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prison is; and we have improved on that ritual eye, reflecting the heavens and the earth; idea, for we have built our own-and are pri- and no one knows what the heavens and the soner, turnkey, and jailer all in one, and 'tis earth are, till he has seen them there-for that noiseless as the house of sleep. Or what if God made the heavens and the earth we feel we declare that Christopher North is a king from that beautiful revelation--and where in his palace, with no subjects but his own feeling is not, knowledge is dead, and a blank thoughts—his rule peaceful over those lights the universe. Love is life. The unloving and shadows-and undisputed to reign over merely breathe. A single sweet beat of the them his right divine.

heart is token of something spiritual that will The opening year in a town, now answers be with us again in Paradise. “0, bliss and in all things to our heart's desire. How beau- beauty! are these our feelings”—thought we tiful the smoky air! The clouds have a home once in a dream—“all circling in the sunshine ly look as they hang over the happy families of fair plumed in a flight of doves!” The vihouses, and seem as if they loved their birth- sion kept sailing on the sky-“to and fro for place;-all unlike those heartless clouds that our delight”—no sound on their wings more keep stravaigging over mountain-tops, and have than on their breasts; and they melted away no domicile in the sky! Poets speak of living in light as if they were composed of light-and rocks, but what is their life to that of houses in the hush we heard high up and far-off muWho ever saw a rock with eyes—that is, with sic-as of an angel's song. windows ? Stone-blind all, and stone-deaf, and That was a dream of the mysterious night; with hearts of stone; whereas who ever saw but now we are broad awake-and see no ema house without eyes--that is, windows ? Our blematical phantoms, but the mere sights of own is an Argus; yet the good old Conserva- the common day. But sufficient for the day is tive grudges not the assessed taxes-his optics the beauty thereof-and it inspires us with afare as cheerful as the day that lends them fection for all beneath the skies. Will the light, and they love to salute the setting sun, whole world, then, promise henceforth to love as if a hundred beacons, level above level, us ?--and we promise henceforth to love the were kindled along a mountain side. He might whole world. safely be pronounced a madman who preferred It seems the easiest of all easy things to be kind an avenue of trees to a street. Why, trees and good--and then it is so pleasant! “ Selfhave no chimneys; and, were you to kindle love and social are the same," beyond all quesa fire in the hollow of an oak, you would tion; and in that lies the nobility of our nature. soon be as dead as a Druid. It won't do to The intensest feeling of self is that of belongtalk to us of sap, and the circulation of ing to a brotherhood. All selves then know sap. A grove in winter, bole and branch— they have duties which are in truth loves--and leaves it has none--is as dry as a volume of loves are joys--whether breathed in silence, or

But a street, or a square, is full of uttered in words, or imbodied in actions; and “ vital sparks of heavenly flame" as a volume if they filled all life, then all life would be of poetry, and the heart's blood circulates good--and heaven would be no more than a through the system like rosy wine.

better earth. And how may all men go to heaBut a truce to comparisons; for we are be- ven? By making themselves a heaven on ginning to feel contrition for our crime against earth, and thus preparing their spirits to breathe the country, and, with humbled head and heart, empyreal air when they have dropped the dust. we beseech you to pardon us--ye rocks of Pa- And how may they make for themselves a vey-Ark, the pillared palaces of the storms-heaven on earth? By building up a happy ye clouds, now wreathing a diadem for the HOME FOR THE HEART. Much, but not all-oh! forehead of Helvellyn-ye trees, that hang the not nearly all-is in the site. But it must be shadows of your undying beauty over the “one within the precincts of the holy ground—and perfect chrysolite," of blessed Windermere !

within hearing of the waters of life. Our meaning is transparent now as the hand Pleasures of Imagination! Pleasures of of an apparition waving peace and good-will Memory! Pleasures of Hope ! All three to all dwellers in the land of dreams. In plainer most delightful poems; yet all the thoughts but not simpler words, (for words are like and all the feelings that inspired them-etheflowers, often rich in their simplicity--witness realized will not make FAITH! “The daythe Lily, and Solomon's Song)-Christian spring from on high hath visited us !" Blessed people all, we wish you a Merry Christmas is he who feels that line--nor need his heart and Happy New-Year, in town or in country“ die within him, were a voice to be heard at or in ships at sea.

midnight saying——“ This New Year's day shall A Happy New Year!-Ah! ere this ARIA, be thy last!” sung sotto voce, reach your ears, (eyes are ears, One voice-one young voice- all by its and ears are eyes, the week of all weeks will sweet, sad, solitary self, singing to us a Christbe over and gone, and the New-Year will seem mas Hymn! Listening to that music is like growing out of the old year's ashes!—for the looking at the sky with all its stars. year is your only Phænix. But what with time

Was it a spirit? to do has a wish- a hope--a prayer! Their

“ Millions of spiritual creatures walk unseen, power is in the Spirit that gives them birth.

