of compassion and surely it evinces too much of confidence, as well as too little of spirit, when one places himself, unnecessarily, in circumstances to need the compassion of a fellow-man as his only earthly resource.

NUMBER LXXXII,

ON SUNSHINE FRIENDS.

An ancient naturalist tells us, that the rats will leave a house which is about to fall.

But whether it be so or not, there is in some human animals a sort of instinct very nearly like it - they are your sunshine friends, who stick to you closely in prosperity; but no sooner do they perceive a bleak storm of adversity hovering over you, than they estrange themselves and stand aloof.

Nor is this an upstart race of modern origin.

Contrariwise,

we find it distinctly noted and described in writings of early antiquity; but in none more admirably than in the following passages of the Son of Sirach:-" For," says that skilful remarker on mankind, "some man is a friend for his own occasion, and will not abide in the day of thy trouble. And there is a friend, who, being turned to enmity and strife, will discover thy reproach. Again, some friend is a companion at the table, and will not continue in the day of thy affliction. But in thy prosperity he will be as thyself, and will be bold over thy servants.

If thou be

brought low, he will be against thee, and will hide himself from thy face." So also, in another part of his admirable book, the same writer further describes this sort of gentry :-" If thou be for his profit, he will use thee: but if thou have nothing, he will forsake thee. If thou have any thing, he will live with thee: yea, he will make thee bare, and will not be sorry for it. If he have need of thee, he will deceive thee, and smile upon thee, and put thee in hope; he will speak fair, and say, What wantest thou? He will shame thee by his meats, until he have drawn thee dry twice or thrice, and at the last he will laugh thee to scorn: afterward when he seeth thee, he will forsake thee, and shake his head at thee."

The common saying, Prosperity makes friends, is admissible only in a qualified sense. Most of the friends of prosperity's making scarcely deserve the name; for no sooner do they perceive your fortune falling, than they make off with themselves, like the rats from a falling house.

To exemplify this truth, instances almost without number might be drawn from history, ancient and modern, sacred and profane. But narrowing the subject to a single point, my object will be the rectification of a very prevalent error; namely, the idle notion of attracting regard by a style of living too expensive for our condition.

Nothing more distinctly marks the age and the country we live in, than this species of folly. If the former days were not better than these in other respects, yet in this one respect they were a great deal better they were times of sober, prudent economy. Poverty was not arrayed in costly attire; mediocrity did not ape the splendor and expense of wealth; industry was

coupled with frugality; the great bulk of the yeomanry were plain in their living, and accustomed their children to plainness of food and raiment; the trader made it a point to win gold ere he wore it; it was fashionable for families to live within their income; it was creditable to be provident and economical.

Marvellous is the change, which the short term of a single age has brought forth. Now, the general language of practice is, Away with the old-fashioned maxims of frugal economy, and up with the expenses of high life." The distinctions of wealth are lost in the general blaze; all being alike fine, all alike accustomed to sumptuous fare. The two extremes in society, to wit, Wealth and Pauperism, as it were, meet together; the middle class, of such magnitude and might in other times, having lost its distinctive marks of genealogy.

This ruinous course is entered upon, and obstinately persisted in, not unfrequently in the full view of some of its baleful consequences. It needs very little of arithmetic to calculate how it will end. The youth must know that if, in his days of health and vigor, he spends all as he goes, he will, in the seasons of sickness and decrepit age, be a forlorn dependant upon charity. All must needs know the inevitable effects produced by the outgoes exceeding the incomes.

But as an offset to the disadvantages of embarrassment, poverty, and debt, a great many, peradventure, are soothed with the idea that they are obtaining notice and regard, or, in other words, are making to themselves friends. In the estimate of their own imaginations, they do not waste their substance; they only barter it for honorable connections, for distinguished rank in society, for a close alliance with wealth and fashion, for claims upon the

hearts of a large circle of respectable ladies and gentlemen. These, they are confident, will never abjure their friendship, nor forsake them, come what will.

Alas! too late are they undeceived. Too late are they taught by rueful experience, that the companions at the table abide not when they are brought low-that they are sooner forsaken by none, than by those who had lived upon them, and drawn them dry-that these flesh-pot friends are among the first to laugh them to scorn, and to shake the head at them.

Harmanicus-I have known him well-Harmanicus, of proverbial hospitality, had made to himself an endless train of friends. His house was for all the world like a public inn, except that the customers had not a farthing to pay;-a precious circumstance which gave it the decided preference. Far and near was Harmanicus known, and for his profuse liberality far and near was he admired. Fashion, and Wealth, and Rank, did him the honor to eat of his " savory meats," and to drink of his delicious wines. The itinerant gentry neglected not to spend one night at least, both going out and coming in, with the liberalhearted Harmanicus. Even travellers and sojourners on business, found time, nevertheless, to breakfast, and dine, and sup, and lodge, with Harmanicus, who provided withal "both straw and provender." The worshipful Bencher, for many years his close. table-friend, never failed to live with him in term-time. They served themselves of him to the last. They eked out their friendly visits till they had milked all his resources dry; till poorly, poor man! was he barely able to shift for himself;—and then-What then?-Read the Son of Sirach for an answer.