“You are a dog; you say that it is the earth that turns round, never reflecting that Joshua made the sun to stand still!” “Well! my reverend father,” replied the philosopher, “ever since that time has not the sun been immovable?” The dog and the Dominican embraced each other, and even the devout Italians were at length convinced that the earth turns round. An augur and a senator lamented, in the time of Cæsar, the declining state of the republic. “The times, indeed, are very bad,” said the senator; “we have reason to tremble for the liberty of Rome.” “Ah!” said the augur, “that is not the greatest evil; the people now begin to lose the respect which they formerly had for our order. We seem barely to be tolerated—we cease to be necessary. Some generals have the assurance to give battle without consulting us. And, to complete our misfortunes, even those who sell us the sacred pullets begin to reason.” “Well, and why don’t you reason likewise?” replied the senator, “and since the dealers in pullets in the time of Cæsar are more knowing than they were in the time of Numa, ought not you modern augurs to be better philosophers than those who lived in former ages?” THE TWO COMFORTERS. The great philosopher Citosile once said to a woman who was disconsolate, and who had good reason to be so: “Madame, the queen of England, daughter to Henry IV., was as wretched as you. She was banished from her kingdom, was in great danger of losing her life at sea, and saw her royal spouse expire on a scaffold.” “I am sorry for her,” said the lady, and began again to lament her own misfortunes. “But,” said Citosile, “remember the fate of Mary Stuart. She loved (but with a most chaste and virtuous affection) an excellent musician, who played admirably on the bass-viol. Her husband killed her musician before her face; and in the sequel her good friend and relative, Queen Elizabeth, who called herself a virgin, caused her head to be cut off on a scaffold covered with black, after having confined her in prison for the space of eighteen years.” “That was very cruel,” replied the lady, and presently relapsed into her former melancholy. “Perhaps,” said the comforter, “you have heard of the beautiful Joan of Naples, who was taken prisoner and strangled.” “I have a dim remembrance of her,” said the afflicted lady. “I must relate to you,” continued the other, “the adventure of a sovereign princess who, within my recollection, was dethroned after supper and who died on a desert island.” “I know her whole history,” replied the lady.