There is one sentence there which seems to us almost to reach the intellectual sublime; and while it stirs within us the depths of sympathy and admiration, we could heartily wish that the young men of America would inhale the almost supra-mortal spirit which it breathes: "I would not with any idolatrous admiration regard the Constitution of the United States, nor any other work of man; but this side of idolatry, I hold it in profound respect.

Betrayer, what! thy soul relentless closing To grief the woman-shame no art can heal To that small life beneath my heart reposing! Man, man, the wild beast for its young can feel! Proud flew the sails receding from the land, I watched them waning from the wistful eye, Round the gay maids on Seine's voluptuous strand, Breathes the false incense of his fatal sigh.

The peculiar genius which breathes through it, the mingled tenderness and majesty, the Saxon simplicity, the preternatural grandeur, unequaled, unapproached, in the attempted improvements of modern scholars, all are here, and bear the impress of the mind of one man, William Tindale."

By the ancients man was called a microcosm, from his representing the macrocosm, that is, the universe in its whole complex; but it is not known at the present day why man was so called by the ancients, for no more of the universe or macrocosm is manifest in him than that he derives nourishment and bodily life from its animal and vegetable kingdoms, and that he is kept in a living condition by its heat, sees by its light, and hears and breathes by its atmospheres.

In festive hours Heaven smiles upon his truth; In combat deadly as the dragon's tooth; Bounteous in all things, his exhaustless hand Diffuses blessings through the grateful land; And, of the noblest thoughts and actions, lord; The soul of Gabriel breathes in every word, May Heaven with added glory crown his days; Praise, praise to mighty Mahmud everlasting praise!

They all of them bear strong traces of that deliberate courage without effort or ostentation, which distinguished his whole conduct; and his letter to Lord Camden breathes a generous spirit of self-devotion, highly expressive of the character and feelings of the writer. To Sir Joseph Banks. Sansanding, November 16, 1805.

He always talks to you as if he expected you to be interested in serious matters, and as if you were his intellectual equal. And he's so happy here in Florence! He gives you the impression of feeling every breath he breathes here a privilege. You ought to hear him talk about Savonarola, Mr. Colville."

And the steps became quicker, and a panting could be heard, so tragical that she at last divined that the horror was at hand. All at once the door was violently flung open. Morange entered. He was alone, beside himself, with livid face and scarce able to stammer. "He still breathes, but his head is smashed; it is all over." "What ails you?" she asked. "What is the matter?"

The present poem is represented to be a composition of one of these prisoners when he and his companions were confined in Tlatilolco, one of the suburbs of Tenochtitlan. It breathes hatred against his captors and an ardent thirst for vengeance.

He has much to do to stem the resentment of the pursuers. The head of Joaquin and the hand of Three-fingered Jack are poor, scanty booty. Not as ghastly as the half-dozen corpses swinging on Lagunitas' oaks, and ghastly trophies of a chase of months. The prisoners are lynched. Far and wide, cowardly avengers butcher suspected Mexicans. California breathes freely now.