Act up to the magnitude of your destiny." A moment after, Mr.Clare quitted his seat, and with Mr.Falkland and two or three more withdrew.

As soon as they were gone, Mr.Tyrrel edged further into the circle.

He had sat silent so long that he seemed ready to burst with gall and indignation.

"Mighty pretty verses!" said he, half talking to himself, and not addressing any particular person: "why, ay, the verses are well enough.

Damnation! I should like to know what a ship-load of such stuff is good for." "Why, surely," said the lady who had introduced Mr.Falkland's Ode on the present occasion, "you must allow that poetry is an agreeable and elegant amusement." "Elegant, quotha!--Why, look at this Falkland! A puny bit of a thing! In the devil's name, madam, do you think he would write poetry if he could do any thing better ?" The conversation did not stop here.