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pen of a ready writer, whereunto shall it be
likened? Ask of the scholar, he shall know-to the chains that
bind a Proteus : Ask of the poet, he shall say—to the sun, the lamp
of heaven: Ask of thy neighbour, he can answer-to the friend
that telleth my thought; The merchant considereth it well, as a ship freighted The divine holdeth it a miracle, giving utterance to
the dumb. It fixeth, expoundeth, and disseminateth sentiment; Chaining up a thought, clearing it of mystery, and
sending it bright into the world. To think rightly, is of knowledge; to speak fluently,
is of nature; To read with profit, is of care; but to write aptly, is of practice.
Martin F. Tupper.
That right long time is overborne of wrong ; Through avarice, or power, or guile, or strife, Which weakens that, and makes this power strong.
SEE the minutes how they run; How many makes the hour full complete, How many hours bring about the day, How many days will finish up the year, How many years a mortal man may live.--Shakspere. God of the changeful year!-amidst the glow
Of strength and beauty, and transcendent grace, Which on the mountain heights, or deep below, In sbeltered vales, and each sequestered place,
Thy forms of vegetable life assume;
Or whether, scenting ocean's heaving breast,
Of fruits and flowers, Thy works delight our eyes,
The summer's gorgeous dyes;
Have faded from all eyes;
The furrowed and the sear,
Away with thee, old year. Richard Howitt,
YOUTH. For youth no less becomes The light and careless livery that it wears, Than settled age his sables, and his weeds? Importing health and graveness. Shakspere.
Lusty youth Is the very May-morn of delight, When boldest floods are full of wilful heat, And joy to think how long they have to fight In fancy's field, before their life take flight; Since he which latest did the game begin, Doth longest hope to linger still therein.-Gascoigne.
Youth is ever apt to judge in haste,
Denham. Expand the passions of thy heart in youth; Fight thy love battles whilst thy heart is strong, And wounds heal kindly. An April frost Is sharp, but kills not; sad October's storm Strikes when the juices and the vital sap Are ebbing from the leaf.
Ah! who can say, however fair his view,
Through what sad scenes his path may lie?
Soon will they learn to scan with thoughtful eye
That sport most pleases that doth least know how;
Zeal and duty are not slow;
For virtue's self may too much zeal be had;
-With all the real
Spread out earth's holiest records here,
INDEX OF AUTHORS' NAMES.
ADAMS, JOHN QUINCY, (American.) Born 1767, Died 1848.
86 94 125 160 178 193 195 197 200 212 214 223 238 246
494 510 535 574 583 611 621 627 643 650.
109 110 111 133 154 182 183 190 202 227 234 235 248 264
414 425 478 480 497 521 570 595 633.
294 325 424 429 433 573 598.