and nations. However, I resolved to be the better for the echo of it; and, though I had at first determined to buy stuff for a new coat, I went away resolved to wear my old one a little longer. Reader, if thou wilt do the same, _thy_ profit will be as great as mine. I am, as ever, thine to serve thee.

July 7, 1757. RICHARD SAUNDERS.

THE WATER-MILL.

Oh! listen to the water-mill, through all the live-long day,
As the clicking of the wheels wears hour by hour away;
How languidly the autumn wind doth stir the withered leaves,
As on the field the reapers sing, while binding up the sheaves!
A solemn proverb strikes my mind, and as a spell is cast,
"The mill will never grind again with water that is past."

The summer winds revive no more leaves strewn o'er earth and main,
The sickle never more will reap the yellow garnered grain;
The rippling stream flows on, aye tranquil, deep, and still,
But never glideth back again to busy water-mill.
The solemn proverb speaks to all, with meaning deep and vast,
"The mill will never grind again with water that is past."

Oh! clasp the proverb to thy soul, dear loving heart and true,
For golden years are fleeting by, and youth is passing, too;
Ah! learn to make the most of life, nor lose one happy day,
For time will ne'er return sweet joys neglected, thrown away;
Nor leave one tender word unsaid, thy kindness sow broadcast--
"The mill will never grind again with water that is past."

Oh! the wasted hours of life, that have swiftly drifted by,
Alas! the good we might have done, all gone without a sigh;
Love that we might once have saved by a single kindly word,
Thoughts conceived but ne'er expressed, perishing unpenned, unheard.
Oh! take the lesson to thy soul, forever clasp it fast,
"The mill will never grind again with water that is past."

Work on while yet the sun doth shine, thou man of strength and will,
The streamlet ne'er doth useless glide by clicking watermill;
Nor wait until to-morrow's light beams brightly on thy way.
For all that thou canst call thine own, lies in the phrase, "to-day;"
Possessions, power, and blooming health, must all be lost at last--

"The mill will never grind again with water that is past."

Oh! love thy God and fellow man, thyself consider last,
For come it will when they must scan dark errors of the past;
Soon will this fight of life be o'er, and earth recede from view,
And heaven in all its glory shine where all is pure and true.
Ah! then thou'lt see more clearly still the proverb deep and vast,
"The mill will never grind again with water that is past."

D. C. MCCALLUM.

Is life so dear, or peace so sweet, as to be purchased at the price of chains and slavery? Forbid it, Almighty God! I know not what course others may take, but for me, give me liberty or give me death.

PATRICK HENRY.

The law is a sort of hocus-pocus science, that smiles in yer face while it picks yer pocket; and the glorious uncertainty of it is of mair use to the professors than the justice of it.

MACKLIN.

OUR MISSION.

In calm and stormy weather
Our mission is to grow;
To keep the angle paramount
And bind the brute below.

We grow not all in sunshine,
But richly in the rain;
And what we deem our losses
May prove our final gain.

The snows and frosts of winter
A richer fruitage bring;
From battling with the anvil
The smith's grand muscles spring.

'Tis by the law of contrast
That fine effects are seen;
As thus we blend in colors
The orange with the green.

By action and reaction
We reach our perfect growth;
Nor by excess of neither,
But equipoise of both.
The same code binds the human.

That governs mother earth;
God cradled her in tempest
And earthquakes from her birth.

Our life is but a struggle
For perfect equipoise;
Our pains are often jewels,
Our pleasures gilded toys.

Between the good and evil
The monarch will must stand,
To shape the final issue
By God's divine command.

Our mission is to battle
With ill in every form--
To borrow strength and volume
From contact with the storm.

In the beautiful hereafter
These blinding mortal tears
Shall crystalize in jewels
To sparkle in the spheres.

With weak and moldish vision
We work our way below;
But sure our souls are building
Much wiser than we know.

And when the work is finished
The scaffolding then falls;
And lo! a radiant temple,
With pearl and sapphire walls.

A temple far transcending
The grandest piles below,
Whose dome shall blaze with splendor,
In God's eternal glow.

Wealth is necessary; let us not disclaim against it; every nation needs it to attain the highest achievements in civilization. But it is a blessing only as a servant, and is destructive as a master.

JOHN P. ALTGELD.

If I were a young man I should ally myself with some high and at present unpopular cause, and devote my every effort to accomplish its success.

JOHN G. WHITTIER.

Ill fares the land, to hastening ills a prey,
Where wealth accumulates and men decay.

