sycophants, time-servers, rats, and so forth, were, as we have asserted, sincere, unaffected, and devoted friends; honestly and openly did they confess their attachment to the good things of this world; and with all their hearts they did and do love a cheerful, happy, laughing companion, whose ready smiles and brilliant spirits always command their services and ensure their attachment. Such a companion it was their lot to find in our acquaintance, the jovial young Squire, who had twenty thousand per annum; and with him, accordingly, they cemented a friendship, which I once more affirm was real and cordial. But must it, then, be demanded of these worthy people, that they are to show no consistency or decision of character? After changes such as I have already mentioned, when a clear £15,000 per annum has dwindled into £1500, or when a single night at Crockford's has reduced it to £0 0 0, and the formerly joyous and cheerful host, with his ready wit and laughing countenance, his carriages, horses, dinners, private theatre, concerts, extensive park, &c. &c., are metamorphosed into an absolute personification of misery,-when, of worldly advantages altogether denuded, he appears a mere mortal of the most ordinary class, such as one encounters every day loitering in the sanctuary of the park, or lolling on the benches, from sheer want of aught to do,-when his formerly round face has become longer than an undertaker's,—when his voice, that "wont to set the table on a roar," utters only complaints, reproaches, and prophecies of evil; and his once bright eyes appear either as unmeaning as boiled oysters, or else express unutterable woe,-can any one be so absurd as to affirm, that this lamentable personage,-this disfiguring incumbrance in the gay scenes of life, this moody, capricious, melancholy, perplexed animal,-this living "memento mori," is the sort of character for whom the so-styled parasites and time-serving flatterers expressed and entertained a real friendship? Unquestionably not! The indispensable basis of friendship is taken away; its very existence is destroyed, because no longer do the same feelings and principles co-exist between the parties. Supposing that among the said much-injured and stigmatised gentry, there should be found individuals poor in purse even as the metamorphosed friend whom they desert, and who therefore do live as parasites, (though this is an extreme case,) yet the Squire, even in his adversity, is too proud to sympathize with and join in their pursuits. In all respects, and absolutely, he is become a being of a different species, with whom, if his former friends continued to associate, it would prove, that in their own characters they are variable as the wind, changeable as the chameleon. But no! They boldly say, "We did esteem and love the gay, flourishing, witty, gallant, spirited Jack Derby, Tom Sitwell, Frank Standish, (or whatever else his name may have been,) with his dashing equipages, splendid dinners, and beautiful estate; but poor Jack, Tom, or Frank, with his unhappy visage, growling voice, dull eyes, ill-made yet seedy coat, and silent, abstracted manner, forms a contrast with the other, almost as violent as that of the dead with the living! We have always, and confessedly, detested such a person; to compel ourselves to associate with him would be altogether unnatural; in fact, we could not endure it. Even the delicate sympathy that we must feel for his misfortunes makes us unable to bear with bis company. The remembrance of the many favours that he formerly conferred on us, and the pleasures we have enjoyed under his hospitable roof, only render our meeting now the more painful and intolerable on both sides. Therefore on the purest principles of friendship and attachment, we feel ourselves under the necessity of breaking off all connexion with him!" Such is the true state of the case. But how inconsistent with truth is the narrative which the proverb in its usual acceptation would force on our belief! We are told that worthless parasites, pretending to be friends, crowded about the rich man, whom, when poor, they basely and unpardonably deserted. By no means! There was neither pretence nor deception in their friendship; nor, as we have seen, was their conduct afterwards base and inconsistent; but, on the contrary, highly justifiable. These calumniated individuals cherish, up to the present hour and moment, just as much attachment to Sept.-VOL. XXIII. NO. XCIII.

T

their gay, sprightly, generous companion as ever; while, on precisely the same principles, the moping, discontented, helpless being, is a character whom they did hitherto and must always abominate. Let Frank Derby or Tom Standish appear again what he originally was; let him be once more the jovial, unembarrassed, witty, high-spirited buono camerado, as of yore, and I shall venture any bet, that if this condition be fulfilled, they will not, as now, cross over to the sunny side of the street on purpose to avoid his approach.

