578 APPENDIX. 



paused, and finished the proverb in a tone scarcely audible — 'yet 

 they prepare their meat in the summer. Alas! the snows of many win- 

 ters are on my head.' A tear dropped from his eye on "the pale forehead 

 of the partner of his bosom. She consoled him no more that day. 



"He had contracted various small debts with the tradesmen of the 

 village, among whom were some newcomers who had not known him in 

 his palmy days. And even if they had, the chances are that it would 

 not have altered their conduct towards him. Few men make an aegis 

 of the past to shield them from present evils. True, he has been as 

 liberal as the sun that shines on all alike without distinction, but how 

 soon do we forget the splendor of yesterday if the sun rise in clouds 

 to-morrow. 



" His creditors became impatient, and "though there was some hesita- 

 tion in taking out the first execution, yet that being done, others fol- 

 lowed as regularly as links of the same chain. There was a time when 

 he felt as confident and secure among the villagers as in the bosom of 

 his own family; but now there was no longer safety for the sole of his 

 foot on his hearthstone. He was humbled, and he moved among 

 his neighbors, a broken down man, with fear and trembling, dreading 

 all whom he chanced to meet. 



"At length his library was seized upon and sold. His books were 

 of no great value to any other than himself, but he prized them beyond 

 everything. He had bought them in his boyhood; to lose them was 

 to sever the chain that bound him to happier days, and as he beheld 

 them scattered one by one, he wept as if they had been things of life 

 that had abandoned him in his misfortunes. 



" It was a melancholy sight to behold him after this event, seated in 

 his study, gazing on the empty shelves, and repeating various choice 

 passages from his favorite volumes. I witnessed him once, looking in- 

 tently on the vacant spot where a fine old copy of 'Herrick's Poems' 

 had stood for near half a century. I knew the place well, for at that 

 time it was my delight to delve for the pure ore of that 'very best of 

 English lyric poets.' A melancholy smile came over his bland counte- 

 nance, and he repeated, in a low tremulous voice: 



" Call me no more, 

 As heretofore, 



The music of the feast 

 Since now, alas ! 

 The miith that was 



la me, is dead or ceased. 



