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he was apparently just as old and infirm as now. Time has not altered a feature." "He resides," said the merchant, "about seven miles off, among the mountains-lives entirely alone, and cultivates a small cabbage-garden, which supplies him with necessaries. Occasionally, as you have seen, he comes into the village with a freight of whortleberries or blackberries."

"But do you mean to have me understand," said I, "that so slight an inducement as the equivalent for six quarts of whortleberries can tempt a man of his years to travel a distance of fourteen miles on foot?" "Certainly," replied the merchant ;" and not only fourteen miles, but forty, if it were necessary. He considers himself fortunate in having disposed of his load to me this morning, as my store is the nearest to him; but he would have travelled patiently to all the stores within a circuit of five miles, if he had not found an early purchaser."

As I wended my way homeward, in the shadows of evening, the Man of Whortleberries was still the object of my thoughts. "Here" said I, "is truly an example of simplicity of living. Man wants but little,' is a common aphorism; but who, amid the numberless fantastical requirements of society, fully understands its meaning? Man wants but little,' proclaims the preacher, in purple and fine linen, from the sacred desk; and yet his own costly attire, the gilding of his pulpit, his liberal though not comparatively luxurious habit of living, his servants, etc. go not beyond his understanding of little,' for thus inquireth he: Are not all these things necessary for me and my condition? Certainly,' respond the crowd, who fill the spacious aisles, and listen with reverence to his spiritually-tempered accents. And he walks uprightly, and his menials receive him at the gates, and he enters in and asks himself the question: 'Am I not content with little?' and his churchly conscience tells him,' Ay, truly; for he walketh while the bishops and clergy of England ride in their coaches, and the cardınals of Rome are borne about in state. He preacheth and is content, while many have higher houses and larger salaries, and he eateth his capon and drinketh his wine, and is satisfied with five covers, while others have ten, and twenty, and fifty, and he wipes his mouth with his napkin, and rolls his eyes complacently, as the glories and dignities of the external church pass in review before him. He throws himself backward upon his couch with a sigh of Christian resignation, at his estrangement from all these vanities; and, shutting his eyes peacefully, he gives himself to sleep soundly; and this is the burthen of his solace: 'Man wants but little!"

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"And your man of rank thinks himself virtuous, and equal to the truth of the maxim, if he discards his horses and dogs, and stints his dignity to enrich his heir; and your fine gentleman, if himself and wife-before their first child-are content with three servants instead of five-and your other gentleman, if he can do with one family servant, having, nevertheless, the freedom of the market, and considering every delicacy most necessary and your comfortable cit, who saves, and shaves, and small measureth and short measureth-making strange application to his customers of the goodly maxim Man wants but little'-even he drives out in his stanhope, and goes to the Springs, and returns home, and forthwith

drives, and saves, and shaves, harder than ever-even this man, I say, prinks himself upon his moderate enjoyments, and keeps his scrapings instead of his coach; and all on the credit of the maxim, Man wants but little.' And your yeoman, who sneers at city pride, despises silk and broadcloth-whose coat and whose virtues are homespun-even he knocks down an ox, devours it, washes it down with a gallon of brown stout, and, in his grace after meals, exclaims: Man wants but little !'"

How infinitely could I multiply illustrations! Few ladies, with their furbelows and gew-gaws, imagine for a moment that they lack proper economy. Like the rest of the world, to be sure, they have their wants. A few trifles are indispensable; but they are mere trifles, they want but little. Man wants but little,' etc.

But a truce to these illustrations. I will busy myself no longer with the proud humility and luxurious economy of the world. Out, out upon all the examples of frugality and contentment that may be found within the narrow walls and money-mildew of the city! How insignificant are they all, when compared to my Man of Whortleberries! His portion of the earth's fair surface comprises but a few rods, in a sheltered nook of the greenwood. To him the passage of time is felt only as peace and happiness, while, with the certainty of spring-time and harvest, comes the certainty of plenty and comfort. What matters it to him that the tempests of winter rage around his crazy dwelling? Anan, he is deaf; and if the driving rain and snow penetrate its roof, and assail his reverend head-fie, fie ye sentimentalists, shiver as ye may—his frame is proof against the assault. Nature has sheltered his feelings in their own manly covering.

Notwithstanding his seclusion from society, the Man of Whortleberries is not, it seems, without his refinements and luxuries. Is this fact a blemish in his history, or does it mar the picture I have presented? Ah no! Detraction cannot reach him! With the season of whortleberries, comes the desire for a little tea and tobacco. He wants but little, and his desires are held in check by his philosophy. Oh, could the thousands, the millions, who now moulder in their premature cold graves, the victims of unrestrained indulgence, but start to life, to observe and practise his lesson! The old man wants but little. If the tea should fail, he would make it up with the tobacco; and if the tobacco should fail, of a surety he could sit down quietly and make it up with his philosophy. Matchless, matchless Man of Whortleberries! When will mankind learn thus to temper their enjoyments with moderation, and to say to their mere bodily propensities, Thus far shall ye go, and no farther?'

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Alas! men have refused to profit by the teachings of Plato, of Socrates, and Zeno, and of a far greater than all these ; and it is much to be feared that the Man of Whortleberries, with his exemplary wisdom, will pass quietly and unnoticed through the gathering twilight of his existence, till he is lost in the dark backward and abysm of time.' Good old man! The thought of fame never disturbed thy rest with a single uneasy dream. Wisdom and Philosophy-names which are so often in the mouths of the learned-never perplexed thy mind with vague mysteries and abstractions. Thou art wise without thy own knowledge. As a Philosopher,

thou, with thy whortleberries, couldst never have envied Socrates with his henbane. Thou hast more than fame-thou hast happiness. Though thy name-I have already forgotten it-and thy form, may soon pass away, yet while I live, thy picture will have a choice corner in the cabinet of memory. I see thee now, with thy strong, but stooping figure— thy staff and pail-thy tea and thy tobacco-aye, every patch and darn of thy antique apparel-all are visible to my mind's eye. Thou trudgest home rejoicing, as one who had found a treasure. Blessings ever rest upon thee, Man of Whortleberries!

