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From house-tops and from windows,

Fell on their crests in showers ;
When they drew nigh to Vesta,

They vaulted down amain,
And wash'd their horses in the well

That springs by Vesta's fane.
And straight again they mounted,

And rode to Vesta's door;
Then, like a blast, away they pass'd,
And no man saw them more.

MACAULAY.

THE END.

You do look, my son, in a moved sort,
As if you were dismay’d. Be cheerful, sir :
Our revels now are ended : these our actors,
As I foretold you, were all spirits, and
Are melted into air, into thin air :
And, like the baseless fabric of this vision,
The cloud-capp'd towers, the gorgeous palaces,
The solemn temples, the great globe itself,
Yea, all which it inherits, shall dissolve,
And, like this insubstantial pageant faded,
Leave not a wreck behind! We are such stuff
As dreams are made of, and our little life
Is rounded with a sleep.

SHAKSPEARE.

PRINTED BY cox (BROS.) AND WYMAN, GREAT QUEEN STREET.

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