And the small ripple spilt upon the beach Scarcely o'erpass'd the cream of your champagne, When o'er the brim the sparkling bumpers reach, That spring-dew of the spirit! the heart's rain! Few things surpass old wine; and they may preach Who please,—the more because they preach in vain,— Let us have wine and women, mirth and laughter, Sermons and soda-water the day after.

I only know we loved in vain; I only feel-farewell! farewell!

But words are things, and a small drop of ink, Falling like dew, upon a thought, produces That which makes thousands, perhaps millions, think.

Of all tales 'tis the saddest--and more sad, Because it makes us smile.

Christians have burnt each other, quite persuaded. That all the Apostles would have done as they did.

I am the very slave of circumstance And impulse borne away with every breath! Misplaced upon the throne misplaced in life. I know not what I could have been, but feel I am not what I should be let it end.

I should, many a good day, have blown my brains out, but for the recollection that it would have given pleasure to my mother-in-law.