And glory long has made the sages smile,
Tis something, nothing, words, illusion, wind--
Depending more upon the historian's style
Than on the name a person leaves behind.
Troy owes to Homer what whist owes to Hoyle
The present century was growing blind
To the great Marlborough's skill in giving knocks,
Until his late Life by Archdeacon Coxe.

Byron.

Major Willoughby's feet were scarcely on the library floor, when he was
clasped in his mother's arms. From these he soon passed into Beulah's;
nor did his father hesitate about giving him an embrace nearly as warm.
As for Maud, she stood by, weeping in sympathy and in silence.

"And you, too, old man," said Robert Willoughby, dashing the tears from
his eyes, and turning to the elder black, holding out a hand--"this is
not the first time, by many, old Pliny, that you have had me between
heaven and earth. Your son was my old play-fellow, and we must shake
hands also. As for O'Hearn, steel is not truer, and we are friends for
life."

The negroes were delighted to see their young master, for, in that day,
the slaves exulted in the honour, appearance, importance and dignity of
their owners, far more than their liberated descendants do now in their
own. The major had been their friend when a boy; and he was, at
present, their pride and glory. In their view of the matter, the
English army did not contain his equal in looks, courage, military
skill, or experience; and it was treason _per se_ to fight against