Thus I have placed in a correct and proper light, one of the examples usually adduced, and generally misrepresented, in order to justify the doctrine of this notable adage. But with regard to the question, what are its effects when practically applied, there are some other absurdities on which I have not yet made any remark. Not only is the guilt of deception and inconsistency imputed to worthy people, but they are especially accused of ingratitude, inasmuch as they must acknowledge having had favours voluntarily conferred on them by the wealthy Squire; for which, now in his adversity, it is alleged that he has a right to expect from them adequate remuneration. In other words, he has (solely by his own misconduct) floundered into the mud, and now he should expect that others, with whatever personal risk and inconvenience it may be attended, should help him out again, so that he may regain his former footing in the world. Once more, instead of allowing the "wisdom of antiquity" to lead us blindfold by the nose, let us apply the touch-stone of calm and rational reflection to this matter. Setting aside the consideration that our gallant Squire is perhaps too proud to accept of any such assistance; yet in what respect are his jovial boon companions to blame if they should instantly and resolutely refuse their interference in his behalf, were he to request it? Has any one of the whole party, either at a "jollification," when singing in full chorus "in vino veritas," or during his cooler morning hours, been heard to assert, or by any casual expression to indicate, that he had ever in his life meditated either on the past or the future, or fixed his attention on aught else but the one grand and important question for this world, viz. the enjoyment of the time present? On the contrary, the Squire's friends have, in his company, declared, again and again, that in this consisted the true philosophy of human life. In what manner, then, could laborious and irksome efforts to assist the fallen be reconciled to such principles? If the Squire lent them money, it is long since expended. As to the dinners and wines, the exhilaration they produced has, like their consequent headaches, passed utterly away. Thus, too, the fox-hunts, theatricals, concerts, balls, and all the rest! The blood-horses are either sold or become dead lame; the notes that so sweetly filled the echoing music-room are hushed; the brilliant assemblies are over, and their impressions effaced, like the flowers and kaleidoscope figures then chalked on the floor; at the theatre the curtain has fallen, to rise no more; in a word, the past is like a dream; and can any one imagine that by reverting to it, the philosophy of life can be promoted, or the enjoyment of " le temps present” be insured? But I am weary of exposing fallacies which must already be so apparent, and shall proceed to take into consideration some other precious aphorism from the Statute Book of Wisdom, as before, selecting one which is every day repeated, and is a prime favourite.

"Honesty is the best policy.”—I believe the remark has already been made, that for almost every proverb, another could be found, involving a direct contradiction of the former; and that there exists at least considerable incongruity of doctrine between the dictum now quoted and that already analysed, I think, might easily be demonstrated. On this point, however, (as it would require a pretty long explanation,) I shall not insist; but, as before, propose the two leading questions,-What are the drift, tendency, and effects of the aphorism? and, How is it illustrated by examples in real life?

With regard to the first, if the proverb went only to say, that, in the long run, it is better to be an honest man than a scoundrel, I should, on the

