and lightning for a cap,
And tons of loadstones weighing on his soul;
And eye out-stretched upon some vasty map
Of uncouth worlds, which ever onward roll
To infinite--like Revelation's scroll.
Now falling headlong from his mountain bed
Down sulph'rous space, o'er dismal lakes;
Now held by hand of air--on wings of lead
He tries to rise--gasping--the hands' hold breaks,
And downward he reels through shadows of the dead,
Who cannot die though stalking in hell's flakes,
Falling, he catches his heart-string on some hook, and--wakes.

E.H.[1]

[1] Where did the Sportsman's Letters come from?--ED.

* * * * *

LACONICS.

There is nothing to be said in favour of fashion, and yet how many are
contented implicitly to obey its commands: its rules are not even dictated
by the standard of taste, for it is constantly running into extremes and
condemns one day what it approves the next.

There are some people so incorrigibly stupid and prosing, that wherever
they are anxious of securing respect, silence would be their best policy.

As we advance in age, it is singular what a revolution takes place in our
feelings. When we arrive at maturity an unkind word is more cutting and
distresses us more than any bodily suffering; in our youth it was the
reverse.

There is nothing so ravishing to the proud and the great (with all their
resources for enjoyment) as to be thought happy by their inferiors.

Such are the casualties of life, that the presentiment of fear is far
wiser than that of hope; and it would seem at all times more prudent to be
providing against accident, than laying out schemes of future happiness.

The character of any particular people may be looked for with best success
in their national works of talent.

There is no absurdity in approving as well as condemning the same
individual; for as few people are always in the right, so on the other
hand it is improbable they should be always in the wrong.

The most elegant flattery is at second hand; viz., to repeat over again
the praises bestowed by others.

Ignorance, simple, helpless ignorance, is not to be imputed as a fault;
but very often men are wilfully ignorant.

We have fewer enemies than we imagine: many are too indolent to care at
all about us, and if the stream of censure is running against us, the
world is too careless to oppose it. If we could hear what is said of us in
our absence