Sole or responsive to each other's voice, And what is Spirit but the well-head of thoughts Hymning their great Creator." and feelings flowing and overflowing all life, yet leaving the well-head full of water as ever No, the singer, like ourselves, is mortal; and

-so lucid, that on your gazing intently into its in that thought, to our hearts, lies the pathos depths, it seems to become a large soft spi- of her prayers. The angels, veiling their faces


with their wings, sing in their bliss hallelujahs That voice again—“One of uld Scotland's round the throne of heaven; but shema poor songs, so sad and slow!" Her heart is now child of clay, with her face veiled but with the blamelessly with things of earth. “Sad and shades of humility and contrition, while slow!” and most purely sweet. Almost mourn

ful although it be, it breathes of happiness“Some natural tears she drops, but wipes them soon,

for the joy dearest to the soul has ever a faint sings, in her sorrow, supplications to be suffer-tinge of grief. O innocent enchantress! thou ed to see afar-off its everlasting gates-open- encirclest us with a wavering haze of beautiing not surely for her own sake for all of ful imagery, by the spell of that voice awakenwoman born are sinful—and even she in what ing after a mood of awe, but for thy own delove calls her innocence feels that her fallen light. From the long dim tracts of the past being does of itself deserve but to die. The come strangely blended recognitions of woe hymn is fading away, liker and liker an echo, and bliss, undistinguishable now to our own and our spirit having lost it in the distance, heart-nor knows that heart if it be a dream returns back holier to the heart-hush of home! of imagination or of memory. Yet why should

The million hunger and thirst after the we wonder? In our happiest hours there may stronger and darker passions; nothing will go have been something in common with our down with them but the intense. They are in- most sorrowful-some shade of sadness cast tolerant-or careless--or even ashamed of over them by a passing cloud, that now allies

ose emotions and affections that compose the them in retrospect with the sombre spirit of blessing of our daily life, and give its lustre to grief; and in our unhappiest hours there may the fire on the hearth of every Christian house- have been gleams of gladness, that seem now hold. Yet, for all that, they are inexperienced to give the return the calm character of peace. in those same stronger and darker passions of Do not all thoughts and feelings, almost all which they prate, and know nothing of the events, seem to resemble each other--when import of those pictures of them painted, with they are dreamt of as all past? All receive a background of gloom and foreground of fire, sort of sanctification in the stillness of the in the works of the truly great masters. The time that has gone by-just like the human disturbed spirit of such delineations is far be- being whom they adorned or degraded when yond the reaches of their souls; and they mis- they, too, are at last buried together in the botake their own senseless stupor for solemn som of the same earth. awe or their own mere physical excitement Perhaps none among us ever wrote verses for the enthusiasm of imagination soaring of any worth, who had not been, more or less, through the storm on the wings of intellect. readers of our old ballads. All our poets have There are such things in “Satan's Invisible been so—and even Wordsworth would not have World Displayed” in poetry, as strong and been the veritable and only Wordsworth, had dark passions; and they who are acquainted he not in boyhood pored-oh, the miser!-over with their origin and and call them bad pas- Percy's Reliques. From the highest to the sions; but the good passions are not dark, but humblest, they have all drunk from those silver bright-and they are strong too, stronger than springs. Shepherds and herdsmen and woodsdeath or the grave.

men have been the masters of the mightyAll human beings who know how to reap their strains have, like the voice of a solitary 6. The harvest of a quiet eye,

lute, inspired a power of sadness into the That broods and sleeps on its own heart,"

hearts of great poets that gave their genius to feel, by. the touch, the flowers of affection in sublimity that gave it dominion over all terror,

be prevalent over all tears, or with a power of every handful of beauty they gather up from like the sound of a trumpet. The Babes in those fortunate fields on which shines, for ever the Wood! Chevy Chace! Men become wothrough all seasons, the sun of life. How soft

men while they weepthe leaves! and, as they meet the eye, how fair! Framed, so might it seem, of green dew