whole, be disposed to pass over this as a mere truism, neither admitting dispute, nor by any means requiring proof. Or if the meaning were only, that stratagem and artifice are a dangerous game, at which even masterly strokes often recoil, (especially on young beginners,) this also would be granted, as a correct and wise axiom. "Raise no more devils than you can lay," is a sensible admonition used north of the Tweed. But, on the contrary, we are explicitly given to understand that in the politics of this world (for it is always to sublunary affairs that such popular dicta relate) he that is honest will be most successful. Now I am far from entertaining any conviction, that more than one individual in a thousand by whom this opinion is gravely expressed, really believes his own assertions; it is a mere façon de parler, and therefore it may be said that contradiction here is superfluous, inasmuch as no bad effects can result from the dogma. This decision, however, is not quite satisfactory. If the doctrine be not often accredited and brought into practice, still it is so now and then; and its hazardous tendency ought therefore to be exposed. If only one individual in a thousand were so foolish as to believe it in downright earnest, I should wish, out of Christian charity, to put him on his guard, and assure him that with reference to his temporal interests in the voyage of life, the sooner he sets out on a new tack the better. "Honesty is the best policy!" Here is a paradox with a vengeance! For, whatever may be the etymology of the word politics, I should be glad to know who in all the world ever attached to it any other practical meaning but that of a system by which intricate affairs are managed to the best advantage, a result which, in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred, is effected best of all by concealment of the truth, and by mystification? And what are we to understand by the word honesty? That one should not venture to steal his neighbour's purse, (however well stored it may be with sovereigns,) or to filch his diamond ring, his tureen ladle, or silver punch-bowl, is nearly a self-evident proposition, while, if demonstration be required, a perspective view of "Tyburn tree" will in most instances prove effectual. But to be honest involves of necessity the rare characteristics not only of adhering on all occasions to truth, but of holding in contempt and abhorrence all advantages, however important, which are to be gained only by subterfuge and chicane. Nay, the really honest man cannot even endure to cherish dark suspicions of another. If he is so unfortunate as to find cause for such apprehensions, he perhaps reproaches himself in the first place with being uncharitable; but neither to any third party, nor in soliloquy, can he bear to make accusations against his neighbour, which he would not utter boldly before the individual accused and before all the world. Caution and stratagem are with him out of the question; he will have nothing to do," not he indeed," with your dark lantern, your mantle and vizor; out bolts "the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth," and onward he rushes to an éclaircissement. Tell him that his conduct is impolitic, he answers without a moment's hesitation, that "Honesty is the best policy, and this must be adhered to at all events;" no matter how many enemies he may thus excite against himself, or how many daggers may afterwards be raised against him in the dark! On no occasion whatever will he be persuaded, in words or deeds, to 66 go about the bush." Tell him that by turning to the left hand into a crooked path, instead of going straight-forward, he will be sure to arrive sooner at the goal of his ambition, and at the same time to find the road strewed with diamonds or guineas at the least, while, if he manages with sufficient caution, address, ingenuity, and secrecy, he may carry off all the treasure, and deposit it in his own coffers. This, without doubt, is a friendly and disinterested hint, but how is it received by the madman? (Surely the reader will soon agree with me that he deserves this appellation.) Why, forsooth, he frowns as if you had grossly insulted him, orders you perhaps to go to the devil, or asks how you dare come to him with a proposal so unpardonable as that of choosing a left-handed road when he can walk straight forward,-of practising address which in reality is

chicane,-caution, which in plain English means deception,-ingenuity, which is another name for low cunning, and secrecy which is no better than falsehood, a catalogue of enormities, all which he loathes and abominates. Is this picture overcharged? I maintain that it is not so, even in the slightest degree. However extraordinary it may appear, the conduct I have described is not more eccentric, than that which a really honest man so circumstanced must of necessity display. And will such conduct be successful, -will this indeed prove the best system of policy for our sublunary sphere? Oh, ye tribes of younger brothers! But softly;-neither time nor space is allowed me to make separate references to different classes. Far better were it to invoke at once the mighty world, the whole population of London, appealing to all classes, ages, sexes, and professions. Answer then,be for once in your lives honest, and declare with me una voce, that such a system will never do!-What! not unanimous? Still some dissentient votes? But no matter! The majority is so enormous, that the minority can scarcely be seen or heard; and whatever arguments they may have in reserve, I, for one, must retain my unshaken conviction that the system is altogether absurd! For behold,-at the moment you are telling your honest friend that he should turn to the left, and he is looking at you with scorn and indignation, another person comes up,-perhaps his most intimate acquaintance, in whose integrity he places the utmost reliance. This worthy gentleman overhears your discourse; verbum sapienti; the hint is not lost on him, and while you are vainly admonishing the wiseacre, his friend steps into the crooked road without scruple, gathers up all the riches wherewith it is strewn, and the next time he makes his appearance, it is on the top of a proud eminence, from which he looks down disdainfully on his old acquaintance, still toiling in his humble vocation, and comforting himself with the assurance that " Honesty is the best policy." Notwithstanding the comfort thus obtained, however, I would venture any bet that he cannot look with perfect nonchalance on the advantages thus gained over him. No; he will be apt to say, "my friend Mountfort, Weatherall," (or whatever else the name may be) "has no doubt arrived at high distinction; but then, he turned to the left when he should have gone straight forward; he practised chicane under the name of address; deception under that of caution; low cunning and falsehood under the polite mask of secrecy and cleverness. Thus he reached his present elevated situation; but on such principles it was most unworthily obtained, for honesty is the best policy; in a short time he will be debased and degraded,-stripped of his borrowed or usurped plumes, which ought to be in possession of those who really deserve them!" Such are the opinions expressed by our honest friend, and to these he expects that the world will conform, consequently that his own conduct will be applauded, and that of his quondam friend looked upon with indignation. Admirable sagacity! You remind him perhaps that some ancient though still surviving personage, whom the world has always treated with great respect, acted in a way precisely similar, and therefore, but before you can finish the sentence, he cuts you short with another proverb, "Two blacks don't make a white,"-which in his wisdom he considers altogether infallible and incontrovertible; though the observations of every day in his life, if he were not hoodwinked, might furnish him with convincing proofs that this dictum, however unobjectionable in theory, is in practice by no means to be relied upon. Numberless are the opportunities afforded for demonstrating that two blacks can and actually do make a white, though no doubt three blacks are better for this purpose than two, four better than three, and so on progressively. What is of most importance, however, is, in the language of the colour-merchant, to consider the quality of the blacks which are to produce this remarkable change; if they are but sufficiently rich, the operation may in most instances be with certainty relied on; it hits to a nicety, like the cleverest experiment of Mr. Brande, in London, or Dr. Hope, in Edinburgh. But our friend is obstinate; it is useless to argue with him; for in spite of all that you can allege, he will persist in the even tenour of

