especially the one which he thinks most like himself; which is the handsomest. Yet he likes best perhaps the one most resembling his wife; and will sit with him on his lap, holding his hand in silence, for a quarter of an hour together. He plays most tricks with the former, and makes him sneeze. He asks little boys in general who was the father of Zebedee's childrer. If his grandsons are at school, he often goes to see them; and makes them blush by telling the master or the upper-scholars, that they are fine boys, and of a precocious genius. He is much struck when an old acquaintance dies, but adds that he lived too fast; and that poor Bob was a sad dog in his youth; "a very sad dog, sir; mightily set upon a short life and a merry one." When he gets very old indeed, he will sit for whole evenings, and say little or nothing; but informs you, that there is Mrs. Jones (the housekeeper)-" She'll talk." CHAPTER XXVII. Dolphins. OUR old book-friend, the Dolphin, used to be confounded with the porpus; but modern writers seem to concur in making a distinction between them. We remember being much mortified at this separation; for having, in our childhood, been shown something dimly rolling in the sea, while standing on the coast at twilight, and told with much whispering solemnity that it was a porpus, we had afterwards learnt to identify it with the Dolphin, and thought we had seen the romantic fish on whom Arion rode playing his harp. Spenser introduces Arion most beautifully, in all his lyrical pomp, in the marriage of the Thames and Medway. He goes before the bride, smoothing onwards with the sound of his harp, like the very progress of the water. Then there was heard a most celestiall sound So went he, playing on the watery plain. Perhaps in no one particular thing or image, have some great poets shown the different characters of their genius more than in the use of the Dolphin. Spenser, who of all his tribe lived in a poetical world, and saw things as clearly there as in a real one, has never shown this nicety of realization more than in the following passage. He speaks of his Dolphins with as familiar a detail, as if they were horses waiting at a door with an equipage. A team of Dolphins ranged in array Drew the smooth charett of sad Cymoënt. Which with their finny oares the swelling sea did sheare. Soon as they been arrived upon the brim Of the Rich Strand, their charets they forlore; And let their teamed fishes softly swim Along the margent of the foamy shore, Lest they their finnes should bruise, and surbeat sore There are a couple of Dolphins like these, in Raphael's Galatea. Dante, with his tendency to see things in a dreary point of view, has given an illustration of the agonies of some of the damned in his Inferno, at once new, fine, and horrible. It is in the 22d book, "Come i delfini,' " &c. He says that some wretches, swimming in one of the gulfs of hell, shot out their backs occasionally, like Dolphins, above the pitchy liquid, in order to snatch a respite from torment; but darted them back again like lightning. The devils would prong them as they rose. Strange fancies these for maintaining the character of religion! Hear Shakspeare, always the noble and the good-natured We forget of what great character he is speaking; but never was an image that more singularly yet completely united supe. riority and playfulness. His delights Were dolphin-like; and showed hemselves above CHAPTER XXVIII. Ronald of the Perfect Hand. [The following tale is founded on a Scottish tradition was intended to be written in verse; which will account for its present a pearance.] THE stern old shepherd of the air, The spirit of the whistling hair, And watch with solemn-visaged eyes 'Tis evening quick;—'tis night:—the ra:" No sight to sea-horse, or to seer, But of a little pallid sail, That seems as if 'twould struggle near, And then as if its pinion pale Gave up the battle to the gale. Four chiefs there are of special note, Laboring in that earnest boat; Looking down from the lofty air, Was drenched, and driving far from home, Four are they, who wearily Have drank of toil two days at sea; Duth Maruno, steady and dark, Cormar, Soul of the Winged Bark; And bright Clan Alpin, who could leap Dumbly strain they for the shore, Like ghostly things that could not cease Ronald of the Perfect Hand Has rowed the most of all that band; |