Princes and lords may flourish and may fade;
A breath can make them, as breath has made;
But an honest peasantry, a country's pride,
When once destroyed, can never be supplied.

War preys on two things--life and property: but he preys with a partial appetite. Feasting on life, he licks his jaws and says, "More, by your leave!" Devouring property, he says, between grin and glut, "This is so good that it ought to be paid for!" Into the vacuum of wasted life rush the moaning winds of grief and desolation; in to the vacuum of wasted property rushes the goblin of debt. The wasted life is transformed at length into a reminiscent glory; the wasted property becomes a hideous nightmare. The heroes fallen rise from their bloody cerements into everlasting fame; the property destroyed rises from the red and flame-swept field as a spectral vampire, sucking the still warm blood of the heroic dead and of their posthumous babes to the tenth generation! The name of the vampire is Bond.

JOHN CLARK RIDPATH.

TO A WATERFOWL.

Whither, mid'st falling dew,
While glow the heavens with the last steps of day,
Far through their rosy depths, dost thou pursue
Thy solitary way?

Vainly the fowler's eye
Might mark thy distant flight to do thee wrong,
As, darkly seen against the crimson sky,
Thy figure floats along.

Seek'st thou the plashy brink
Of weedy lake, or marge of river wide,
Or where the rocking billows rise and sink
On the chafed ocean side?

There is a Power whose care
Teaches thy way along that pathless coast--
The desert and illimitable air--
Lone wandering, but not lost.

All day thy wings have fanned,
At that far height, the cold, thin atmosphere,
Yet stoop not, weary, to the welcome land,
Though the dark night is near.

And soon that toil shall end;
Soon shall thou find a summer home, and rest,
And scream among thy fellows; reeds shall bend
Soon, o'er thy sheltered nest.

Thou'rt gone, the abyss of heaven
Hath swallowed up thy form; yet on my heart
Deeply hath sunk the lesson thou hast given
And shall not soon depart.

He who, from zone to zone,
Guides through the boundless sky thy certain flight,
In the long way that I must tread alone
Will lead my steps aright.

WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT.

ROBERT BURNS

(Considered by many the world's greatest Song writer and natural Poet.)

While Burns was yet a plow boy he was challenged by two highly educated gentlemen, who were seated awaiting their dinner to be served at an Inn in the town of Ayr.

The terms of the challenge was for each to write a verse on the event of their first acquaintance, the one writing the best and most appropriate short rhyme was to have his dinner paid for by the other two.

Burns wrote as follows:

I Jonnie Peep,
Saw two sheep.
Two sheep saw me.
Half a crown apiece
Will pay for their fleece.
And I Jonnie Peep go free.

On another occasion while drinking at a Bar a hanger on who was notorious for his much drinking and was dubbed the Marquis, asked Burns to write an appropriate epitaph for his grave stone.

Burns, quick as flash and without any apparent effort, wrote:

Here lies a faulse Marquis:
Whose title is shamed
If ever he rises
It will be to be damned.

TO A MOUSE.

Wee, sleekit, cowrin' tim'rous beastie.
Oh, what a panic's in thy breastie!
Thou needna start awa' sae hasty.
Wi' bickering brattle!
I wad be laith to rin and chase thee,
Wi murd'ing prattle!

I'm truly sorry man's dominion
Has broken nature's social union,
And justifies that ill opinion
Which makes thee startle
At me, thy poor earth-born companion
And fellow-mortal!

I doubt na, whiles, but thou may thieve;
What then? poor beastie, thou maun live!
A daimen icker in a thrave
'S a sma' o' request
I'll get a blessin' wi' the lave,
And never miss 't!

Thy wee bit housie, too, in ruin!
Its silly wa's the win's are strewin'!
And naething now to big a new ane
O' foggage green!
And bleak December's winds ensuin'
Baith snell and keen!

Thou saw the fields laid bare and waste
And weary winter comin' fast.
And cozie here, beneath the blast,
Thou thought to dwell;
Till, crash! the cruel coulter past
Out through thy cell.

That wee bit heap o'leaves and stibble
Has cost thee mony a weary nibble!
Now thou's turn'd out for a' thy trouble,
But house or hauld,
To thole the winter's sleety dribble
And cranreuch cauld.

But, Mousie, thou art no thy lane,
In proving foresight may be vain;
The bes laid schemes o' mice and men
Gang aft a-gley,
And lea 'e us naught but grief and pain
For promised joy.

Still thou art blest, compared wi' me!
The present only toucheth thee,
But, och! I backward cast my ee
On prospects drear!
And forward, though I canna see,
I guess and fear.

ROBERT BURNS.

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