“Or start up heroes from the glorious strain." consolidated into fragrance. Nor do they fade Sing then, “ The Dirge," my Margaret, to when gently taken from their stalk on its na- the oid Man, “so tender and so true” to the tive bed. They flourish for ever if you bruise spirit of those old ballads, which one might them not-sensitive indeed; and, if you are so think were written by Pity's self. forgetful as to treat them rashly, like those of the plant that bears that name, they shrink, and seem to shrivel for a time-growing pale, as if “O dig a grave, and dig it deep,

Where I and my true love may sleep! upbraiding your harshness; but cherished, they

We'll dig a grave and dig it deep, are seen to be all of

Where thou and thy true love shall sleep! “Immortal amaranth, the tree that grows Fast by the throne of God;"

Where winter winds may never blow !. for the seeds have fallen from heaven to earth,

And it shall be five fathom low,

Where winter winds shall never blow ! and for eighteen hundred years have been spreading themselves over all soils fit for their

“And let it be on yonder hill, reception-and what soil is not fit? Even fit Where grows the mountain daffodil !

And it shall be on yonder hill, are stony places, and places full of thorns.

Where grows the mountain daffodil ! For they will live and grow there in spite of such obstruction--and among rank and matted "And plant it round with holy briers,

To fright away the fairy fires ! weeds will often be seen peering out like prim

We'll plant it round with holy briers ! roses gladdening the desert.

To fright away the fairy fires!


“And let it be five fathom low.

* And set it round with celandine,

that lies on the surface, but has no power to And nodding heads of columbine! We'll set it round with celandine,

disturb, much less destroy, the record printed And nodding heads of columbine!

on the heart.

We are all of us getting old-or older; nor " And let the ruddock build his nest Just above my true love's breast !

would we, for our own part-if we could-reThe ruddock he shall build his nest

new our youth. Methinks the river of life is Just above thy true love's breast !

nobler as it nears the sea. The young are And warble his sweet wintry song

dancing in their skiffs on the pellucid shallows O'er our dwelling all day long!

near the source on the Sacred Mountains of And he shall warble his sweet song O'er your dwelling all day long.

the Golden East. They whose lot it is to be in

their prime, are dropping down the longer and “ Now, tender friends, my garments take,

wider reaches, that seem wheeling by with And lay me out for Jesus's sake! And we will now thy garments take,

their silvan amphitheatres, as if the beauty And lay thee out for Jesus' sake.

were moving mornwards, while the voyagers “And lay me by my true love's side,

are stationary among the shadows, or slowly That I may be a faithful bride!

descending the stream to meet the meridian We'll lay thee by thy true love's side, That thou may'st be a faithful bride !"

day. Many forget Ay-ay-thou too art gone, WILLIAM STAN

" The torrent's smoothness ere it dash below,” LEY Roscoe! What years have flown since and are lost in the roaring whirlpool. Under we walked among the “alleys green” of Al. Providence, we see ourselves on the river exlerton with thee and thy illustrious father! and panded into a sealike lake, or arm of the who ever conversed with him for a few hours sea; and for all our soul has escaped and sufin and about his own home-where the stream fered, we look up to the stars in gratitude---and of life flowed on so full and clear-without down to the stars-for the water too is full of carrying away impressions that never seemed stars as well as the sky-faint and dim indeed to be remembrances--so vivid have they re- --but blended, by the pervading spirit of mained amidst the obscurations and oblitera- beauty, with the brighter and bolder lumina. tions of time, that sweeps with his wings all / ries reposing on infinitude.


