the same manner as from malt.




THE MARTYRDOM OF FAITHFUL IN VANITY FAIR.[6]


I.

The great human whirlpool!--'tis seething and seething:
On! No time for shrieking out, no time for breathing;
All toiling and moiling--some feebler, some bolder,
But each sees a fiend-face grin over his shoulder:
Thus merrily live they in Vanity Fair!

The great human caldron--it boils ever higher;
Some drowning, some sinking; while some, creeping nigher,
Come thirsting to lean o'er its outermost verges,
Or touch--as a child's feet touch trembling the surges:
One plunge--Ho! more souls swamped in Vanity Fair!

'Let's live while we live, for to-morrow all's over.
Drink deep, drunkard bold! and kiss close, thou mad lover!
Smile, hypocrite, smile! it is no such hard labour,
While each with red hand tears the heart of his neighbour
All slyly.--We're strange folk in Vanity Fair!

'Hist!--each for himself, or _herself_, which sounds smoother,
Though man's no upholder, and woman no soother,