No Eye To Watch, And No Tongue

The True Poet Dreams Being Awake.

Summer, As My Friend Coleridge Waggishly Writes, Has Set In With Its Usual Severity.

We Were Happier When We Were Poorer, But We Were Also Younger.

It Is Good To Have Friends At Court.

I Have Been Trying All My Life To Like Scotchmen, And Am Obliged To Desist From The Experiment In Despair.