SLAVERY.

UNCHRISTIAN thought, on what pretence soe'er
Of right, inherited, or else acquired;

Of loss, or profit, or what plea you name,
To buy and sell, to barter, whip, and hold
In chains, a being of celestial make;

Of kindred form, and kindred faculties,
Of kindred feelings, passions, thoughts, desires;
Born free, and heir of an immortal hope;
Thought villanous, absurd, detestable,
Unworthy to be harbour'd in a fiend!
And only over-reach'd in wickedness
By that, birth too of earthly liberty,
Which aim'd to make a reasonable man
By legislation think, and by the sword
Believe.

POLLOK.

THE learned differ from the ignorant, just as the living differ from the dead. Learning in prosperity is an ornament; in adversity a refuge.

ARISTOTLE.

WHEN she spake,

Sweet words, like dropping honey, she did shed;
And 'twixt the pearls and rubies softly brake
A silver sound, that Heavenly music seem'd to make.

FLETCHER.

This is certain, Sin doth always find,
Within itself sufficient cause to fear :

'Tis dangerous to trust a guilty mind;

The creditor remov'd, the debt's thought clear:
Men hate whom they have wrong'd, and hating fear,
And fearing, will not cease till they have prov'd
All means by which the cause may be remov’d.

HUBERT.

THE happy man is he who distinguishes the boundary between desire and delight, and stands firmly on the higher ground; he who knows that pleasure is not only not possession, but is often to be lost, and always to be endangered by it.

LANDOR.

PATIENCE must endure,

And soothe the wounds it cannot cure.

FRANCIS.

IF a writer resolves to venture upon the dangerous precipice of telling unbiassed Truth, let him proclaim war with mankind, and neither give nor take quarter. If he tells the crimes of great men, they fall upon him with the iron hands of the Law: if he tells their virtues, then the mob attacks him with slander. But if he regards Truth, let him expect martyrdom on both sides, and then he may go on fearless.

DE FOE.

WISDOM'S Self

Oft seeks to sweet retired Solitude;

Where, with her best nurse, Contemplation,
She plumes her feathers, and lets grow her wings,
That in the various bustle of resort

Were all-to ruffled, and sometimes impair'd.
He that has light within his own clear breast,
May sit i' the centre, and enjoy bright day;
But he, that hides a dark soul and foul thoughts,
Benighted walks under the mid-day sun;
Himself is his own dungeon.

STILL is the toiling hand of care;
The panting herds repose:
Yet hark, how thro' the peopled air
The busy murmur glows!
The insect youth are on the wing,
Eager to taste the honied spring,
And float amid the liquid noon :
Some lightly o'er the current skim,
Some shew their gayly gilded trim
Quick-glancing to the sun.

MILTON.

THE wisest of our race often reserve the average stock of folly to be all expended upon some one flagrant absurdity.

WALTER SCOTT.

OH! colder than the wind that freezes
Founts, that but now in sunshine play'd,
Is that congealing pang which seizes
The trusting bosom when betray'd.

MOORE.

I ENDEAVOUR to drink deep of philosophy, and be wise when I cannot be merry, easy when I cannot be glad, content with what may not be remedied, and patient where there is no redress; the mighty can do no more, the wise seldom do as much. I am in the main content with myself, though there is abundant provocation to fall out with a body that wants physic, and a mind that has much need of instruction; however, I am resolved to make the best of all circumstances about me, that this short life may not be half lost in grieving at what I cannot help, and fearing what I cannot avoid. When I think I must one day die, I remember I may till that day live, and may help the shortness of life by the sweetness of it; well remembering, and applying, to insert between the periods of birth and of death, the necessity of dying; I seek a little happiness, a little pleasure, a little peace. Our happiness should be confined to the hour we enjoy, as our desires to those goods we possess; delay is a cheat, desire an imposter; the time not come, and the possession not gained, are not to be trusted; the first we may never see, the second may not content us: to-day is ours,

yesterday is past, to-morrow may never arrive; the present time, of all eternity, the only hour, perhaps, allotted for our being. I wonder people can so forget death, when all we see before us is but succession; minute succeeds to minute, season to season; summer expires ere winter enters, the time we have lived is gone, the very food that sustains us is reaped by the hand of death; the flowers we smell, the fruits we gather, are taken from their little life, the blossom fades, the fruit decays, the leaf withers, the stream we look at passes, the hand of the dial points the fleeting moments, and every night brings deathlike sleep; yet while all around us changes and decays, we expect no alteration, unknowing to live, unwilling to die. We lose the present, and seek the future; ask much for what we have not, thank Providence little for what we have. In our youth we are coveting for luxury; in our age for avarice. Error guides us when young, repentance employs us when old; what we did yesterday we repent, what we might do to-day we neglect; and, alas! are prevented what we would do to-morrow; ceremony is lord of this day, fashion of the other, business of the next. Few are the hours allowed to freedom, to leisure, to contemplation, to the adoration of our Maker, the examination of ourselves, and the consideration of the things about us.

MRS. MONTAGU.