And to his old grey mare,
That upward toileth steadily,
With meal sacks laden heavily,
In storm as well as fair!
And good luck to the miller,
And to the miller's son;
And ever may the mill-wheel turn
While mountain waters run!

MARY HOWITT.

* * * * *




ENVY.


[Illustration: Letter E.]

Envy is almost the only vice which is practicable at all times, and in
every place--the only passion which can never lie quiet for want of
irritation; its effects, therefore, are everywhere discoverable, and its
attempts always to be dreaded.

It is impossible to mention a name, which any advantageous distinction
has made eminent, but some latent animosity will burst out. The wealthy
trader, however he may abstract himself from public affairs, will never
want those who hint with Shylock, that ships are but boards, and that no