Fortune

,—like the sun, makes the vilest reptiles shine. The house of a Prime Minister is regarded as the Temple of Fortune. No deity ever had so many votaries. The temple, at present, is in Downing-street, where myriads assemble to pour forth their adoration; but the wooden god is threatened to be demolished; and, whenever the danger approaches, all the votaries will run away, and the Idol be dashed to pieces; so precarious, so very precarious, is Fortune.