There is a story, familiar to most people of extensive reading, and quite frequently alluded to, of a fox that, after endeavoring in vain to possess himself of some luscious grapes which grew beyond his reach, walked composedly away, solemnly assuring himself and Mr Æsop, who overheard him, that as yet the grapes were unripe. The story, or any allusion to it, seldom fails to excite a smile. I, too, laugh when I hear it; but not so much at Reynard's inconsistency as at his wit. The faculty of discovering grave defects in that which we have failed to obtain is one for which we cannot be too thankful. It is a source of infinite comfort in this comfortless world—a principle which enables both parties in every contest to be victorious—an important article in the great law of compensation. It is as old as the human race. The great fabulist no more invented it than Lord Bacon invented inductive reasoning. Like that philosopher, he simply enunciated a principle which had been unconsciously recognized and constantly used ever since the machinery of the human mind was first set in motion. I have no doubt that when Adam found himself outside of Eden he wondered how he could have been contented to remain so long in that little garden, assorting pinks and training honeysuckles, when here lay a vast farm, well watered and fertile, needing only to be cleared, fenced, and cultivated to yield a handsome income.

It is well that pride should sometimes have a fall. But you and I, dear reader, have often seen envious people gloating over that fall in any but a Christian spirit. At such times have we not rejoiced at any circumstance which could break the force of the fall and disappoint the gratification of such malicious hopes? And what has accomplished that object so often and so effectually as Reynard's great principle?

Once or twice in my life I have seen a smile on a female face under circumstances which made it impossible to doubt that the smile was gotten up for my especial benefit. On such occasions my sense of gratitude (which is quite large) and my vanity (which is very small) have conspired to exalt women in my estimation to perhaps an undue elevation. They have seemed to me to be angels visiting poor, weak, degraded man from pure motives of love and sympathy. And I have felt a sort of chagrin that we have only such a dirty, ill-constructed world to ask them into. But let us suppose that a short time afterward I see on the same face a decided frown or a look of chilling disdain (I do not say that I ever did), under circumstances which indicate that this also is displayed with reference to, and out of a kind regard for, myself. Here, it should seem, the premises are established which compel me to admit a very disagreeable conclusion. This I cannot think of doing. How shall I escape? Why, deny one of the premises, of course. But the frown—I saw it plainly, alas, too plainly! I cannot dispute the evidence of my senses. For a moment I falter; and again that ghastly conclusion stares me in the face. But now I remember that a shrewd debater sometimes gains a point by denying the premise which he is expected to concede. Can it be done in this case? Certainly! Human judgment, you know, is fallible. Not that mine can be at fault now; but it may have been so heretofore. All men have erred; but no man errs. There is the point! I was in error when I said women were angels. They are, they must be, mortal. There are unmistakable signs that they are but human—indeed, some of them might almost be called inhuman. The world is plenty good enough for them—a little too good for some I could name. The Mussulman is quite right in excluding them from heaven. What should we want of them when we get there? Won't there be plenty of houris there, with all their beauty and virtue, but without their extravagance and wilfulness? To say the least, they are the weaker vessels, though they carry the most sail. Am I, then, to drop my lip and hang my head and put my finger in my eye, because one of them, for some cause or no cause, chooses to turn up her nose at me? The proposition is absurd.—Thus, thus only, I save my self-respect without sacrificing my logic. Am I inconsistent? Nay, verily. For what is the highest consistency but correspondence with truth? And have I not at length hit upon the exact truth? Before, I was deceived; then, I was inconsistent. But now—now I am thoroughly, beautifully consistent. But all this is simply Dr. Fox's method of treating half the ills which flesh is heir to, reduced to logical forms and written out in plain English.

Had Lord Byron but availed himself of this panacea after his adventure in Jack Muster's vineyard, it might, perhaps, have rendered his life happier, and imparted a 'healthy, moral tone' to his writings.

Every science, in its true progress, works toward simplicity. And mankind will acknowledge at some future time that the 'sour grapes' at which they were wont to sneer, contain a powerful stimulant for drooping ambition—the only infallible remedy for damaged honor and wounded pride. When the scales shall have fallen from our eyes in that happy day, politics will become a delightful profession, the contentious spirit of man will cease from its bickerings, the tongue of woman will settle down into a steady and respectable trot, the golden age of duelling will retreat into the shadowy past until it shall seem contemporary with the half-fabulous chivalry of the middle ages, distracted maidens will no longer die of broken hearts, nor disappointed lovers of unbroken halters.

As the parties to a lawsuit have the privilege of challenging peremptorily a certain number of jurymen, so every man should be allowed to enjoy a reasonable number of whims and prejudices without being called upon to give reasons for them. Then let us hear no more derisive laughter when it is hinted that an unfortunate brother has resorted to the sour-grape remedy. We all, at times, would be glad to find relief in a similar way, but are deterred sometimes by ignorance of the true principles of therapeutics, but oftener by a false pride of consistency. Let us rather say that he has simply fallen back upon a final privilege, and exercised a God-given faculty.