Who sticketh to God in stable trust,
As Sion's mount he stands full just,
Which moveth no whit, nor yet can reel,
But standeth forever as stiff as steel.

A part of the 137th Psalm runs thus: "If I forget thee, O Jerusalem, may my right hand forget her cunning, and may my tongue cleave to the roof of my mouth," which has been thus paraphrased in a version of the Psalms :

If I forget thee ever,

Then let me prosper never,

But let it cause

My tongue and jaws

To cling and cleave together.

At the bottom of an obelisk which Pius VI. was erecting at great expense near the entrance of the Quirinal Palace in 1783, while the people were starving for bread, were found written these words:

"Signore, dia questa pietra chi divenga pane."
("Lord, command that these stones be made bread.")

K

Marginalia

getting my books, I have been always solicitous of an ample margin; this not so

much through any love of the thing itself, however agreeable, as for the facility it affords me of pencilling suggested thoughts, agreements, and differences of opinion, or brief critical comments in general. Where what I have to note is too much to be included within the narrow limits of a margin, I commit it to a slip of paper, and deposit it between the leaves, taking care to secure it by an imperceptible portion of gum tragacanth paste.

All this may be whim; it may be not only a very hackneyed, but a very idle, practice; yet I persist in it still, and it affords me pleasure, which is profit, in despite of Mr. Bentham, with Mr. Mill on his back.

This making of notes, however, is by no means the making of mere memoranda, a custom which has its disadvantages, beyond doubt. "Ce que je mets sur papier," says Bernardin de St. Pierre," je remets de ma

mémoire, et par conséquence je l'oublie "; and, in fact, if you wish to forget anything on the spot, make a note that this thing is to be remembered.

But the purely marginal jottings, done with no eye to the memorandum-book, have a distinct complexion, and not only a distinct purpose, but none at all; this it is which imparts to them a value. They have a rank somewhat above the chance and desultory comments of literary chit-chat, for these latter are not unfrequently "talk for talk's sake," hurried out of the mouth; while the marginalia are deliberately pencilled, because the mind of the reader wishes to unburthen itself of a thought—however flippant, however silly, however trivial, still a thought; indeed not merely a thing that might have been a thought in time and under more favorable circumstances. In the marginalia, too, we talk only to ourselves; we therefore talk freshly, boldly, originally, with abandonnement, without conceit; much after the fashion of Jeremy Taylor, and Sir Thomas Browne, and Sir William Temple, and the anatomical Burton, and that most logical analogist, Butler, and some other people of the old day, who were too full of their matter to have any room for their manner, which, being thus left out of question, was a capital manner, indeed-a model of manners, with a richly marginalic air.

The circumscription of space, too, in these pencillings, has in it something more of advantage than

inconvenience. It compels us (whatever diffuseness of idea we may clandestinely entertain) into Montesquieu-ism, into Tacitus-ism (here I leave out of view the concluding portion of the Annals), or even into Carlyle-ism, a thing which, I have been told, is not to be confounded with your ordinary affectation and bad grammar. I say "bad grammar," through sheer obstinacy, because the grammarians (who should know better) insist upon it that I should not. But then grammar is not what these grammarians will have it, and, being merely the analysis of language with the result of this analysis, must be good or bad just as the analyst is sage or silly, just as he is a Horne Tooke or a Cobbett.

But to our sheep. During a rainy afternoon, not long ago, being in a mood too listless for continuous study, I sought relief from ennui in dipping here and there, at random, among the volumes of my library— no very large one, certainly, but sufficiently miscellaneous, and, I flatter myself, not a little recherché,

Perhaps it was what the Germans call the "brainscattering" humor of the moment; but, while the picturesqueness of the numerous pencil-scratches arrested my attention, their helter-skelteriness of commentary amused me. I found myself, at length, forming a wish that it had been some other hand than my own which had so bedevilled the books, and fancying that, in such case, I might have derived no inconsider