Such was Shakspeare's momentary humour, when he put it into Falstaff's mouth to ask what honour is "to him that died o' Wednesday." It is a humour that won't last--'tis against nature--man is more than half belligerent, and has a "murder" in him (to give it a bad name) "that will out." Even the peaceable Ephraim took up the handspike, and used it too, with "friend, keep thee in thy own ship." The "friend" was hyprocrisy--the use of the handspike, natural; the very elements are at war, and were made to be so--storms are as necessary as sunshine. But excellent able John Bell likes sunshine best; and who does not like him the better for that? And sweet sunshine has he shed around "The good Mayde"--a sunshine that makes its own magic circle, within which evil spirits or evil men shall not come. Tempt on, ye wizards--she looketh upwards, yet think not she will fall or miss her way--the Unseen guideth her steps. Bell's account of the matter is, however, far better. Let him publish his quaint poem, all of it; the specimens warrant the request. "Thus doth the goode Mayde, with a stedfaste eye, Walke through the troubles vaine, and peryls dire, That doe beset mayde's path with haytes full slie, The trappes and gynnes of mischief's cunning syre. Ne nought to her is riches' golden shower, Ne gaudy baites of dresse and rich attyre, Ne lover's talke, ne flatteries' worthless store, Ne scandal's forked tongue--that ancient liar, Ne music's magic breath, ne giddy wheel Of gay lascivious daunce, ne ill-raised mirthe, Ne promised state doth cause her mind to reel, Or lure from thoughts of heaven to joys of earthe."