d along in the
sunshiny ether--and every limberest spray there again taking root,
reascended a stately scion, and so on ceaselessly through all the hours,
each in itself a spring-season, till the figurative words of Milton
have been fulfilled,--

--"Her arms
Branching so broad and long, that in the ground
The bended twigs take root, and daughters grow
About the mother tree, a pillar'd shade
High overarch'd, and echoing walks between;
There oft the Ettrick Shepherd, shunning heat,
Shelters in cool, and tends his pasturing herds
At loopholes cut through thickest shade."

But, alas! for the Odontist! He, the "_Deliciae generis Humani_," is
dead. The best of all the Bishops of Bristol is no more. Mansel had not
a tithe of his wit--nor Kaye a tithe of his wisdom. And can it be that
we have not yet edited "His Remains!" "Alas! poor Yorick!" If Hamlet
could smile even with the skull of the Jester in his hands, whom when a
princely boy he had loved, hanging on his neck many a thousand times,
why may not we, in our mind's eye seeing that mirthful face "quite
chap-fallen," and hearing as if dismally deadened by the dust, the voice
that "so often set our table on a roar!" Dr Parr's wig, too, is all out
of frizzle; a heavier shot has dishevelled its horsehair than ever was
sent from the Shepherd's gun; no more shall it be mistaken for owl
a-blink on the mid-day bough, or ptarmigan basking in the sun high up
among the regions of the snow. It has vanished, with other lost things,
to the Moon; and its image alone remains for the next edition of the
celebrated treatise "_De Rebus Deperditis_," a suitable and a welcome
frontispiece, transferred thither by the engraver's cunning from the
first of those Eight Tomes that might make the Trone tremble, laid on
the shoulders of Atlas who threatens to put down the Globe, by the least
judicious and the most unmerciful of editors that ever imposed upon the
light living the heavy dead--John Johnson, late of Birmingham, Fellow of
the Royal Society, and of the Royal College of Physicians, whose
practice is duller than that of all Death's doctors, and his
prescriptions in that preface unchristianly severe. ODoherty, likewise,
has been gathered to his fathers. The Standard-bearer has lowered his
colours before the foe who alone is invincible. The Ensign, let us not
fear, has been advanced to a company without purchase, in the
Celestials; the Adjutan