Oh for a tongue to curse the slave Whose treason, like a deadly blight, Comes o'er the councils of the brave, And blasts them in their hour of might!

To be sick is to enjoy monarchical prerogatives.

Riddle of destiny, who can show What thy short visit meant, or know What thy errand here below?

The teller of a mirthful tale has latitude allowed him. We are content with less than absolute truth.

In the indications of female poverty there can be no disguise. No woman dresses below herself from caprice.

We encourage one another in mediocrity.

What a place to be in is an old library! It seems as though all the souls of all the writers that have bequeathed their labours to these Bodleians were reposing here as in some dormitory, or middle state. I do not want to handle, to profane the leaves, their winding-sheets. I could as soon dislodge a shade. I seem to inhale learning, walking amid their foliage; and the odor of their old moth-scented coverings is fragrant as the first bloom of the sciential apples which grew amid the happy orchard.