What follows is so beautiful (except the extravagant condemnation of a passionate tenderness which he, of all men, should have been the last to condemn) that the passage though it has set us ashore, must be continued a little farther. “I have wandered,” he proceeds, “thro' the woods, reflecting on the singular goodness of the Lord to me in a place where, perhaps, there was not a person who knew him, for some thousand miles round me. Many a time upon these occasions I have restored the beautiful lines of Tibullus,[1] to the right owner; lines full of blasphemy and madness, when addressed to a creature, but full of comfort and propriety in the mouth of a believer. _Sic ego desertis possum bene vivere sylvis, Quà nulla humano sit via trita pede. Tu mihi curarum requies, in nocte vel atra Lumen, et in solis tu mihì turba locis._” [Footnote 1: Mr. Newton by an easy slip of the memory, has ascribed the lines to Propertius.] CHAPTER CLXVII. A MOTTO WHICH IS WELL CHOSEN BECAUSE NOT BEING APPLICABLE IT SEEMS TO BE SO. THE AUTHOR NOT ERRANT HERE OR ELSEWHERE. PHILOSOPHY AND OTHER-OSOPHIES. Much from my theme and friend have I digressed, But poor as I am, poor in stuff for thought, And poor in thought to make of it the best, Blame me not, Gentles, if I soon am caught By this or that, when as my themes suggest Aught of collateral aid which may be wrought Into its service: Blame me not, I say; The idly musing often miss their way. CHARLES LLOYD. The pleasing pensive stanza, which thou, gentle reader hast just perused, is prefixed to this Chapter because it would be so felicitous a motto, if only it were applicable; and for that very reason it is felicitous, its non-applicability furnishing a means of happy application. _Il y a du bonheur et de l'esprit à employer les paroles d'un poëte à une chose à quoy le poëte ne pense jamais, et à les employer si à propos qu'elles semblent avoir esté faites exprés pour le sujet auquel elles sont appliquées._[1] [Footnote 1: P. BOUHOURS.] “Good Sir, you understand not;”—yet I am not saying with the Pedagogue at the Ordinary, Let's keep them In desperate hope of understanding us; Riddles and clouds are very lights of speech. I'll veil my careless anxious thoughts as 'twere In a perspicuous cloud, that so I may Whisper in a loud voice, and even be silent When I do utter words.[2]