BUCHANAN LODG: -for a few months-fare- / with the spirit of cür kind. Weakest or well! 'Tis the Twelfth of November; and for wickedest of mortals are your soul-sick, lifethe City we leave thee not without reluctance, loathing, world-wearied men. In solitude we early in March by the blessing of Heaven again are prone to be swallowed up in selfishness; to creep into thy blooming bourne. Yet now and out of selfishness what sins and crimes and then we shall take a drive down, to while may not grow! At the best, moral stagnation away a sunny forenoon among thy undecaying ensues-and the spirit becomes, like “a greenevergreens, to breathe the balm of thy Christ- mantled pool,” the abode of reptiles. Then mas roses, and for one Gentle bosom to cull the ever welcome to us be living faces, and living earliest crocuses that may be yellowing through voices, the light and the music of realitythe thin snows of Spring.

dearer far than any mere ideas or emotions In truth, we know not well why we should hanging or floating aloof by themselves in the ever leave thee, for thou art the Darling of all atmosphere of imagination. Blest be the corthe Seasons; and Winter, so churlish else- dial grasp of the hand of friendship-blest the where, is ever bland to thee, and, daily alight- tender embrace of the arms of love! Nay, ing in these gardens, loves to fold and unfold, smile not, fair reader, at an old man's fervour; in the cool sunshine, the stainless splendour for Love is a gracious spirit, who deserteth of his pale-plumaged wings. But we are no not declining age. hermit." Dear to us though Nature be, here, The DROSKY is at the doorand, my eye! hand-in-hand with Art walking through our what a figure is Peter! There he sits, like a peaceful but not unpeopled Policy, a voice bear, with the ribands in his paws--no part comes to us from the city-heart-winning us visible of his human face or form divine, but away from the stillness of solitude into the stir his small red eyes-and his ruby nose, whose of life. Milton speaks of a region

re-grown enormity laughs at Liston. One lit"Above the stir and smoke of this dim spot,

tle month ago, the knife of that skilful chirurWhich men call Earth ;'!

geon pared it down to the dimensions of a and oft have we visited it; but while yet we Christian proboscis. Again 'tis like a wart on pursue the ends of this our mortal being, in a frost-reddened Swedish turnip. Pretty Poll,

, The mystery of the brain whence ideas arise, with small delicate pale features, sits beside and in the mystery of the heart whence emo- him like a snowdrop. How shaggy since he tions flow-kindred and congenial all--thought returned from our last Highland tour is Filho ever blending with feeling, reason with imagi- da Puta! His name long as his tail-and the nation, and conscience with passion--'tis our hair on his ears like that on his fetlocks. He duty to draw our delight from intercommunion absolutely reminds us of Hogg's Bonassus. Ay, bless these patent steps-on the same prin-' Every thing has been tenderly dusted as if by ciple as those by which we ascend our nightly hands that touched with a Sabbath feeling; couch-we are self-deposited in our Drosky. and though the furniture cannot be said to be Oh! the lazy luxury of an air-seat! We seem new, yet while it is in all sobered, it is in noto be sitting on nothing but a voluptuous thing faded. You are at first unaware of its warmth, restorative as a bath. And then what richness on account of its simplicity--its grace furry softness envelopes our feet! Yes—Mrs. is felt gradually to grow out of its comfortGentle_Mrs. Gentle--thy Cashmere shawl, and that which you thought but ease lightens twined round our bust, feels almost as silken into elegance, while there is but one image in smoothe as thine own, and scented is it with nature which can adequately express its repose the balm of thy own lips. Boreas blows on it that of a hill-sheltered field by sunset, under tenderly as a zephyr-and the wintry sunshine a fresh-fallen vest of virgin snow. For then seems summery as it plays on the celestial snow blushes with a faint crimson-nay, somecolours. Thy pelisse, too, over our old happy times when Sol is extraordinarily splendid, shoulders, purple as the neck of the dove when not faint, but with a gorgeousness of colouring careering round his mate. Thy comforter, that fears not to face in rivalry the western too, in our bosom—till the dear, delightful, de- clouds. licious, wicked worsted thrills through skin Let no man have two houses with one set and flesh to our very heart. It dirls. Drive of furniture. Home's deepest delight is undisaway, Peter. Farewell Lodge—and welcome, turbance. Some people think no articles fixin a jiffy, Moray Place.

