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 stuck all over the Louvre and throughout France. Goldsmith (as we all know) when in Holland went out into a balcony with some handsome Englishwomen, and on their being applauded by the spectators, turned round and said peevishly—“There are places where I also am admired.” He could not give the craving appetite of an author’s vanity one day’s respite. I have seen a celebrated talker of our own time turn pale and go out of the room when a showy-looking girl has come into it who for a moment divided the attention of his hearers.—Infinite are the mortifications of the bare attempt to emerge from obscurity; numberless the failures; and greater and more galling still the vicissitudes and tormenting accompaniments of success—

“Would to God,” exclaimed Oliver Cromwell, when he was at any time thwarted by the Parliament, “that I had remained by my woodside to tend a flock of sheep, rather than have been thrust on such a government as this!” When Buonaparte got into his carriage to proceed on his Russian expedition, carelessly twirling his glove, and singing the air—“Malbrook