It is singular how impatient men are with overpraise of others, how patient of overpraise of themselves; and yet the one does them no injury, while the other may be their ruin.

Hush! Still as death, The tempest holds his breath As from a sudden will; The rain stops short, but from the eaves You see it drop, and hear it from the leaves, All is so bodingly still.

The eye is the notebook of the poet.

Like streams that keep a summer mind Snow-hid in Jenooary.

In the parliament of the present every man represents a constituency of the past.

He gives us the very quintessence of perception,-the clearly crystalized precipitation of all that is most precious in the ferment of impression after the impertinent and obtrusive particulars have evaporated from the memory.

If youth be a defect, it is one that we outgrow only too soon.