28. Where the woulfe is broken in, it is beste for the poor sheepe to breake out." It is as well to remark that the above aphorisms are contained within the first 365 pages of the "Defense." Their orthography and punctuation have been carefully preserved, as they ought always to be in such like cases. Some of them I have not elsewhere met with, and others present _variæ lectiones_ of an interesting character. They are all delivered in a quaint simplicity of style, which admirably illustrates the general tone of thought and language of the period. COWGILL. PARAPHRASE ON THE 137TH PSALM BY CHURCHILL. A paraphrase of the 137th psalm by Charles Churchill may, perhaps, be deemed not unworthy of a place amongst your Notes. It was originally sent to Mrs. Baily of Cadbury, who had remonstrated with him on his devoting his pen exclusively to satire. That lady gave them to my maternal grandfather. Three lines of the last verse are lost. R. C. H. H. Thimbleby. "Our instruments untun'd, unsung, (Grief doth from musick fly) Upon the willow trees were hung, The trees that grew thereby. "'Raise, raise your voice,' the victors say, 'Touch, touch the trembling string, In Sion's manner briskly play, In Sion's manner sing.' "Our voice, alas! how should we raise In Babylonish ground? How should we sing Jehovah's praise In Pagan fetters bound? "If ever, much lov'd Sion, thou Dost from my mind depart, May my right hand no longer know Soft musick's soothing art. "If when in jocund songs I smile, Thou'rt not my choicest theme, May my tongue lose her wonted skill, Nor drink at Siloa's stream. "When Babylon's unhallowed host, Flow'd in with hostile tide, 'Down, down with Sion to the dust,' The sons of Edom cried. "Hear, hear O Lord these sons of spight, Nor let thy anger sleep, Let their own wishes on them light, In turn let Edom weep. "Blest is the man whose fated host Shall Babylon surround, Who shall destroy her impious boast, And raze her to the ground. "Blest is he, whose devouring hand," *** *** *** UPON THE DESCRIPTION OF THE MEDICEAN VENUS IN THE 4TH CANTO OF CHILDE HAROLD, STANZAS LI. AND LII. LI. "Appear'dst thou not to Paris in this guise? Or to more deeply blest Anchises? or, In all thy perfect goddess-ship, when lies Before thee thy own vanquished Lord of War? And gazing in thy face as toward a star Laid on thy lap, his eyes to thee upturn, Feeding on thy sweet cheek![4] while thy lips are With lava kisses melting while they burn, Showered on his eyelids, brow, and mouth, as from an urn! LII.