LOWELL used to find food for great mirth in General George P. Morris's
line,

"Her heart and morning broke together."

Lowell's well-beloved Dr. Donne, however, had an attack of the same
platitude, and possibly inoculated poor Morris. Even literature seems to
have its mischief-making bacilli. The late "incomparable and ingenious
Dean of St. Paul's" says,

"The day breaks not, it is my heart."

I think Dr. Donne's case rather worse than Morris's. Chaucer had the
malady in a milder form when he wrote:

"Up roos the sonne, and up roos Emelye."

The charming naivete of it!


SITTING in Ellen Terry's dressing-room at the Lyceum Theatre one evening
during that lady's temporary absence on the stage, Sarah Bernhardt
picked up a crayon and wrote this pretty word on the mirror--_Dearling_,
mistaking it for the word darling. The French actress lighted by chance
upon a Spenserianism now become obsolete without good reason. It is a
more charming adjective than the one that has replaced it.

A DEAD author appears to be bereft of all earthly rights. He is scarcely
buried before old magazines and newspapers are ransacked in search of