Critics are already made.

All Heaven and Earth are still, though not in sleep, But breathless, as we grow when feeling most.

A bargain is in its very essence a hostile transaction do not all men try to abate the price of all they buy? I contend that a bargain even between brethren is a declaration of war.

What exile from himself can flee? To zones, though more and more remote, Still, still pursues, where'er I be, The blight of life--the demon Thought.

And then he danced,-all foreigners excel the serious Angels in the eloquence of pantomime;-he danced, I say, right well, with emphasis, and a'so with good sense-a thing in footing indispensable: he danced without theatrical pretence, not like a ballet-master in the van of his drill'd nymphs, but like a gentleman.

I have imbibed such a love for money that I keep some sequins in a drawer to count, and cry over them once a week.

Dreading that climax of all human ills the inflammation of his weekly bills.