still to be the opinion of men of sound practical knowledge, whose minds are unwarped by abstract systems and preconceived theories, to which every thing must be made to bend.  Such, too, was the feeling of that extraordinary man, who, with the solitary exception of England, exacted homage from every crowned head of Europe.  This man, in the plenitude of his power, felt that something was still wanting to enable him to grapple with one little island, invulnerable by its maritime strength, the sinews of which he knew to be derived from its colonies:  he felt that, deprived as he was of “ships, colonies, and commerce,” England was able to stand alone among nations, and to bid defiance to his overwhelming power.  That cunning fox, too, by whose councils he was occasionally guided, knew too well the degree of strength that England derived from her colonies, which he described to be her very vitals, and which could only be reached by a powerful navy.  He designated them as the sheet anchor of Great Britain—­the prop that supported her maritime superiority—­the strongholds of her power.  “Deprive her of her colonies,” said Talleyrand. “and you break down her last wall; you fill up her last ditch.”—­Fas est et ab hoste doceri.—­Quarterly Review.

* * * * *

INVITATIONS.

As a certificate of your intention to be punctual, you may send your friends, a similar billet to the following:—­

My dear Sir,

The honour of your company is requested to dine with ——­ on Fryday, 1828.

The favour of a positive answer is requested, or the proffered plate will be appropriated as it was when—­

Sir Ill-bred Ignorance returned the following answer:—­“I shall be quite happy to come if I possibly can.”  Such words the committee voted were equivalent to these—­I’ll come, if in the mean time I am not invited to a party that I like better.—­Dr. Kitchiner.

* * * * *

GENEVA

Has very little, as a city, to recommend it.  It is characterized by much active industry within doors, the savans and mechaniciens being pent up in their closets and ateliers, and very little gaiety pervades the promenades.  Some parts of the town are sufficiently picturesque; the overhanging roofs, for which it is remarkable, are, however, too lofty to screen the pedestrian from the rain, especially if accompanied by a high wind, and form no shade from the sun.  The pavement of the streets is bad, and their irregularity is a considerable drawback from the internal appearance.  The pavement of the inclined plane in the Hotel de Ville, by which we gain the arduous ascent that conducts to the Passport office, is a curiosity of its kind, and perhaps unique.  The city is tolerably well fenced in with walls within walls, draw and suspension bridges, and gates; while