Mrs. Frances Sheridan described “Ennui,” as a new name for a compound disease of the blood, the brain, and the heart, from which none but the idle and selfish ever suffered; and Mrs. Barbauld added, that in God’s universe men, in spite of the heaviest afflictions or the greatest bereavements, might always find objects worthy of their hearts, and occupations worthy of their minds. ❦ O! many a shaft at random sent Finds mark the archer little meant; And many a word at random spoken, May soothe or wound a heart that’s broken. ❦ _On an Infant._ Ere sin could blight, or sorrow fade, Death came with friendly care; The opening bud to heaven conveyed, And bade it blossom there. ❦ It is remarked by T. P. Richter, one of the most celebrated German writers, that the empire of the sea belongs to the English, that of the earth to the French, and that of the air to the Germans. Madame de Stael says, “C’est l’imagination, plus que l’esprit, qui caracterise les Allemands.” ❦ _Hôtel à Paris “à vendre, ou à louer.”_ Cette enseigne, il faut l’avouer, De deux manières peut s’entendre: S’il s’agit de l’Hôtel, il peut-être à louer, Mais s’il s’agit du maître, Il est toujours à Vendre! ❦ [Sidenote: Epigram.] On dit que l’Abbé Planchette Prêche les sermons d’autrui; Moi, qui sais qu’il les achette, Je soutiens qu’ils sont à lui. ❦ [Sidenote: Russian Anecdote.] Lieutenant Rileieff, an officer on half-pay, who had participated in the insurrection, had been sentenced, with four other persons, to be torn in quarters by horses; but fearing the effect of a punishment so horrid and so unusual on the public mind, the sentence was changed to hanging, and the execution took place on the 24th July. The widowed Madame de Rileieff, who had only been a wife a few months, on the night which followed the execution, obtained from the executioner (to whom she went and offered a considerable bribe) the body of her husband; and herself, laden with this dreadful but cherished burthen, hastened to an isolated house which she occupied, where, after bathing it with her tears, she herself prepared the mutilated remains for the grave, which she made with her own hands in a secluded spot of the garden, solemnly and carefully closing the earth over it. And on that spot, soon as the stars brightened the heavens, was this poor mourner to be seen, like a phantom, clothed in deepest mourning, kneeling on the grave till morning. One winter’s night she came as usual, and knelt in prayer. The snow fell fast, and hung on her widowed garment: little by little her enfeebled frame yielded to the blast, and she fell insensible on the earth. When day dawned, she was at peace: she lay dead on her husband’s grave. ❦