There are more heroes than saints (heroes I call rulers over the minds and destinies of men;) more saints than humane characters. He, who humanizes all that is within and around himself, adore: I know but of one such by tradition. He who laughed at you till he got to your door, flattered you as you opened it--felt the force of your argument whilst he was with you--applauded when he rose, and, after he went away, execrated you--has the most indisputable title to an archdukedom in hell. Let the four-and-twenty elders in heaven rise before him who, from motives of humanity, can totally suppress an arch, full-pointed, but offensive _bon mot_. * * * * * ~Manners.~ THE PARLIAMENT CLUBS. Before the year 1736, it had been usual for gentlemen of the House of Commons to dine together at the Crown-tavern in Palace-yard, in order to be in readiness to attend the service of the house. This club amounted to one hundred and twenty, besides thirty of their friends coming out of the country. In January, 1736, sir Robert Walpole and his friends began to dine in the same manner, at the Bell and Sun in King-street, Westminster, and their club was one hundred and fifty, besides absent members. These parties seem to have been the origin of Brookes’s and White’s clubs. * * * * * RIGHT AND LEFT HAND. Dr. Zinchinelli, of Padua, in an essay “On the Reasons why People use the Right Hand in preference to the Left,” will not allow custom or imitation to be the cause. He affirms, that the left arm cannot be in violent and continued motion without causing pain in the left side, because there is the seat of the heart and of the arterial system; and that, therefore, Nature herself compels man to make use of the right hand. * * * * * THE DEATH OF LEILA. _For the Table Book_. ’Twas moonlight--LEILA sat retir’d Upon the tow’ring beach, Watching the waves, “like one inspir’d” With things beyond her reach: There was a calmness on the water Suited to Sorrow’s hapless daughter, For consolation seem’d to be Mixt up with its solemnity! The stars were shedding far and wide Their twinkling lights of peerless blue; And o’er the undulating tide The breeze on balmy pinions flew; The scene might well have rais’d the soul Above misfortune’s dark controul, Had not the hand of Death been laid On that belov’d and matchless maid! I watch’d the pale, heart-broken girl, Her shatter’d form, her look insane,-- I saw her raven locks uncurl With moisture from the peaceful main: I saw her wring her hands with grief, Like one depriv’d of Hope’s relief, And then she sigh’d, as if bereft Of the last treasure heav’n had left!