Ever judge of men by their professions. For though the bright moment of promising is but a moment, and cannot be prolonged, yet if sincere in its moment's extravagant goodness, why, trust it, and know the man by it, I say,- not by his performance; which is half the world's work, interfere as the world needs must with its accidents and circumstances: the profession was purely the man's own. I judge people by what they might be,- not are, nor will be.

'Tis well averred, A scientific faith's absurd.

The curious crime, the fine Felicity and flower of wickedness.

Oh, good gigantic smile o' the brown old earth, This autumn morning! How he sets his bones To bask i' the sun, and thrusts out knees and feet. From the ripple to run over in its mirth

Only I discern Infinite passion, and the pain Of finite hearts that yearn.

I show you doubt, to prove that faith exists.

Autumn wins you best by this its mute appeal to sympathy for its decay.