ties of which we are by far too
much elated to avail ourselves; dangers that used to appear appalling
are felt now to be lulling securities--obstacles, like mountains, lying
in our way of life as we walked towards the temple of Apollo or Plutus,
we smile at the idea of surmounting, so molehillish do they look, and we
kick them aside like an old footstool. Let the country ask us for a
scheme to pay off the national debt--_there she has it_; do you request
us to have the kindness to leap over the moon--here we go; excellent Mr
Blackwood has but to say the word, and a ready-made Leading Article is
in his hand, promotive of the sale of countless numbers of "my
Magazine," and of the happiness of countless numbers of mankind. We
feel--and the feeling proves the fact--as bold as Joshua the son of
Nun--as brave as David the son of Jesse--as wise as Solomon the son of
David--and as proud as Nebuchadnezzar the son of Nebopolazzar. We survey
our image in the mirror--and think of Adam. We put ourselves into the
posture of the Belvidere Apollo.

"Then view the Lord of the unerring bow,
The God of life, and poesy, and light,
The Sun in human arms array'd, and brow
All radiant from his triumph in the fight.
The shaft hath just been shot--the arrow bright
With an immortal vengeance; in his eye
And nostril beautiful disdain, and might
And majesty flash their full lightnings by,
Developing in that one glance the Deity."

Up four flight of stairs we fly--for the bath is in the double-sunk
story--ten steps at a bound--and in five minutes have devoured one
quartern loaf, six eggs, and a rizzar, washing all over with a
punch-bowl of congou and a tea-bowl of coffee.

"Enormous breakfast,
Wild without rule or art! Where nature plays
Her virgin fancies."

And then, leaning back on our Easy-chair, we perform an exploit beyond
the reach of Euclid--why, WE SQUARE THE CIRCLE, and to the utter
demolition of our admirable friend Sir David Brewster's diatribe, in a
late number of the _Quarterly Review_, on the indifference of Government
to men of science, chuckle over our nobly-won order K.C.C.B., Knight
Companion of the Cold Bath.

Many analogies between the seasons of the year and the seasons of life,
being natural, have been a frequent theme of poetry in all countries.
Had the gods made us poetical, we should now have poured forth, a few
exquisite illustrations of some that