hanging it up so near a chimney in which peats or juniper bushes are
burnt, as to receive the smoke; there it remains two or three weeks, by
which time it generally acquires the required flavour.

T.S.W.

* * * * *

DEBTOR AND CREDITOR.

(_Concluded from page 227._)

Debt is obligation, and "obligation," says Hobbes, "is thraldom." This
will be evident if we once consider to what a variety of mean shifts the
state of being in debt exposes us. It sits like fetters of iron on
conscience; but as old offenders often whistle to the clanking of their
chains, so rogues lighten their hearts by increasing their debts. It
destroys freedom as much as a debtor is his creditor's slave; and, under
certain circumstances, his range may be reduced to a few square feet,
and his view prescribed by a few cubits of brick walls; and, humiliating
as this may appear, it sits lightly on the majority, since, even the
brawlers for liberty, forgetting "the air they breathe," are often to be
found within its pale; but in this case they also forget, that being in
legal debt is less venial than many other sins, since it cannot be
cleared by any appeals to argument, or settled by shades of opinion.
Subterfuge, lying, and loss of liberty, are not all the miseries of a
conscious debtor: in the world he resembles a prisoner at large; he
walks many circuitous miles to avoid being dunned, and would sooner meet
a mad dog than an angry creditor. He lives in a sort of _abeyance_,
and sinks under shame when caught enjoying an undue luxury. In short, he
is cramped in all his enjoyments, and considers his fellow, out of debt,
as great as the emperor of the celestial empire, after whose repast
other kings may dine. Hence ensue repining and envy: he fancies himself
slighted by the world, and, in return, he cares not for the opinion of
the world; his energies waste, and he falls.

These sufferings, however, appertain but to one class of debtors. There
are others who scorn such compunctious visitations, and set all laws of
conscience at defiance. They press into their service all the aids of
cunning, and travel on byroads of the world till they are bronzed enough
for its highway. Their memories are like mirrors, and their debts like
breathings on them, which vanish the same moment they are produced. They
look on mankind as a large family, and the world as a large storehouse,
or open house, where they have a claim proportione