mighty a unit. But why should fear be expressed for a repetition
which we neither hope for nor need? We have but one sun in our
firmament, and upwards of six thousand years have neither added to
nor diminished its splendour, neither have vain desires been
expressed for the existence of another. Needless wishes create
painful expectations. When a man is warm and comfortable on a cold
day he cannot wish for an excess that would burn him. Therefore we
need neither hope for more Shakespeares nor regret that there is but
one. When the Muses created him a poet they created him the sun of
the firmament of genius, and time has proved, and will prove, that
they glory in their creation, deeming it sufficient, without striving
to find or create another, for nature knows the impossibility. There
have been, both before and after, constellations of great and
wonderful beauty, and many in this age will be found in the number
who shine in their own light with becoming splendour, but whenever
flattery or vanity places them near the great luminary their little
lights lose their splendour and they vanish in his brightness as the
stars are lost at noon.

* * * * * *

The falling stars leave a stream of splendour behind them for a
moment; then utter darkness follows, and not a spark is left to show
where they fell.

* * * * * *

It is said that Byron is not to have a monument in Westminster Abbey.
To him it is no injury. Time is his monument, on whose scroll the
name of Byron shall be legible when the walls and tombs of