The want of an international Copy-Right Law, by rendering it nearly impossible to obtain anything from the booksellers in the wayof remuneration for literary labor, has had the effect of forcing many of our very best writers into the service of the Magazines and Reviews.

I dread the events of the future, not in themselves but in their results.

The rain came down upon my head - Unshelter'd. And the wind rendered me mad and deaf and blind.

Years of love have been forgot, In the hatred of a minute.

The nose of a mob is its imagination. By this, at any time, it can be quietly led.

As an individual, I myself feel impelled to fancy ... a limitless succession of Universes.... Each exists, apart and independently, in the bosom of its proper and particular God.

And travellers, now, within that valley, Through the red-litten windows see Vast forms, that move fantastically To a discordant melody, While, like a ghastly rapid river, Through the pale door A hideous throng rush out forever And laugh — but smile no more.