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this the reward of my watchful nights—to draw the respect of all ranks and conditions.——

And lastly, to enjoy the beatitude of translation into heaven, bodily, and alive; to set storm, and tempest, and Time himself at defiance, to soar away under the sun, moon, and stars, with the sweet birds in concert around you; and while kings and potentates are the food of worms, to have the honour of frequent visits from the royal bird of Jove.—Maurice, Maurice, have a care of yourself;—beware of the beast that has three legs.

And you are afraid of that, you pitiful animal? Many a noble fellow, fit to have reformed the world, has rotted between heaven and earth.—And does not the renown of such men live for centuries?—ay for a millennium;—while the vulgar herd of kings and princes would be overlooked in the catalogue, but that the historian finds it necessary to complete his genealogical tree, and swell the number of his pages, for which his bookseller pays him by the sheet.—Ay! and when the traveller sees him dangling in the wind,—there, says he, muttering to himself, that man had no