Then one-in sleep we image what we wish,
Dogs dream of bones and fishermen of fish-
A huge one gorged the bait; and flouncing, dyed
With gushing crimson the transparent tide.
I stretch'd my arm, and, fill'd with anxious hope,
Loosen'd the line and gave him ample scope:
Yet, if my bending rod asunder snapp'd
Fear'd the strong animal was vainly trapp'd.
Debating, how I could contrive at all

To take so large a fish with hook so small,
At length I cried, Doth still thy vigour brave
My toils? as grasping him above the wave
He prick'd full sorely. Yet o'ercome at last,
He faintly struggled, and I held him fast.
But how amaz'd, when, all my labour o'er,
I saw a fish of gold upon the shore!
Fear crept through all my frame.

Perchance,' thought I,

It may be one of Neptune's favourite fry,
Or Amphitrite's treasure!' So I took,

And gently loos'd him from my faithful hook,
Lest from his glistening mouth a grain of gold
Might stick about the barb: and now, more bold,
With cords I drew him on the beach-and swore
That I'd set foot in fishing boat no more;

But here, since gold would purchase every thing,
I'd live at home, at leisure, like a king.'
I straight awoke."

Asphalion concluded by expressing his fear of his oath, and, asking the advice of his friend, which he thus expresses :

"Fear not, 'tis all a phantom of the brain :
Vain is thy fish of gold-thy oath is vain :
To realise thy hopes, be thine to take
The finny fry, not sleeping, but awake.
Go then for fish more solid try the stream,
Nor die for hunger in a golden dream."

Tales of a similar description to this of Theocritus, may be met with in the literature of many countries, and such might even be related in most family and friendly circles. Among my youthful companions I myself numbered one of these dreamers of gold and glory - Fred Sherbourne.

Fred Sherbourne was the son of "a gentleman" who lived upon his property. And what was a great matter in Fred's consideration, he was the

only son, and only child of his parents. "I shall have all that they possess," he used to say, "and then it shall be seen who I am."

Mr. Sherbourne was a man who did not live in very high style. On the contrary, he was one of those who are rather inclined to live below than above their means: he was content with a humble dwelling, a humble equipage, a humble household, and, in one word, a humble every thing. Report said that his humble appearance was owing to his penuriousness that he was hoarding up instead of spending his money. Many were the tales related of his great wealth, and the old gentleman, when some of his neighbours - more bold than good breeding would allow - hinted, as they did sometimes, that he could set up his carriage and four, never said a word to discourage the delusion. If he had done so, however, it would have been but of little use: the general opinion was that he was rolling in gold," and few would have given credit to any assertion to the contrary, even if that assertion had fallen from his own lips. So universal was the belief, that old Mr. Sherbourne was worth a "mint of money," that he was called throughout the parish in which he resided, and in many parishes round it, "Plum Sherbourne."

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It might have been expected that Fred Sherbourne, as he grew up towards the age of manhood, would have become acquainted with the real extent of his father's wealth. But this does not appear to have been the case; or if the old gentleman ever told him, then he, like the neighbours, would not believe the tale. He was quite

sure that his father was immensely rich, and would not he let the world know it when the riches hoarded up came into his possession? He would not live in a cottage, or drive an old horse in a crazy worn-out chaise: he would have his mansion, and his carriage; and it should be at least Frederick Sherbourne, Esquire, if not Sir Frederick Sherbourne.

Thus impressed with the idea of future wealth, Fred Sherbourne repudiated all thoughts of engaging in any business or profession. I recollect on one occasion, when myself and several of my companions had been relating to each other how our parents intended to place us out in the world, that the question was put to him, what his father intended to do with him? "Oh!” replied Fred, his face reddening with anger, "he will not do any thing with me. He wants me, indeed, to be a lawyer; but I have no occasion to trouble my head about the law, or about any thing else. I shall have sufficient to keep me in fine style: none of you will cut such a figure as I shall."

"You must recollect, Fred," I replied, "that riches are very unstable. Even if your father has the wealth report ascribes to him, it may, by some unforeseen event, slip through your fingers."

"Never fear," interrupted Fred, 66 never fear that, my fine fellow. When I once get it within this grasp Fred held forth his clenched hand to suit the action to the word-"trust me it will not be able to get through my fingers."

"You may think so," I rejoined; "but the wise man has said, that riches often make to

themselves wings, and fly away. Nay, you have only to look into yonder cottage for a proof of this. Old Herbert, who lives there, was once, as I have been informed by those who knew him, a man of great wealth, but he has scarcely now got a sixpence wherewith to help himself. Depend upon it, Fred, you would do well to follow the advice of your father, and become a lawyer. If your fortune should fail you, then you would have something to fall back upon; and if it should not, why, if you should roll in wealth, you will have no occasion to follow your profession. You remember the story of the basketmaker: he was more honoured by the savages among whom it was his lot to be cast than the fine gentleman who was the companion of his misfortunes. And why? Simply because he was useful, and the fine gentleman useless. In my opinion, it would be well if every gentleman were brought up to some trade or profession: if wealth should fail, then they could obtain an honest livelihood by their own industry, and avoid becoming dependent on the precarious charity of those who had known them in their days of prosperity."

Fred Sherbourne, however, still persisted that he had no occasion to trouble his head about any profession or business; and he intimated, that however his father might urge it, it would be vain. He was determined to be "the gentleman so soon as he came into his property.

Long before Fred Sherbourne succeeded to his father's property he began to act "the gentleman." Among the whole of my companions,

there was not one who assumed such airs of consequence as he did. It was seen particularly in his dress. Up to the age of ten or twelve years the village tailor had been honoured with his father's orders, but after that time his clothes were made in the fashion. Fred, it appeared, had to struggle hard for a change of tailor. He wanted a new suit, and his father was willing to give his old village tailor the order, but Fred would rather go without clothes than not have them made in the fashion. The struggle lasted for some weeks, and then Fred triumphed; tailor Sparks, from a neighbouring town, was sent for, whose board set forth that he was from "Bond Street," and my companion appeared amongst us quite an altered figure. As for his hat, that had come direct from "Bond Street," being sent for expressly from that locality by tailor Sparks, who "obliged" his customers by dealing in that important article. Having begun to act the gentleman by his change in his tailor and hatter, Fred Sherbourne carried his views of gentlemanship further by having his boots and shoes from Bond Street: or at least from a tradesman in the neighbouring town, who, like tailor Sparks, professed to come from that avenue of fashion. In a few years Fred Sherbourne proceeded still farther. After another struggle with his parent he obtained a gold ring or two, which he displayed on his fingers, besides a gold-headed cane, which he sported every time he left his doors, although he might be only going over the way on a message to a neighbour. It really seemed as though "Plum Sherbourne's"