sacrificed thee to their indignation; for all knights are not possessed of civility or good-nature; some are rough and revengeful; and neither are all those that assume the name, of a disposition suitable to the function. Some indeed are of the right stamp, but others are either counterfeit, or of such an allay as cannot bear the touchstone, though they deceive the sight. Inferior mortals there are, who aim at knighthood, and strain to reach the height of honor; and highborn knights there are, who seem fond of grovelling in the dust, and being lost in the crowd of inferior mortals. They first raise themselves by ambition or by virtue: the last debase themselves by negligence or by vice; so that there is need of a distinguishing understanding to judge between these two sorts of knights, so nearly allied in name, and so different in actions." "Bless me! dear uncle," cried the niece, "that you should know so much, as to be able, if there was occasion, to get up into a pulpit, or preach* in the streets, and yet be so strangely mistaken, so grossly blind of understanding, as to fancy a man of your years and infirmity can be strong and valiant; that you can set every thing right, and force stubborn malice to bend, when you yourself stoop beneath the burden of age; and what is yet more odd, that you are a knight, when it is well known you are none? For though some gentlemen may be knights, a poor gentleman can hardly be so, because he cannot buy it."

* A common thing in Spain and Italy, for the friars and young Jesuits, in an extraordinary fit of zeal, to get upon a bulk, and hold forth in the streets or market-place.

"You say well, niece," answered Don Quixote; "and as to this last observation, I could tell you things that you would admire at, concerning families; but because I will not mix sacred things with profane, I waive the discourse. However, listen both of you, and for your farther instruction know that all the lineages and descents of mankind are reducible to these four heads: First, of those, who, from a very small and obscure beginning, have raised themselves to a spreading and prodigious magnitude. Secondly, of those who, deriving their greatness from a noble spring, still preserve the dignity and character of their original splendor. A third, are those who, though they had large foundations, have ended in a point like a pyramid, which by little and little dwindles as it were into nothing, or next to nothing, in comparison of its basis. Others there are (and those are the bulk of mankind) who have neither had a good beginning, nor a rational continuance, and whose ending shall therefore be obscure; such are the common people, the plebeian race. The Ottoman family is an instance of the first sort, having derived their present greatness from the poor beginning of a base-born shepherd. Of the second sort, there are many princes who being born such, enjoy their dominions by inheritance, and leave them to their successors, without addition or diminution. Of the third sort, there is an infinite number of examples: for all the Pharaohs and Ptolomies of Egypt, your Cæsars of Rome, and all the swarm (if I may use that word) of princes, monarchs, lords, Medes, Assyrians, Persians, Greeks and Barbarians: all these families and empires have

ended in a point, as well as those who gave rise to them; for it were impossible, at this day, to find any of their descendants, or if we could find them, it would be in a poor grovelling condition. As for the vulgar, I say nothing of them, more than that they are thrown in as ciphers to increase the number of mankind, without deserving any other praise." Now, my good-natured souls, you may at least draw this reasonable inference from what I have said of this promiscuous dispensation of honors, and this uncertainty and confusion of descent, that virtue and liberality in the present possessor, are the most just and undisputable titles to nobility; for the advantages of pedigree, without these qualifications, serve only to make vice more conspicuous. The great man that is vicious will be greatly vicious, and the rich miser is only a covetous beggar; for, not he who possesses, but that spends and enjoys his wealth, is the rich and the happy man; nor he neither who barely spends, but who does it with discretion. The poor knight indeed cannot show he is one by his magnificence; but yet by his virtue, affability, civility, and courteous behavior, he may display the chief ingredients that enter into the composition of the knighthood; and though he cannot pretend to liberality, wanting riches to support it, his charity may recompense that defect; for an alms of two maravedis cheerfully bestowed upon an indigent beggar, by a man in poor circumstances, speaks him as liberal as the larger donative of a vainglorious rich man before a fawning crowd. These accomplishments will always shine through the clouds of fortune, and at last break through

them with splendor and applause. There are two paths to dignity and wealth; arts and arms. Arms I have chosen; and the influence of the planet Mars, that presided at my nativity, led me to that adventurous road. So that all your attempts to shake my resolution are in vain for in spite of all mankind, I will pursue what heaven has fated, fortune ordained, what reason requires, and (which is more) what my inclination demands. I am sensible of the many troubles and dangers that attend the prosecution of knight-errantry, but I also know what infinite honors and rewards are the consequences of the performance. The path of virtue is narrow, and the way of vice easy and open; but their ends and resting-places are very different. The latter is a broad road indeed, and down hill all the way; but death and contempt are always met at the end of the journey: whereas the former leads to glory and life, not a life that soon must have an end, but an immortal being. For I know, as our great* Castilian poet expresses it, that

'Through steep ascents, through strait and rugged ways, Ourselves to glory's lofty seats we raise:

In vain he hopes to reach the bless'd abode,

Who leaves the narrow path, for the more easy road.'"

"Alackaday!" cried the niece, "my uncle is a poet too! He knows every thing. I will lay my life he might turn mason in case of necessity. If he would but undertake it, he could build a house as easy as a bird-cage." "Why truly, niece," said Don

* Boscan, one of the first reformers of the Spanish poetry.

*

Quixote, "were not my understanding wholly involved in thoughts relating to the exercise of knighterrantry, there is nothing which I durst not engage to perform, no curiosity should escape my hands, especially bird-cages and tooth-pickers." By this somebody knocked at the door, and being asked who it was, Sancho answered it was he. Whereupon the housekeeper slipped out of the way, not willing to see him, and the niece let him in. Don Quixote received him with open arms; and locking themselves both in the closet, they had another dialogue as pleasant as the former.

CHAPTER VII.

AN ACCOUNT OF DON QUIXOTE'S CONFERENCE WITH HIS SQUIRE, AND OTHER MOST FAMOUS PASSAGES.

THE housekeeper no sooner saw her master and Sancho locked up together, but she presently surmised the drift of that close conference, and concluding that no less than villanous knight-errantry and another sally would prove the result of it, she flung her veil over her head, and, quite cast down with sorrow and vexation, trudged away to seek Samson Carrasco, the bachelor of arts; depending on his wit and eloquence, to dissuade his friend Don Quixote from his frantic resolution. She found him

* Palillo de dientes, i. e. a little stick for the teeth. Toothpickers in Spain are made of long shavings of boards, split and reduced to a straw's breadth, and wound up like small wax-lights.