In the deepest slumber-no! In delirium-no! In a swoon-no! In death-no! even in the grave all is not lost.
The eye, like a shattered mirror, multiplies the images of sorrow
Years of love have been forgot, In the hatred of a minute.
I have great faith in fools,— self-confidence my friends will call it.
Yet, mad am I not — and very surely do I not dream.
To speak algebraically, Mr. M. is execrable, but Mr. G. is (x + 1)- ecrable.