between the crevices which time has uncemented. They make remarks. Is
then a tomb a monument of wonder? They talk of monks as things that are
no more. Then is the world no more. At last the time is come. They lay
their iron hand upon the stone. They knock, they knock. Hark! It rings
through the giant isles till the echo thrills with joy. They knock the
stony cerement that enshrines me. Great Heaven! I thank thee! Used as I
am become to my hollow narrowness, I shall rejoice to quit it. The lid
upraises. I feel the air. I feel the air. Now, now, let me rise. I feel
myself prepared. Ah! the boots fall off. I shall ascend. The boots fall
off. What are there none to raise me? See, they grin. Am I not come unto
the resurrection of the life? What! that horrid lid again. O, no, no.
They stifle me again. They fasten me to sleep--to sleep--to sleep. THIS,
THIS IS TO BE DEAD.

P.S.

* * * * *



NOTES OF A READER


WILLS,

_Abridged from Powell's Advice to Executors, (just published.)_


_Queen Consort._--An ancient perquisite belonging to the Queen Consort
was, that on the taking of a _whale_ on the coasts, it should be divided