It has been said that the immortality of the soul is a grand peut-tre -but still it is a grand one. Everybody clings to it -the stupidest, and dullest, and wickedest of human bipeds is still persuaded that he is immortal.

Oh, Christ! it is a goodly sight to see What Heaven hath done for this delicious land!

I doubt sometimes whether a quiet and unagitated life would have suited me - yet I sometimes long for it.

Ada! sole daughter of my house and heart.

It is true from early habit, one must make love mechanically as one swims; I was once very fond of both, but now as I never swim unless I tumble into the water, I don't make love till almost obliged.

The cold, the changed, perchance the dead, anew, The mourn'd, the loved, the lost,-too many, yet how few!

Bologna is celebrated for producing popes, painters, and sausage.