So high he floated, that he seemed to climb;
The bladder blown by chance was burst by time.
Falsely-earned fame fools bolstered at the urns;
The mob which reared the god the idol burns.
To cling one moment nigh to power's crest,
Then, earthward flung, sink to oblivion's rest
Self-sought, 'midst careless acquiescence, seems
Strange fate, e'en for a thing of schemes and dreams;
But CÆSAR's simulacrum, seen by day,
Scarce envious CASCA's self would stoop to slay,
And mounting mediocrity, once o'erthrown,
Need fear--or hope--no dagger save its own.
* * * * *
FROM BRIGHT TO DULL.--In an interesting article on artificial
reproductions of Nature's treasures, the _Standard_ remarked that
"Real diamonds have been turned out of the chemist's retorts." What a
brilliant chemist he must have been! Probably of Hibernian origin, as
among conversational sparklers there are few on record more brilliant
than "Irish Diamonds." Stay, though! If the real diamonds were "turned
out of the chemist's retorts," then his retorts, without these flashes
of brilliancy, must have been a trifle dull, and he is no longer the
chemist we took him for. "But," to quote our KIPLING, "that is another
story."
* * * * *