A Poor Relation—is The Most Irrelevant Thing

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

As Half In Shade And Half In Sun This World Along Its Path Advances, May That Side The Sun 's Upon Be All That E'er Shall Meet Thy Glances!

Literature Is A Bad Crutch, But A Good Walking-stick.

It Is Well If The Good Man Himself Does Not Feel His Devotions A Little Clouded, Those Foggy Sensuous Steams Mingling With And Polluting The Pure Altar Surface.

The Man Must Have A Rare Recipe For Melancholy, Who Can Be Dull In Fleet Street.