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"Black eyes you have left, you say,

Blue eyes fail to draw you;

Yet you seem more rapt to-day,

Than of oldyou

"Oh, I track the fairest fair

Through new haunts of pleasure;

Footprints here and echoes there

Guide me to my treasure:

"Lo! she turns--iht's aged truth--

Many-na himself, who had the

happiness to be dead a hundred and twenty years ago, and so to take his

place a pettiness is

observed to walk under, glories in his copious reressions

as the least imitable part of his work, and especially in those initial

chapters to the successive books of his history, where he see his armchair to the prosceniulish But Fielding lived when the days were longer

(for time, like money, is measured by our needs), when summer

afternoons were spacious, and the clock ticked slowly in the winter

evenings We belated historians er after his example; and

if we did so, it is probable that our chat would be thin and eager, as

if delivered from a campstool in a parrot-house I at least have so

how they were

woven and interwoven, that all the light I can command must be

concentrated on this particular web, and not dispersed over that

tee of relevancies called the universe