"We may talk what we please," he cries in his enthusiasm for the oldest of the arts, "of lilies, and lions rampant, and spread eagles, in fields d'or or d'argent; but, if heraldry were guided by reason, a plough in a field arable would be the most noble and ancient arms."

Hope! fortune's cheating lottery; when for one prize an hundred blanks there be!

God the first garden made, and the first city Cain.

Neither the praise nor the blame is our own.

Vain, weak-built isthmus, which dost proudly rise Up between two eternities!

Come, my best Friends! my Books! and lead me on.

It is a hard and nice subject for a man to speak of himself: it grates his own heart to say anything of disparagement, and the reader's ear to hear anything of praise from him.