inspiration of the spirit of the age;” the men of the ’seventies who “played with billiard-balls games that were not billiards,” and the lady of the ’forties who “sacrificed even her lovers to her friends;” stolid bores, our “Social Polyphemi;” books, “the curse of the human race;” of Austria, “two things made her a nation, she was German and she was a Catholic, and now she is neither;” of the Reform Bill, “It gave to Manchester a bishop and to Birmingham a dandy.” And, less familiar, there is “Lord Squib’s” definition of money value, “very dear;” “Count Mirabel’s” pleasantry, “coffee and confidence;” “Essper George’s,” “Like all great travellers, I have seen more than I remember, and remembered more than I have seen;” Venus, the “goddess of watering-places,” and “Burlington” with “his old loves and new dances.” There is the advice in _The Young Duke_, too, that “good fortune with good management, no country house and no children, is Aladdin’s lamp,” and that in _Lothair_ to “go into the country for the first note of the nightingale and return to town for the first muffin bell.” Then there is the “treatise on a subject in which everybody is interested, in a style no one understands;” and there are the French actresses averring at supper, “No language makes you so thirsty as French;” the English tradesmen who “console themselves for not getting their bills paid by inviting their customers to dinner;” the Utilitarian, whose dogma was “Rules are general, feelings are general, and property should be general;” and the definition of Liberty, “Do as others do, and never knock men down.” There is Monmouth’s “some woman has got hold of him and made him a Whig.” There is the great political lady “who liked handsome people, even handsome women;” and there is the unfortunate third-rate statesman, “who committed suicide from a want of imagination.” Nor should I omit an unprinted _mot_. He defined a political “Deputation” as “a noun of multitude meaning many, but not signifying much.” He was wont also to distinguish between “lawyers” and “legislators.” A brace of very witty similes also claim a mention here--the comparison of the Parliament-built region of Harley Square to “a large family of plain children with Portland Place and Portman Square for their respectable parents;” and that of the detached breakfast-tables at “Brentham,” to “a cluster of Greek or Italian Republics, instead of a great metropolitan table, like a central government, absorbing all the genius and resources of society.” Further, in the same category are the many metaphorical allusions and descriptions that ornament his speeches. The transference of the Bank currency crisis to the Neapolitan procession and miracle of St. Januarius, both from a common cause, “congealed circulation;” the picture of a maladroit reinforcement of opposition as the exploit of the Turkish Admiral, summoned by the Sultan and blessed by the muftis,