When he is forsaken,

Withered and shaken,

What can an old man do but die? Ballad.

It is not linen you 're wearing out,

But human creatures' lives.1

Song of the Shirt.

My tears must stop, for every drop,

Hinders needle and thread.

Ibid.

But evil is wrought by want of thought

As well as want of heart.

The Lady's Dream.

And there is, even a happiness

That makes the heart afraid.

Ode to Melancholy.

There's not a string attuned to mirth,

But has its chord in Melancholy.

I remember, I remember

The fir-trees dark and high ;

I used to think their slender tops
Were close against the sky ;
It was a childish ignorance,
But now 't is little joy

To know I'm further off from heaven

Than when I was a boy.

Ibid.

I remember, I remember.

Seemed washing his hands with invisible soap

In imperceptible water.

Miss Kilmansegg.

1 It's no fish ye 're buying, it 's men's lives. The Antiquary, Ch. xi.

[Hood continued.

Gold! Gold ! Gold! Gold !

Bright and yellow, hard and cold.

Miss Killmansegg. Her Moral. Spurned by the young, but hugged by the old To the very verge of the churchyard mould.

How widely its agencies vary

Ibid.

to ruin to curse

to bless

To save
As even its minted coins express,

Now stamped with the image of Good Queen Bess,

And now of a Bloody Mary.

Oh! would I were dead now,

Or up in my bed now,

To cover my head now

And have a good cry!

RUFUS CHOATE.

Ibid.

A Table of Errata.

1799-1859.

There was a State without King or nobles ; there was a church without a Bishop; there was a people governed by grave magistrates which it had selected, and equal laws which it had framed. Speech before the New England Society, New York, December 22, 1843.

We join ourselves to no party that does not carry the flag and keep step to the music of the Union. Letter to the Whig Convention. Its constitution the glittering and sounding generalities of natural right which make up the Declaration of Independence.

Letter to the Maine Whig Committee.

One summer's eve, when the breeze was gone,

And the nightingale was mute.

Ibid.

The hairs on his brow were silver-white,

And his blood was thin and old.

Ibid.

W. M. PRAED. 1802 - 1839.

Twelve years ago I was a boy,

A happy boy, at Drury's.

School and School-fellows.

Some lie beneath the churchyard stone,

And some before the speaker.

I remember, I remember

How my childhood fleeted by,

The mirth of its December,

And the warmth of its July.

Ibid.

I remember, I remember.

THOMAS B. MACAULAY.

1800-1859.

She (the Roman Catholic Church) may still exist in undiminished vigour, when some traveller from New Zealand shall, in the midst of a vast solitude, take his stand on a broken arch of London Bridge to sketch the ruins of St. Paul's.' Review of Ranke's History of the Popes.

1 The same image was employed by Macaulay in 1824, in the concluding paragraph of a review of Mitford's Greece, and he repeated it in his review of Mill's Essay on Government, in 1829.

Who knows but that hereafter some traveller like myself will sit down upon the banks of the Seine, the Thames, or the Zuyder Zee, where now, in the tumult of enjoyment, the heart and the eyes are too slow to take in the multitude of sensations? Who knows but he will sit down solitary amid silent ruins, and weep a people inurned and their greatness changed into an empty name? - Volney's Ruins, Ch. 2.

At last some curious traveller from Lima will visit England, and give a description of the ruins of St. Paul's, like the editions of Baalbec and Palmyra. Horace Walpole. Letter to Mason, Nov. 24, 1774

Where now is Britain?

Even as the savage sits upon the stone

That marks where stood her capitols, and hears
The bittern booming in the weeds, he shrinks
From the dismaying solitude.

Henry Kirke White, Time.

In the firm expectation, that when London shall be an habitation of bitterns, when St. Paul and Westminster Abbey shall stand, shapeless and nameless ruins in the

Macaulay continued.]

The Puritans hated bearbaiting, not because it gave pain to the bear, but because it gave pleasure to the spectators.1

History of England. Vol. i. Ch. 2.

To every man upon this earth

Death cometh soon or late,
And how can man die better
Than facing fearful odds,
For the ashes of his fathers
And the temples of his gods?

Lays of Ancient Rome. Horatius, xxvii.

How well Horatius kept the bridge
In the brave days of old,

Ibid. lxx.

JOHN K. INGRAM.

Who fears to speak of Ninety-eight?
Who blushes at the name?

When cowards mock the patriot's fate,

Who hangs his head for shame ?

From The Dublin Nation, April 1, 1843. Vol. i. p. 339.

midst of an unpeopled marsh; when the piers of Waterloo Bridge shall become the nuclei of islets of reeds and osiers, and cast the jagged shadows of their broken arches on the solitary stream, some Transatlantic commentator will be weighing in the scales of some new and now unimagined system of criticism the respective merits of the Bells and the Fudges, and their historians. Shelley, Dedication to Peter Bell.

1 Even bearbaiting was esteemed heathenish and unchristian; the sport of it, not the inhumanity, gave offence. Hume, History of England, Vol. i. Ch. 62.