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Be calm in arguing; for fierceness makes

Error a fault, and truth discourtesy. Why should I feel another man's mistakes,

More than his sicknesses or poverty?
In love I should; but anger is not love,
Nor wisdom neither: therefore gently move.—Herbert.

He'd undertake to prove, by force
Of argument a man's no horse:
He'd prove a buzzard is no fowl,
And that a lord may be an owl,
A calf an alderman, a goose a justice,

And rooks committee-men and trustees. Butler.
In arguing too, the parson owned his skill,
For even though vanquished, he could argue still.


Hark! hark! the lark at heaven's gate sings,

And Phæbus 'gins arise,
His steeds to water at those springs

On chaliced flowers that lies;
And winking Marybuds begin

To ope their golden eyes;
And everything that pretty bin:
My lady sweet, arise!
Xrise! arise!

He rose, and looking up, beheld the skies
With purple blushing, and the day arise.

Dryden, from Virgil.
But absent, which fantastic woes aroused,
Rage in each thought, by restless musing led.

Arouse thee, soul!
God made not thee to sleep

In doing nought thy hour of life away;
He gave thee power to keep
O use it for His glory while you may.
Arouse thee, soul!

Robert Nicol.



O GoD thy arm was here! And not to us but to Thy arm alone Ascribe we all.


The sword
Of Michael from the armoury of God
Was given him tempered so, that neither keen
Nor solid might resist that edge.

With plain heroic magnitude of mind,
And celestial vigour armed, he
Their armories and magazines continued. Milton.

Beneath the lowering brow, and on a bent,
The temple stood of Mars armipotent.

The whole division that to Mars pertains,
All trades of death that deal in steel for gains
Were there: the butcher, armourer, and smith,
Who forges sharpened fauchions, or the scythe.

True conscious honour is to feel no sin;
He's arned without, that's innocent within. Pope.
Hide me ye forests in your closest bowers,
Where the tall oak his spreading arms entwines,
And with the beech in mutual shade combines.


For if our God, the Lord armipotent,
Those armed angels in our aid send down,
That were at Dathan to his prophet sent,
Thou wilt come down with them, and will defend
Our host.


In every heart
Are sown the sparks that kindle fiery war;
Occasion needs but fan them and they blaze.
Cain had already shed a brother's blood;
The deluge washed it out, but left unquenched
The seeds of murder in the breast of man.
Soon by a righteous judgment in the line
Of his descending progeny, was found



The first artificer of death; the shrewd
Contriver, who first sweated at the forge,
And forced the blunt and yet unblooded steel
To a keen edge, and made it bright for war.
Him Tubal named, the Vulcan of old times,
The sword and falchion their inventor claim;
And the first smith was the first murderer's son.

Cowper. And by the law of arms

What law is that? 'Tis not the law of God, nor yet above it.

Henry Taylor. Who is the happy warrior who is he That every man in arms should wish to be? -It is the generous spirit who hath wrought Among the plans of real life; - 'Tis he whose law is reason; who depends Upon that law as on his best of friends; - Who, if he rise to stations of command, Rises by open means; - Who comprehends his trust, and to the same Keeps faithful, with a singleness of aim.

Wordsworth. The army, like a lion from his den,

Marched forth with nerve and sinews bent to slay, A human hydra issuing from its fen,

To breathe destruction in its winding way.-Byron.


PRIDE hath no other glass
To show itself but pride; for supple knees
Feed arrogance, and are the proud man's fees.

Our poet may
Himself admire the fortune of his play;
And arrogantly, as his fellows do,
Think he writes well because he pleases you. Dryden.

Who not content
With fair equality, fraternal state,
Will arrogate dominion undeserved
Over his brethren.


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ART-ARTIST. The art of our necessities is strange, That can make vile things precious. Shakspere. In framing artists, art hath thus decreed, To make some good, but others to exceed.

Shakspere. Rich with the spoils of many a conquered land, All art and artists Theseus could command, Who sold for hire or wrought for better fame, The master painters and the carvers came.

Dryden. Blest with each grace of nature and of art. * * * * *

* Even copious Dryden wanted, or forgot, The last and greatest art, the art to blot. Pope.

Tir'd at first sight, with what the muse imparts,
In fearless youth we tempt the heights of arts,
While from the bounded level of our mind
Short views we take, nor see the length behind;
But, more advanced, behold with strange surprise,
New distant scenes of endless science rise.

Yet 'tis not to adorn and gild each part,
That shows more cost than art;
Jewels at nose and lips but ill appear;
Rather than all things art, let none be there.
Several lights will not be seen,
If there be nothing else between.
Men doubt because they stand so thick i' the sky,
If those be stars which paint the galaxy

Cowley. Ah! the artist's life Is pilgrimage. He may not tarry on One spot of earth; he is drawn for aye towards A jewel, which he aye pursues, and ever Beholds before him, yet can ne'er attain. Herder. Perhaps this cruel nymph well knows to feign Forbidding speech, coy looks, and cold disdain, To raise his passion: such are female arts, To hold in safer snares inconstant hearts.


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What thing a right line is, the learned know;
But how avails that him, who in the right,
Of life and manners doth desire to grow?
What are all these human arts and lights
But seas of error? in whose depths who sound,
Of truth find only shadows, and no ground.
Then if our arts want power to make us better,
What fool will think they can us wiser make.
Life is the wisdom, art is but the letter,
Or shell, which men oft for the kernel take;
In moods and figures moulding up deceit,
To make each science rather hard than great.

Lord Brooke. Such is the strength of art, rough things to shape, And of rude commons rich enclosures make.

James Howell. For though I must confess an artist can Contrive things better than another man, Yet when the task is done, he finds his pains Sought but to fill his belly with his brains. Is this the guerdon due to liberal arts, T'admire the head and then to starve the parts? Timely prevention though discreetly used Before the fruits of knowledge were abused. When learning has incurr'd a fearful damp, To save our oil, 'tis good to quench the lamp.

Lady Alimony. Immortal art! where'er the rounded sky Bends o'er the cradle where thy children lie, Their home is earth, their herald every tongue.

* * * Art is wondrous long, Yet to the wise her paths are ever fair, And patience smiles though genius may despair.

0. W. Holmes.
In vain with love our bosoms glow,
Can all our tears, can all our sighs,

New lustre to those charms impart?
Can cheeks, where living roses blow,
Where nature spreads her richest dies,
Require the borrowed gloss of art?

Sir William Jones, from the Persian.

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