the stage came lumbering up with its load of
stout, well-fed men, a young woman in the little hut called out: 'Just
see them _hogs_ on top of that coach!'

Whether the gentlemen heard her, I know not, but the rain having ceased,
all left the top of the vehicle and walked thence to the Mountain House.

I reached the Laurel House in the early twilight, and thus happily ended
my three days' journey.

THE MARCH OF LIFE.

Less from evils borne we suffer
Than from those we apprehend,
And no path through life seems rougher
Than the one which we ascend.

But though Time delights in dealing
Wounds which he alone can heal,
And the sorrows wed to feeling
Make it misery to feel;

Nobler than the soulless Stoic,
He, who, like the Theban chief,
Till the fight is won, heroic
Hides the rankling dart of grief.

Lords of an immortal glory
Be the slaves of mortal shame!
No; though Martyrdom before ye
Rear a precipice of flame.

On the barriers that dismay us
Carve the charter of your birth;
True endurance, like Antaeus,
Strengthens with each cast to earth.

Wayward man too often fritters
Living destinies away,
Chasing a mirage that glitters
To bewilder and betray.

Then press upward in the vanguard;
Be not guided by the blind;
For when Vigor waves the standard
Triumph is not far behind.

It was that which led the marches
Through the Revolution's snows,
And through Jena's fiery arches
Rolled destruction on its foes.

Then if failure blunt your spirit,
Think of this before you swerve:
He has glory who has merit--
It is royal to deserve.

THOMAS DE QUINCEY AND HIS WRITINGS.

No more signal service, during the last half century, has been rendered
to the lovers of genuine books, than the collection and republication of
the fragmentary writings of Thomas de Quincey. Cast, for the most part,
upon the swollen current of periodical literature, at the summons of
chance or necessity, during a career protracted beyond the allotted
threescore years and ten, the shattered hand of the Opium Eater was
powerless to arrest their flight to silence and forgetfulness;
increasing remoteness was daily throwing a deeper shadow upon ancient
landmarks, and consequently upon the possibility of their recovery. When
Mr. de Quincey was urged to a