'A farmer on his ass astride, Who peacefully pursued his ride, Exclaim'd, when, on a Spanish steed, A horseman pass'd with lively speed, "Ah, charming seat! what deed of mine Should thus incense the powers divine, Who doom me ne'er to shift my place, But at an ass's tardy pace?" Thus speaking, with chagrin and spite, He reach'd a rough and rocky height, Up which a poor, o'er-labour'd drudge, On tottering feet, was forc'd to trudge; With forehead prone, and bending back Press'd by a large and heavy pack. The farmer cross'd the hill at ease; Jocosely set, with lolling knees, On his poor ass, the rugged scene Appear'd a soft and level green, No flinty points his feet annoy'd; He pass'd the panting walker's side, Yet saw him not, so rapt his brain With dreams of Andalusia's plain. Such is the world--our bosoms brood With keen desire o'er others' good; On this we muse, and, musing still, We rarely dream of others' ill. A further truth the tale unfolds: Each, like the ass-born hind, beholds The rich around on steeds of Spain, And deems their rank exempt from pain. But still let us our notice keep On those who clamber up the steep.' _The Land of the Halt_ (Gellert).--'Many years since, in a small territory, there was not one of the inhabitants who did not stutter when he spoke, and halt in walking; both these defects, moreover, were considered accomplishments. A stranger saw the evil, and, thinking how they would admire his walking, went about without halting, after the usual manner of our race. Everyone stopped to look at him, and all those who looked, laughed, and, holding their sides to repress their merriment, shouted: "Teach the stranger how to walk properly!" 'The stranger considered it his duty to cast the reproach from himself. "You halt," he cried, "it is not I; you must accustom yourselves to leave off so awkward a habit!" This only increased the uproar, when they heard him speak; he did not even stammer; this was sufficient to disgrace him, and he was laughed at throughout the country. 'Habit will render faults, which we have been accustomed to regard from youth, beautiful; in vain will a stranger attempt to convince us that we are in error. We look upon him as a madman, solely because he is wiser than ourselves.' _The Beau and Butterfly_ (Francis Gentleman).