—­I should not make such a speech as that, you know, without having pretty substantial indorsers to fall back upon, in case my credit should be disputed.  Will you run up stairs, Benjamin Franklin, (for B. F. had not gone right off, of course,) and bring down a small volume from the left upper corner of the right-hand shelves?

[Look at the precious little black, ribbed backed, clean-typed, vellum-papered 32mo.  “DESIDERII ERASMI colloquia.  Amstelodami.  Typis Ludovici Elzevirii. 1650.”  Various names written on title-page.  Most conspicuous this:  Gul.  Cookeson E. Coll.  Omn.  Anim. 1725.  Oxon.

—­O William Cookeson, of All-Souls College, Oxford,—­then writing as I now write,—­now in the dust, where I shall lie,—­is this line all that remains to thee of earthly remembrance?  Thy name is at least once more spoken by living men;—­is it a pleasure to thee?  Thou shalt share with me my little draught of immortality,—­its week, its month, its year,—­whatever it may be,—­and then we will go together into the solemn archives of Oblivion’s Uncatalogued Library!]

—­If you think I have used rather strong language, I shall have to read something to you out of the book of this keen and witty scholar,—­the great Erasmus,—­who “laid the egg of the Reformation which Luther hatched.”  Oh, you never read his Naufragium, or “Shipwreck,” did you?  Of course not; for, if you had, I don’t think you would have given me credit—­or discredit—­for entire originality in that speech of mine.  That men are cowards in the contemplation of futurity he illustrates by the extraordinary antics of many on board the sinking vessel; that they are fools, by their praying to the sea, and making promises to bits of wood from the true cross, and all manner of similar nonsense; that they are fools, cowards, and liars all at once, by this story:  I will put it into rough English for you.—­“I couldn’t help laughing to hear one fellow bawling out, so that he might be sure to be heard, a promise to Saint Christopher of Paris—­the monstrous statue in the great church there—­that he would give him a wax taper as big as himself.  ‘Mind what you promise!’ said an acquaintance that stood near him, poking him with his elbow; ’you couldn’t pay for it, if you sold all your things at auction.’  ’Hold your tongue, you donkey!’ said the fellow,—­but softly, so that Saint Christopher should not hear him,—­’do you think I’m in earnest?  If I once get my foot on dry ground, catch me giving him so much as a tallow candle!’”

Now, therefore, remembering that those who have been loudest in their talk about the great subject of which we were speaking have not necessarily been wise, brave, and true men, but, on the contrary, have very often been wanting in one or two or all of the qualities these words imply, I should expect to find a good many doctrines current in the schools which I should be obliged to call foolish, cowardly, and false.