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He scorned them from the centre of his heart, For well he knew mankind; and he who knows Must loathe or pity. He who dwells apart, With books, and nature, and philosophy, May lull himself with pity; he who dwells In crowds and cities, struggling with his race, Must daily see their falsehood and their faults, Their cold ingratitude, their selfishness: How can he choose but loathe them?

any other time, Norbourne Courtenaye would have been delighted at his uncle's visit; which, had it been but six months sooner, would have presented a very different aspect. Lord Norbourne was one of those men who made it his boast, that he had succeeded in whatever he undertook. We beg his lordship's pardon; he never boasted of any thing: he knew Fortune too well to tempt her by a