THE English language expresses the Deity more appropriately than any other-' GOD' is the contraction of the Saxon 'Good.'

OUR restless passions, like tempests on the main,
Drive reason from the guidance of our lives,
And have us shipwreck'd on a barb'rous coast.

WHEN she sighs for sorrows not her own,
Let that dear sigh to Mercy's cause be given;
And bear that tear to her Creator's throne,

Which glistens in the eye upraised to Heaven!

SHERIDAN.

THOSE Who have been once dear to us, by whatever offence they may have alienated our affection when living, are generally remembered with tenderness when dead; and after the grave has sheltered them from our resentment, and rendered reconciliation impossible, we often regret as severe that conduct, which before we approved as just.

GOD is everywhere! The God who framed
Mankind to be one mighty family,

Himself our Father, and the World our Home.

COLERIDGE.

You are far too prodigal in praise,

And crown me with the garlands of your merit;
As we meet barks on rivers,—the strong gale
Being best friends to us,—our own swift motion
Makes believe that t'other nimbler rows;

Swift virtue thinks small goodness fastest goes.

DAVENPORT.

I HATE the Simoom wind of a court, which passes innocuous over those who lie on the ground, but dries those to powder who stand upright.

J. P. RICHTER.

WHAT equal torment to the grief of mind,
And pining anguish hid in gentle heart,
That inly feeds itself with thoughts unkind,
And nourisheth her own consuming smart?
What medicine can any leach's art

Yield such a sore, that doth her grievance hide,
And will to none her malady impart ?

SPENSER.

NEVER was any man distinguished as a hero, or recorded in the annals of history as a great man, to whom the quality of generous forgiveness of evil did not conspicuously belong.

BLAIR.

WOMAN, gentle Woman has a heart Fraught with the sweet humanities of life; Swayed by no selfish aim, she bears her part In all her joys and woes; in pain and strife, Fonder and still more faithful! When the smart Of care assails the bosom, or the knife Of keen endurance cuts us to the soul, First to support us, foremost to console.

Oh! what were man in dark misfortune's hour
Without her cherishing aid? A nerveless thing,
Sinking ignobly 'neath the passing power

Of every blast of fortune. She can bring
A balm for every wound: as when the shower
More heavily falls, the bird of eve will sing
In richer notes; sweeter is woman's voice
When through the storm it bids the soul rejoice.

A. A. WATTS.

PERSONS, worn and hackneyed in the ways of men, whose imaginations are grown callous, and have lost all those delicate sentiments which are natural to minds that are innocent and undepraved, ridicule every thing as romantic that comes in competition with their present interest; and treat those persons as visionaries, who dare stand up, in a corrupt age, for what has not its immediate reward joined to it.

ADDISON.

FAME is the spur that the clear spirit doth raise,
(That last infirmity of noble mind)

To scorn delights and live laborious days:
But the fair guerdon when we hope to find,
And think to burst out into sudden blaze,
Comes the blind Fury with the abhorred shears,
And slits the thin-spun life.
But not the praise,'
Phoebus replied, and touch'd my trembling ears :

'Fame is no plant that grows on mortal soil,
Nor in the glistering foil

Set off to the world, nor in broad rumour lies:
But lives and spreads aloft by those pure eyes,
And perfect witness of all-judging Jove;
As he pronounces lastly on each deed,

Of so much Fame in Heaven expect thy meed !'

MILTON.

THE passions, by being too much conversant with earthly objects, can never fix in us a proper composure and acquiescence of mind. Nothing but an indifference to the things of this world, an entire submission to the will of Providence here, and a wellgrounded expectation of happiness hereafter, can give us a true satisfactory enjoyment of ourselves. Virtue is the best guard against the many unavoidable evils incident to us; nothing better alleviates the weight of the afflictions, or gives a truer relish of the blessings of human life.

FRANKLIN.

CAN angel-spirits need repose

In the full sun-light of the sky? And, can the veil of slumber close A cherub's bright and blazing eye?

Have seraphim a weary brow,

A fainting heart, an aching breast? No, far too high their pulses flow,

To languish with inglorious rest.

How could they sleep amid the bliss,
The banquet of delight above?
Or bear for one short hour to miss
The vision of the Lord they love?

Oh! not the deathlike calm of sleep Could still the everlasting song: No fairy dream, or slumber deep Entrance the rapt and holy throng.

Yet, not the lightest tone was heard From angel-voice or angel-hand; And not one plumed pinion stirred Among the bow'd and blissful band:

For there was silence in the sky,
A joy not angel-tongues could tell,
As from its mystic fount on high,
The peace of God in stillness fell.