tures--not even grates. But sofas and ottoAnd now, doucely and decently sitting in our mans, and chairs and footstools, and screensDrosky, behold us driven by Peter, proud as and above all, beds--all are fixtures in the Punch to tool along the staring streets the dwelling of a wise man, cognoscitive and sengreat-grandson of the Desert-born! Yet-yet sitive of the blessings of this life. Each has couldst thou lead the field, Filho, with old its own place assigned to it by the taste, tact, Filho, with old Kit Castor on thy spine. But and feeling of the master of the mansion, though our day be not quite gone by, we think where order and elegance minister to comfort, we see the stealing shades of eve, and, a little and comfort is but a homely word for happi. further on in the solemn vista, the darkness of ness. In various moods we vary their arrangenight; and therefore, like wise children of ment-nor is even the easiest of all Easynature, not unproud of the past, not ungrateful chairs secure for life against being gently for the present, and unfearful of the future, pushed on his wheels from chimney-nook to thus do we now skim along the road of life, window-corner, when the sunshine may have broad and smooth to our heart's content, able extinguished the fire, and the blue sky tempts to pay the turnpikes, and willing, when we the Pater-familias, or him who is but an uncle, shall have reached the end of our journey, to to lie back with half-shut eyes, and gaze upon lie down, in hope, at the goal.

the cheerful purity, even like a shepherd on What pretty, little, low lines of garden- the hill. But these little occasional disarrangefronted cottages ! leading us along out of rural ments serve but to preserve the spirit of perinto suburban cheerfulness, across the Bridge, manent arrangement, without which the very and past the Oriental-looking Oil-Gas Works, virtue of domesticity dies. What_sacrilege, with a sweep winding into the full view of therefore, against the Lares and Penates, to Pitt Street, (what a glorious name !) steep as turn a whole house topsy-turvy, from garret to some straight cliff-glen, and an approach truly cellar, regularly as May-flowers deck the zone majestic-yea, call it at once magnificent of the year! Why, a Turkey or a Persian, or right up to the great city's heart. “There goes even a Wilton or a Kidderminster carpet is as old Christopher North !” the bright boys in the much the garb of the wooden floor inside, as playground of the New Academy exclaim. the grass is of the earthen floor outside of your God bless you, you little rascals! We could house. Would you lift and lay down the almost find it in our heart to ask the Rector for greensward? But without further illustration a holiday. But, under him, all your days are be assured the cases are kindred-and so, holidays—for when the precious hours of too, with sofas and shrubs, tent-beds and trees. study are enlightened by a classic spirit, how Independently, however, of these analogies, not naturally do they melt into those of play! fanciful, but lying deep in the nature of things,

the inside of one's tabernacle, in town and Gay hope is yours, by fancy fed,

country, ought ever to be sacred from all radiLess pleasing when possest; The tear forgot as soon as shed,

cal revolutionary movements, and to lie for

ever in a waking dream of graceful repose. Yours buxom health, of rosy hue,

All our affections towards lifeless things be

come tenderer and deeper in the continuous And lively cheer, of vigour born ; The thoughtless day, the easy night,

and unbroken flow of domestic habit. The The spirits pure, the slumbers light,

eye gets lovingly familiarized with each object That fly th' approach of morn.

occupying its own peculiar and appropriate Descending from our Drosky, we find No. place, and feels in a moment when the most 99, Moray Place, exhibiting throughout all its insignificant is missing or removed. We say calm interior the selfsame expression it wore not a word about children, for fortunately, the day we left it for the Lodge, eight months since we are y.et unmarried, we have none; ago. There is our venerable winter Hat-as but even they, if brought up Christians, are no like Ourselves, it is said, as he can stare-sit- dissenters from this creed, and however rackety ting on the Circular in the Entrance-hall. Sin the nursery, in an orderly kept parlour cus

The sunshine of the breast;

Wild wit, invention ever new,


drawing-room how like so many pretty little whom we had been sorning, all unprepared did white mice do they glide cannily along the we once set our foot! From the moment, and floor! Let no such horror, then, as a fitting it was but for a moment, and about six o'clock ever befall us or our friends! O mercy ! only -far away in the country—that appalling vilook at a long huge train of wagons, heaped sion met our eyes-till we found ourselves, up to the windows of the first floors, moving about another six o'clock, in Moray Place, we along the dust-driving or mire-choked streets have no memory of the flight of time. Part with furniture from a gutted town-house of the journeymor voyage-we suspect, was towards one standing in the rural shades with performed in a steamer. The noise of knockan empty stomach! All is dimmed or de ing, and puffing, and splashing seems to be in stroyed-chairs crushed on the table-land, and our inner ears; but after all it may have been four-posted beds lying helplessly with their a sail-boat, possibly a yacht ! In the Attics an astonished feet up to heaven-a sight that | Aviary open to the sky. And to us below, the might make the angels weep!

