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My Father did not agree with Lessing, that

Ein Küsschen das ein Kind mir schenket,

Das ist ein Küss, den man nicht fühlt. 19 I have heard him speak with admiration of the Rubens-like power of painting motion displayed by Sir Walter Scott in some of the latter chapters of Rob Roy, especially, I believe, in chapter xvi. of the second volume, which, in this sort of graphic power, may be compared with Dante's Inferno. If we compare pages 260-3 of the romance, which describe the escape of Rob Roy in passing the Forth, with Canto xxii. of the poem (from line 118 to the end) which describes the escape of the barterer Ciampolo from the clutches of Alichin and the other demons, and his plunge into the boiling pitch, we shall find a similarity of effect produced with totally different materials. I think it must have been to this passage of Rob Roy that my Father's admiration especially referred. Vol. II., p. 671.

Tempora mutantur nos et mutamur in illis. After vainly searching for this verse in classic authors, I began to think that it must belong to some mediæval poet, and abandoned the chase, saying to myself,

Mitte sectari rosa quo locorum

Sera moretur.

Since writing this I have learned from Mr. Donaldson that the line certainly belongs to no classic author: that this might be known from its latinity, and that it is probably a colloquial saying formed into an hexameter verse.

Ib., p. 780.

I omitted to mention in its place, that "mighty sailor” is a mistake for “ nightly sailor," in the Catullian Hendecasyllables. (Poet. Works, ii., p. 69.)

19 The kiss of a little gamesome elf,

That kisses but to amuse himself,
First snatches his rosy mouth away,
Then squeezes it hard to mine in play,
As if he'd crush the cherry seal,
In a kiss the heart can scarcely feel.

THE END.

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