To me the Eighteenth Century has nothing grand in it, except that grand universal Suicide, named French Revolution, by which it terminated its otherwise most worthless existence with at least one worthy act;--setting fire to its old home and self; and going up in flames and volcanic explosions, in a truly memorable and important manner.

A very fit termination, as I thankfully feel, for such a Century.

Century spendthrift, fraudulent-bankrupt; gone at length utterly insolvent, without real MONEY of performance in its pocket, and the shops declining to take hypocrisies and speciosities any farther:--what could the poor Century do, but at length admit, "Well, it is so.

I am a swindler-century, and have long been,--having learned the trick of it from my father and grandfather; knowing hardly any trade but that in false bills, which I thought foolishly might last forever, and still bring at least beef and pudding to the favored of mankind.

And behold it ends; and I am a detected swindler, and have nothing even to eat.