many voices, softened into one sometimes in People have wondered why we, an old bar- the pauses of severer thought, are sometimes ren bachelor, should live in such a large house. very affecting, so serenely sweet it seems, as It is a palace; but never was there a greater the laverocks' in our youth at the gates of mistake than to seek the solution in our pride. heaven. Silence can be had but in a large house. And At our door stand the Guardian Genii, Sleep silence is the chief condition of home happi- and Silence. We had an ear to them in the

We could now hear a leaf fall-a leaf building of our house, and planned it after a of the finest wire-wove. Peter and Betty, Polly long summer day's perusal of the Castle of Inand the rest, inhabit the second sunk story-dolence. O Jemmy Thomson ! Jemmy Thomand it is delightful to know that they may be son !~0 that thou and we had been rowers in kicking up the most infernal disturbance at the same boat on the silent river! Rowers, this blessed moment, and tearing out each indeed! Short the spells and far between that other's hair in handfuls, without the faintest we should have taken--the one would not whisper of the uproar reaching us in our alti- have turned round the other but when the oar tude above the drawing-room flat. On New. chanced to drop out of his listless hand and Year's Day morning there is regularly a com- the canoe would have been allowed to drift petition of bag-pipers in the kitchen, and we with the stream, unobservant we of our backcould fondly imagine 'tis an Eolian Harp. In ward course, and wondering and then ceasing his pantry Peter practised for years on the to wonder at the slow receding beauty of the shrill clarion, and for years on the echoing hanging banks of grove-the cloud mountains, horn; yet'had he thrown up both instruments immovable as those of earth, and in spirit one in despair of perfection ere we so much as world. knew that he had commenced his musical stu- Ay! Great noise as we have made in the dies. In the sunk story, immediately below world--our heart's desire is for silence-its that, having been for a season consumptive, delight is in peace. And is it not so with all we kept a Jenny ass and her daughter--and men, turbulent as may have been their lives, though we believe it was not unheard around who have ever looked into their own being ? Moray and Ainslie Places, and even in Char- The soul longs for peace in itself; therefore, lotte Square, we cannot charge our memory wherever it discerns it, it rejoices in the image with an audit of their bray. In the sunk story of which it seeks the reality. The serene huimmediately below that again, that distinguish- man countenance, the wide water sleeping in ed officer on half pay, Captain Campbell of the moonlight, the stainless marble-depth of the Highlanders--when on a visit to us for a the immeasurable heavens, reflect to it that year or two-though we seldom saw him-got tranquillity which it imagines within itself, up a Sma' still--and though a more harmless though it never long dwelt there, restless as a creature could not be, there he used to sit for dove on a dark tree that cannot be happy but in hours together, with the worm that.never dies. the sunshine. It loves to look on what it loves, On one occasion, it having been supposed by even though it cannot possess it;, and hence Peter that the Captain had gone to the East its feeling on contemplating such calm, is not Neuk of Fife, weeks elapsed, we remember, of simple repose, but desire stirs in it, as if it ere he was found sitting dead, just as if he had would fain blend itself more deeply with the been alive, in his usual attitude in his arm- quiet it beholds! The sleep of a desert would chair, commanding a view of the precipice of not so affect it; it is Beauty that makes the difthe back court.

ference—that attracts spirit to matter, while Just as quiet are the Attics. They, too, are spirit becomes not thereby materialized-but furnished; for the feeling of there being one matter spiritualized; and we fluctuate in the unfurnished room, however small, in the largest air-boat of imagination between earth and heahouse, disturbs the entire state of mind of such ven. In most and in all great instances there an occupant, and when cherished and dwelt is apprehension, dim and faint, or more dison, which it must not unfrequently be, inspires tinct, of pervasion of a spirit throughout that a cold air of desolation throughout the domi- which we conceive Beautiful. Stars, the moon, cile, till “ thoughts of flitting rise." There is the deep bright ether, waters, the rainbow, a no lumber-room. The room containing Blue- pure lovely flower-none of them ever appear Beard's murdered wives might in idea be en- to us, or are believed by us to be mere physical tered without distraction by a bold mind. and unconscious dead aggregates of atoms. But oh! the lumber-room, into which, on an T'hat is what they are; but we could have no early walk through the house of a friend on pleasure in them, if we knew them as such.

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