We may see the barb, with nostril of fire, and mane playing with the
wind, perform a curvet, as he draws our aristocratic countrywoman--
aristocratic and haughty at least in Malta, although, in England,
perhaps a star of much less magnitude.

We may view too the over-burthened donkey, as he drags along some aged
vehicle, in which four fat smiling women, and one lean weeping child,
look forward to his emaciated carcase, and yet blame him for being slow.

And thou! patient and suffering animal, whose name has passed into a
proverb, until each vulgar wight looks on thee as the emblem of
obstinacy,--maligned mule! when dost thou appear to more advantage, more
joyous, or more self-satisfied, than when yoked to the Maltese caleche?
Who that has witnessed thee, taking the scanty meal from the hand of
thine accustomed driver, with whinnying voice, waving tail, thy long
ears pricked upwards, and thy head rubbing his breast, who that has
seen thee thus, will deny thee the spirit of gratitude?

Most injured of quadrupeds! if we ascend the rugged mountain's path,
where on either side, precipices frown, and the pines wave far--far
beneath--when one false step would plunge us, with our hopes, our fears,
and our vices, into the abyss of eternity; is it not to thee we trust?

Calumniated mule! go on thy way.

This world's standard is but little to be relied on, whether it be for
good, or whether it be for evil.

The motion of a caleche, such as we patronised, is an easy and luxurious
one--the pace, a fast trot or smooth canter, of seven miles an hour--and