his way, still toiling in the valley, while his former associate, with compassionate smiles, looks down upon him from the hill-top. In vain has he predicted that the ground on which Mr. Mountfort or Mr. Weatherall is placed, must prove brittle, and that such prosperity can endure but for a short time. In vain has he affirmed that the world will one day or another yield their unanimous support to his opinions, and so far from awarding Mr. their applause, will infallibly send him to Coventry. I am not prepared to say that this result is impossible, though the odds are fearlessly against its realization, for not above one in a thousand will sincerely entertain the distinctions which our friend insists upon. That ingenuity which he stigmatizes with the name of low cunning, will, if its object has been attained, still pass muster under the name of cleverness or distinguished talents; chicane, if successful, will still be admitted as genteel address ;" while between secrecy and falsehood, there exists unquestionably a broad and exceedingly convenient line of demarcation. To a certain extent, no doubt, our friend's endeavours may not be without effect; he may prove that his quondam acquaintance did actually turn to the left, instead of going straight-forward, and so forth,-but meanwhile, his own station will be as humble as ever, and Mr. will in all probability keep his elevated rank merely by the same arts or artifices by which it was won. Every one for himself, and the devil for us all," is a principle so widely prevalent, an axiom so universally acknowledged, and illustrated by examples in the world, that the system of honesty, with its insignificant party of sincere votaries, has little or no chance. With regard to the query" Which proves the best in the long run?" I have nothing to do; for popular proverbs are not scripture texts; they apply only to "that which before us lies in daily life," to the management of affairs merely temporal,-to the driving of good bargains, and the formation of just conclusions on sublunary questions of intricacy and importance. This much may be granted in favour of the aphorism that "Honesty is the best policy:"- —a simpleton had better adopt it bona fide, because if he proceeds on any other system, his contrivances and schemes will of course be defeated through his own incapacity. There is no dictum so absurd that it may not on some occasion or another hold good. H. M.

66

FROM THE ROMAIC.

A LITTLE bird sat on the bridge,

And sung in Ali's ear,

"O Ali Pacha! get thee gone,

What evil brought thee here?

For this is not Jannina,

Where the sparkling fountains fly,
Nor is that town Preveza

To build thee towers high.

"But Ali, this is Suli,

Renown'd both near and far,
Where women fight like heroes,
And children go to war;

Where Lampro's noble wife
Leads on his gallant band,

His infant at her breast,

And his sabre in her hand!"

G.