CHAPTER XVI. THE SQUIRE MAKES A PROMISE, AND KEEPS IT LIKE THIS generous procedure of the tenantry to wards the Squire was intended to produce the only return, which his gratitude could have made to them, and which was, that of never placing them and himself in a similar disagreeable situation. He really promised (contrary to the advice of Mr. Merryman) not to apply to the Common Hall again for a relief from any new incumbrances. But the Squire, like Jemmy Jumps, was too much of a gentleman to keep · bis promise : "Keep a promise! What do you take me for 2" Cervantes, when he had armed Don Quixote cap-à-pié, mounted him on his famous steed Rozinanté, dubbed him a Knight, and set him out in quest of chivalrous adventures, was well aware that there was no other way, within the probability of human nature, (which an author should strictly observe) to reduce him to his senses, but, by checking him in the midst of his mad career, unhorsing him, and tying him up by the laws of honour from renewing his extravagant courses-at least for a time. He has too high a sense of the dignity of Knighthood not to make the Don keep his word inviolate, and, in the season of reflexion, he reduces him to his sober senses: This is a most ingenious and admirable, though a natural, contrivance of the Author, who displayed in it a profound knowledge of human nature. He knew that: a madman or a fool, when once mounted on: their hobbies, are never to be dismounted with out receiving some violent fall, or seeing their career checked by the approach of death. If the tenantry had pursued the example set them by Cervantes, and unhorsed the Squire, as they might have done, by refusing to be any longer the milch cow of his extravagance, they would probably have succeeded, like him, in rcducing their Don Quixote to his sober senses. But they contented themselves with his word of honour to discontinue his mad career, suffered him to continue on his Rozinanté, and he soon went on again at a devil of a rate-as bad or. worse than ever. We have often, in our boyish days, been struck with horror at the impiety of Typhæus and the other giants, in attempting to kick all the gods and goddesses out of their own heaven, which they, perhaps, claimed by a sort of jure divino, or indefeasible right; but when age had matured our reason so as to enable us to separate the grain from the husk, and to consider what a parcel of lewd rogues, and arrant thieves, they are described to have been, we have felt sorry for the ill-success, and punishment of these daring rebels. Heaven was, however, at length cleared of such monsters, and the giants revenged by the Christian Fathers, who were the types of our modern revolutionists, and whom Edmund Quirke, if he had been paid for writing in behalf of the dethroned fugitives, would, in his sublime language, have termed the swinish multitude, which epithet he had bestowed on that society of which he himself was an unworthy member, and with which we account it an honour to be in fellowship. But, to use a phrase of the swinish multitude, Quirke would have said any thing for money but his prayers. Descending from great to little ;—from gods and goddesses, to emperors and empresses, kings and queens, princes and princesses, lords and ladies, and other great and little earthly potentates, it is astonishing that the many revolutions, which their crimes and tyranny have occasioned from time to time, have not made them see the expediency of turning over a new leaf, and acting consistently with the vulgar notions of justice. Experience has shown us, that the common people have tolerably sound notions of common sense. In spite of all the sublime language, (it would have been more appropriate if we had said the unintelligible jargon): of the venal, apostate Quirke, such great events are strongly marked by the finger of God, who makes examples of criminals above the human laws, for the same reason as these punish inferior malefactors—to make them and others mend their manners. A much better writer, and a much honester man than Quirke, as will be readily allowed, when we mention the name of Plutarch, when he reasons upon this subject, expresses himself to the following effect:"Kings, when any revolution happens in their dominions, are apt to complain bitterly of the infidelity and disloyalty of their subjects: but they do them wrong; and forget that they themselves taught them the first lessons of their disloyalty, by showing no regard to justice and fidelity, which, on all occasions, they sacrificed, without scruple, to their own particular interests." Need any thing more be added? We think not, and shall leave the reader to make he application of this digression, about gods, giants, |