C. P.

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LETTERS FROM LAURIE TODD.

NUMBER THREE.

JOHN KNOX, THE REFORMER, ETC.

A MAN confined in one of our Lunatic Asylums, lately made the following observation: "We that are locked up here, are only called mad, because our madness does not happen to agree with that of the rest of the world. Every body thinks his neighbor mad, if his pursuits happen to be opposite to his own. His neighbor thinks the same of him: but then these two kinds of madness do not interfere with each other. Now and then there comes an eccentric man, who, taking a just view of things, thinks them ALL MAD. Him the majority catch, and lock up here.

That is my case!"

Now, friend Knickerbocker, I think this is the wisest speech I ever heard in my life. So the world wags. When the profound Dr. C— was in London and Edinburgh last year, he was a violent slave-holder. Well, the anti-men said there that he was mad; and he affirmed that they were in the same predicament. As soon as he returned to New-York, and found certain men going a-head' like chaff before the wind, he turns wrong around, and is head and ears in abolition immediately. Then the people here said he was mad, and he, that they were. I really think, therefore, that this is the easiest way of getting along with a hard matter, -for all the world's a stage, and its inhabitants a set of mad players. What a madman was Buonaparte, to think he could melt the ice of Russia in December! Some of the auld wives of Scotland imagined I was daft, when they saw me gazing for hours at the crumbling walls of castles and palaces, churches and monasteries-picking up fragments of stones, and labelling them with bits of paper; and I thought the same of them, because they could not see the "hand-writing on the wall" of these mouldering monuments of Time!

But, mad or not mad,-when I stood in JOHN KNOX'S PULPIT, from whence, in 1566, he thundered his Reformation doctrines, until the sound of his artillery was heard from the Auld Iron Kirk in Edinburgh, even to the centre of" Sanctæ Crucis," causing the heart of Mary to tremble,* as she sat on her throne surrounded by her court;-I say, when I stood up in the great Reformer's pulpit, and thought of all this, I felt I scarcely know how I felt-but I presume something as other madmen feel, when, in the height of their frenzy, they imagine themselves governors of all the lower countries.

Conspicuous in the Museum of the Antiquarian Society of Edinburgh stands the Pulpit aforesaid. Every person who visits the Museum has

* Historians relate, that Mary Queen of Scots has been heard to say, that she was more afraid of John Knox's prayers than of an army of ten thousand men.

a desire to stand in it; and the managers, fearing that this perpetual motion would soon bring it to ruins, have had the stairs cut off. I also had a wish to stand in this hot-bed of Reformation. I said to the Secretary, that I would not ask to infringe upon any positive order of the housebut if there could be any exceptions, I had a strong desire to enter that "sacred desk.” With the last words, I handed my card: I had found it useful in some former cases. He looked in my face: "Is it possibleare you Mr. T -D?" A nod. "I am happy to see you," said he. Taking my right hand in his own, with his left he handed me a chair, and politely assisted me to get in. I must say, I was not a little pleased, when my feet rested where had stood the feet of that good man, and my hands lay upon those boards from whence had flowed streams as pure as those which watered the City of the Lord. The Pulpit is composed of hard, unpainted oak. It is in good condition, although nearly three hundred years old. The dwelling-house of the Reformer is yet standing, in good repair. It fronts out, and projects a few feet into the main street. On one corner of the house is a small stone pulpit, where his image stands, as if preaching to the people below. On the front of the pulpit is marked, "Born 2d of May, 1505."

The house is now occupied by two barbers-one below, the other above. I was shaved on the ground-floor, and paid one penny. Next day -as I was curious to see as much of this notable house as possible-I got shaved above stairs. They charged me two-pence. "How is this?" said I; "your neighbor beneath asked but one penny yesterday." "O, ho!" he replied, "that may be; but this is the very room John Knox studied his sermons in, and that is the very winnock (window) that he used to preach ower, to the folks in the street." "Well," said I," that being the case, I think, myself, it is worth a penny more." I found the upper barber a quizzical old mortal-shaving with his spectacles on the very tip of his nose. We soon got into conversation. He was full of anecdotes about Knox, and carried me through the house-kitchen, parlor, sleeping-room, and all. He told me that John and Queen Mary, "wha lived in the muckle hoose doon the street, (Holyrood Palace,) had mony a quarrel; and at one time she gat so mad wi' him, she said she would have his head cut off. Ah! madam,' says John, ‘He is aboon wha guides the gully:' (that is to say, 'He is above, who guides the knife.') Mary was a deep, dissembling, politic woman. On one occasion, having a difficult matter to settle with John, she treated him in the most gracious manner; seating him by her on the sofa, holding his hand in hers, etc. Knox afterwards remarked to one of his friends, "What a pity the de'il shou'd ha'e his abode in sic a piece o' bonny painted clay!"

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John Knox, by the way, was an extempore preacher. He would preach in his church, in the camp, to the poor, in the highways and hedges for hours upon the stretch, and never use a note. It certainly seems, that pulpit eloquence-and pulpit eloquence only—has been advancing, for the last fifty years, with a most awfully retrograde motion. Lawyers, players, civilians, and all public speakers, continue to excelpulpit eloquence excepted-and that appears to be completely quashed

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