with a great deal of pleasure; after which, the phantom who had led them into such gross delusions, was commanded to disappear.  There was sent in her stead a goddess of a quite different figure:  her motions were steady and composed, and her aspect serious but cheerful.  She every now and then cast her eyes toward heaven, and fixed them upon Jupiter.  Her name was Patience.  She had no sooner placed herself by the Mount of Sorrows, but, what I thought very remarkable, the whole heap sunk to such a degree that it did not appear a third part so big as it was before.  She afterward returned every man his own proper calamity, and, teaching him how to bear it in the most commodious manner, he marched off with it contentedly, being very well pleased that he had not been left to his own choice as to the kind of evil which fell to his lot.

Beside the several pieces of morality to be drawn out of this vision, I learnt from it never to repine at my own misfortunes, or to envy the happiness of another, since it is impossible for any man to form a right judgment of his neighbor’s sufferings; for which reason, also, I have determined never to think too lightly of another’s complaints, but to regard the sorrows of my fellow-creatures with sentiments of humanity and compassion.

Notes.—­Horace (b. 65, d. 8 B. C.) was a celebrated Roman poet.

Jupiter, according to mythology, was the greatest of the Greek and Roman gods; he was thought to be the supreme ruler of both mortals and immortals.

LXXXII.  JUPITER AND TEN. (301)

James T. Fields, 1817-1881, was born at Portsmouth, New Hampshire.  For many years he was partner in the well-known firm of Ticknor & Fields (Later Fields, Osgood & Co.), the leading publishers of standard American literature.  For eight years, he was chief editor of the “Atlantic Monthly;” and, after he left that position, he often enriched its pages by the productions of his pen.  During his latter years Mr. Fields gained some reputation as a lecturer.  His literary abilities were of no mean order:  but he did not do so much in producing literature himself, as in aiding others in its production. ###

Mrs. Chub was rich and portly,
  Mrs. Chub was very grand,
Mrs. Chub was always reckoned
  A lady in the land.

You shall see her marble mansion
  In a very stately square,—­
Mr. C. knows what it cost him,
  But that’s neither here nor there.

Mrs. Chub was so sagacious,
  Such a patron of the arts,
And she gave such foreign orders
  That she won all foreign hearts.

Mrs. Chub was always talking,
  When she went away from home,
Of a most prodigious painting
  Which had just arrived from Rome.

“Such a treasure,” she insisted,
  “One might never see again!”
“What’s the subject?” we inquired. 
  “It is Jupiter and Ten!”