I know that never, never may her love for me return--
At night I muse upon the fact with undisguised concern--
But ever shall I bless that day: I don't bless as a rule,
The days I spent at "Dr. Crabb's Preparatory School."

And yet we two _may_ meet again--(be still, my throbbing heart!)--
Now rolling years have weaned us from jam and raspberry-tart.
One night I saw a vision--'twas when musk-roses bloom,
I stood--_we_ stood--upon a rug, in a sumptuous dining-room:

One hand clasped hers--one easily reposed upon my hip--
And "Bless ye!" burst abruptly from Mr. Goodchild's lip:
I raised my brimming eye, and saw in hers an answering gleam--
My heart beat wildly--and I woke, and lo! it was a dream.


"BOSWELL AND JOHNSON"
[Sidenote: _Macaulay_]

The Life of Johnson is assuredly a great, a very great work. Homer is
not more decidedly the first of heroic poets, Shakespeare is not more
decidedly the first of dramatists, Demosthenes is not more decidedly the
first of orators, than Boswell is the first of biographers. He has no
second. He has distanced all his competitors so decidedly that it is not
worth while to place them. Eclipse is first, and the rest nowhere.

We are not sure that there is in the whole history of the human
intellect so strange a phenomenon as this book. Many of the greatest men
that ever lived have written biography. Boswell was one of the smallest
men that ever lived, and he has beaten them all. He was, if we are to