F. You have never considered, then, that all these people will, one after another, find you out in time.

P. Ay, in time; but it will be some time first: there are a great many of them,-enough to last me all summer, if I lose a customer a day.

F. And next summer, what will you do?

P. Next summer is not come yet; there is time enough to think what I shall do, before next summer comes. Why, now, suppose the blockheads, after they had been taken in, and found it out, all joined against me, and would buy none of our fish,-what then? Are there no trades, then, but that of a fisherman? In Naples, are there not a hundred ways of making money for a smart lad like me. -as my father says? What do you think of turning merchant, and selling sugar-plums and cakes to the children in their market? Would they be hard to deal with, think you?

F. I think not. But I think the children would find it out in time, if they were cheated, and would like it as little as the men.

P. I don't doubt that; then, in time, I could, you know, change my trade, sell chips and sticks in the wood-market; hand about lemonade to the fine folks, or twenty other things; there are trades enough for a man.

F. Yes, for the honest dealer, but for no other; for, in all of them, you'll find, as my father says, that a good character is the best fortune to set up with. Change your trade ever so often, you'll be found out for what you are, at last.

P. And what am I, pray? The whole truth of the matter is, that you envy my good luck, and can't bear to hear this money jingle in my hand. "It's better to be lucky than wise," as my father says. Good-morning to you; when I am found out for what I am, or when the worst comes to the worst, I can drive a stupid donkey with his panniers filled with rubbish, as well as you do now, honest Francisco!

F. Not quite so well; unless you were honest Francisco, you would not fill his panniers quite so readily

DIALOGUE XIV.

SCENE FROM AS YOU LIKE IT."
(Orlando and Jaques.)

Jaques. I thank you for your company; but, good faith, I had as lief have been myself alone.

Orlando. And so had I; but yet, for fashion's sake, I thank you, too, for your society.

J. God be with you; let's meet as little as we can. O. I do desire we may be better strangers.

J. I pray you, mar no more trees with writing lovesongs in their barks.

O. I pray you, mar no more of my verses with reading them ill-favoredly.

J. Rosalind is your love's name?

O. Yes; just.

J. I do not like her name.

O. There was no thought of pleasing you, when she was christened.

J. What stature is she of?

O. Just as high as my heart.

J. You are full of pretty answers: have you not been acquainted with goldsmiths' wives, and conned them out of rings?

O. Not so; but I answer you right painted cloth, from whence you have studied your questions.

J. You have a nimble wit; I think it was made of Atalanta's heels. Will you sit down with me? and we two will rail against our mistress, the world, and all our misery.

O. I will chide no brother in the world but myself; against whom I know most faults.

J. The worst fault you have is to be in love.

tue.

O. 'Tis a fault I will not change for your best virI am weary of you.

J. By my troth, I was seeking for a fool when I found you.

O. He is drowned in the brook; look but in and you shall see him.

J. There shall I see mine own figure.

O. Which I take to be either a fool or a cipher. J. I'll tarry no longer with you; farewell, good Signior Love. (Exit Jaques.) O. I am glad of your departure; adieu, good Mon. sieur Melancholy.

DIALOGUE XV.

FORTUNE-TELLING.

Sophronia. Come, girls, let us go and have our fortunes told.

Eveline. Oh! I should like it of all things; where shall we go?

Sarah. Let us go to old Kate Merrill's. They say she can read the future, as well as we do the past, by hand, tea-cups, or cards. Come, Mary Ann.

Mary Ann. Excuse me, girls, if I do not go with you. I do not think it is right to have our fortunes told.

Soph. Not right? Why not?

M. A. Because, if it had been best for us to know the future, I think God would have revealed it to us.

Sa. Oh, but you know this is only for amusement. E. Of course, we shall not believe a word she says. M. A. If it is only for amusement, I think we can find others far more rational and innocent. But depend upon it, girls, you would not wish to go, if there were not in your minds a little of credulous feeling.

Soph. Well, I am sure I am not credulous.

M. A. Do not be offended, Sophronia; I only meant that we are all of us more inclined to believe these things than we at first imagine.

Sa. I think that Mary Ann is right in this respect. I am sure I would not go if I did not think her predictions would come to pass.

M. A. Certainly; I could not suppose you would spend your time and money to hear an old woman tell you things you did not believe.

E. Well, I am sure I do not see any harm in having a little fun once in a while.

Soph. No; and I think it is very unkind in Mary Ann, to spoil our pleasures by her whims. She is always preaching to us about giving up our own way for the comfort of others, and I think she ought to give up now, and go with us.

Sa. Now, really, Sophronia, I think you are the one that is unkind. If Mary Ann is wrong, it is better to convince her of it kindly, and I am sure she will acknowledge it.

M. A. I hope I should be willing to give up a mere whim for the pleasure of those I love so well. But this is not a whim; it is a serious conviction of duty.

Soph. Well, I thought you always pretended to be very obliging.

M. A. I have no right to be obliging at the expense of what I deem duty. Our own inclinations we should often sacrifice, our prejudices always, but our sense of duty never.

E. I think, girls, we have done wrong to urge Mary Ann to go, after she had told us her reasons.

Soph. Well, then, don't spend any more time in urging her to go, against her will. You know the old proverb, "The least said is soonest mended."

E. Well, do not let us go away angry or ill-natured. You asked Mary Ann to say why she thought it was wrong, and we should receive her reasons kindly.

Sa. So I think; but I wish she would tell us what harm she thinks it would do us to go.

M. A. Well, girls, I think, by trying to look into the future, we are apt to grow discontented and restless, and to forget that we have duties to perform in the present. Then, if we do not believe in it, it is a waste of time and money, which might be better employed in relieving the sufferings of the poor around us. But the greatest evil of all is, that we should believe even a part; she would, of course, tell us many little circumstances, which would be true of any one; thus we might be led to believe all she said; the prediction would, probably, work out its own fulfilment, and, perhaps, render us miserable for life.

Soph. Oh, fudge! Mary Ann. This is altogether toe

bad and ungenerous in you. In the first place, the few cents we give, bestowed as they are on a poor old widow woman, are not wasted, in my opinion, hut well spent; and if I spend an evening granted me, by my father and mother, for recreation, in listening to Old Kate, it is no more wasted than if I spend it with the girls in any other social way. And when you connect fortune-telling and our duties in the present, you make it too serious an affair. Remember, this is all for sport.

M. A. It may be so with you, Sophronia; but there are those who seriously believe every word of a fortuneteller, and actually live more in the unseen but expected events of the future, than in faithfully performing their duties in the present. This is true, Sophronia. The contentment and peace of many young minds have been utterly lost-sold for the absurd jabbering of old, ignorant, low-bred women, who pretend to read the future. (In a livelier tone of voice :) But just say, girls, do you believe there is any connection between tea-leaves and your future lives?

All. Why, no!

M. A. Do you believe God has marked the fortunes of thousands of his creatures on the face of cards? All. Certainly not.

M. A. Well, do you believe, if God should intrust the secret events of the future with any of our race, in this age, it would be with those who have neither intellectual, moral, nor religious education, -who can be bribed by dollars and cents to say anything?

Sa., E. No, indeed!

M. A. (Turns to Sophronia.) You do not answer, Sophronia. Let me ask you one or two more questions. Do you suppose Kate Merrill believes that she has a revelation from God?

Soph. No, Mary Ann.

M. A. Do you suppose she thinks you believe so? Soph. Why, yes, I do.

M. A. Then is it benevolent to bestow money to encourage an old woman in telling for truth what she knows to be false?

Soph. I doubt whether it is really benevolent.