There Is A Pleasure In Affecting Affectation.

Books Which Are No Books.

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

There Is Absolutely No Such Thing As Reading But By A Candle. We Have Tried The Affectation Of A Book At Noon-day In Gardens, And In Sultry Arbours, But It Was Labor Thrown Away. Those Gay Motes In The Beam Come About You, Hovering And Teasing, Like So Many Coquets, That Will Have You All To Their Self, And Are Jealous Of Your Abstractions. By The Midnight Taper, The Writers Digests His Meditations. By The Same Light We Must Approach To Their Perusal, If We Would Catch The Flame, The Odour.

She Unbent Her Mind Afterwards - Over A Book.

A Babe Is Fed With Milk And Praise.