THE bath obsequious, beauty's smile,
Wine, fragrance, music's heavenly breath,
Can but our hastening hours beguile,
And slope the path that leads to death.

THE beings of the mind are not of clay;
Essentially immortal, they create

And multiply in us a brighter ray

And more belov'd existence: that which Fate
Prohibits to dull life, in this our state

Of mortal bondage, by these spirits supplied,
First exiles, then replaces what we hate;
Watering the heart whose early flowers have died,
And with a fresher growth replenishing the void.

BYRON.

THE Woes of the imagination have this dire preeminence over such as spring from real evils, that, while these can warm at times in benevolent joy, or even brighten for a moment to the flash of innocent gaiety, the selfishness of the former, chequered by no kindly feeling, reflects not the sunny smile; as the dark and noisome fog drinks in vain the beam of Heaven.

MARY BRUNTON.

EXTEND generosity, it is profuseness;
Confine economy, it is avarice;
Unbridle courage, it is rashness;

Indulge sensibility, it is weakness.

A MAN should never be ashamed to own he has been in the wrong, which is but saying in other words, that he is wiser to-day than he was yesterday.

POPE.

WRITTEN ON A PANE OF GLASS.

FOR many a year hath this transparent pane
Endured the pelting of the elements!

Oft, on a winter's eve, when all within
Was peace and comfort, hath the pattering rain,
Or sudden gust of wind, its fury spent
On this unconscious victim, while the glare
Of forked light'ning harmlessly illum'd
The simple record which thine eye surveys.
Yet think not that tempestuous seas alone,
The boisterous strife of elemental war,

Have been its lot. Oft hath the setting sun,
Sinking in tranquil majesty behind
Yon jutting building, sweetly shone upon it:
And mid the placid stillness of the night,
Fair Cynthia's beams, shedding a silvery hue,
Have deck'd with lustre, cold but beautiful,
Its polish'd surface. What though these events
Are in themselves but trivial, and may seem
Devoid of all instruction, to the mind
They point a moral: Stranger, canst thou find it?
Hast thou e'er known misfortune? have the clouds
Of dark adversity broke o'er thy head?.

Be of good courage! If thy heart be pure,

And like this pane transparent, hath not aught
Which seeks concealment; tho' thou art more frail
Than is this fragile tablet, do not fear!
Soon shall the rays of dawning happiness
Make rich amends for all the tempest's gloom;
And Heaven's approving smile shall visit thee,
Like the pure beam which oft hath kiss'd this glass
In Autumn's lovely night, when the bright moon
Hath held in midnight pomp her gentle reign.

So pure, so good, she scarce could guess at sin,
But thought the world without like that within.

A DESIRE of Knowledge is natural to the mind of man; and nothing discovers the true quality and disposition of the mind more than the particular kind of knowledge it is fond of. Thus, we see, low and little minds are most delighted with a knowledge of trifles; an indolent mind with that which serves only for amusement in the entertainment of fancy; a curious mind is best pleased with facts; a judicious penetrating mind, with demonstrations and mathematical science; a worldly mind esteems no knowledge like that of the world; but a wise and pious man, before all other kinds of knowledge, prefers that of God and his own soul.

MASON.

SAY, what is Honour ?-'tis the finest sense
Of Justice which the human mind can frame,
Interest, each lurking frailty, to disclaim,

And guard the way of life from all offence
Suffer'd or done.

WORDSWORTH.

IN youth, the spirits are never long depressed, especially by uncertain or remote sorrow; but as a captive butterfly, when the pressure on its wings is removed, flutters them again, with all their glittering dyes and buoyancy uninjured, so do the spirits of youth quickly resume their elasticity and brilliancy.

My conscience is my crown,
Contented thoughts, my rest;
My heart is happy in itself,
My bliss is in my breast.

Enough I reckon wealth;

That mean, the surest lot,

That lies too high for base contempt,
Too low for envy's shot.

My wishes are but few,

All easy to fulfill;

I make the limits of my power

The bounds unto my will.

I fear no care for gold,
Well doing is my wealth;
My mind to me an empire is,
While grace affordeth health.

I clip high climbing thoughts,
The wings of swelling pride;
Their fall is worst, that from the height
Of greatest honour slide.

Since sails of largest size
The storm doth soonest tear;
I bear so low and small a sail
As freeth me from fear.

I wrestle not with rage,
While fury's flame doth burn,
It is vain to stop the stream
Until the tide doth turn.

But when the flame is out,
And ebbing wrath doth end,
I turn a late enraged foe
Into a quiet friend.

And taught with often proof,
A temper'd calm I find
To be most solace to itself,
Best cure for angry mind.