There Is Never Jealousy Where There Is

The Great British Library --an Immense Collection Of Volumes Of All Ages And Languages, Many Of Which Are Now Forgotten, And Most Of Which Are Seldom Read: One Of These Sequestered Pools Of Obsolete Literature To Which Modern Authors Repair, And Draw Buckets Full Of Classic Lore, Or Pure English, Undefiled Wherewith To Swell Their Own Scanty Rills Of Thought.

All These, However, Were Mere Terrors Of The Night, Phantoms Of The Mind That Walk In Darkness; And Though He Had Seen Many Spectres In His Time, And Been More Than Once Beset By Satan In Divers Shapes, In His Lonely Pre-ambulations, Yet Daylight Put An End To All These Evils; And He Would Have Passed A Pleasent Life Of It, In Despite Of The Devil And All His Works, If His Path Had Not Been Crossed By A Being That Causes More Perplexity To Mortal Man Than Ghosts, Goblins, And The Whole Race Of Witches Put Together, And That Was - A Woman.

There Was One Species Of Despotism Under Which He Had Long Groaned, And That Was Petticoat Government.

Sometimes The Table Was Graced With Immense Apple-pies, Or Saucers Full Of Preserved Peaches And Pears; But It Was Always Sure To Boast An Enormous Dish Of Balls Of Sweetened Dough, Fried In Hog's Fat, And Called Doughnuts, Or Olykoeks - A Delicious Kind Of Cake, At Present Scarce Known In This City, Except In Genuine Dutch Families.

Those Who Are Well Assured Of Their Own Standing Are Least Apt To Trespass On That Of Others, Whereas Nothing Is So Offensive As The Aspirings Of Vulgarity Which Thinks To Elevate Itself By Humiliating Its Neighbor.