as good solely for the fancy department-for young noblemen, artists, poets, and the clergy.

Our lavender-water, our other polite falsities, are the very nature of them

On the point of knowing when we are disagreeable, our human nature is fallible. smiles, our compliments, and constantly offensive, when in they can only be meant to attract admiration and regard.

All knowledge which alters our lives penetrates us more when it comes in the early morning the day that has to be travelled with something new and perhaps for ever sad in its light, is an image of the life that spreads beyond. But at night the time of rest is

near.

Blows are sarcasms turned stupid: wit is a form of force that leaves the limbs at rest.

Jermyn had been the making of Johnson;' and this seems to many men a reason for expecting devotion, in spite of the fact that they themselves, though very fond of their own persons and lives, are not at all devoted to the Maker they believe in.

-0

Nature never makes men who are at once energetically sympathetic and minutely calculating.

-0

Express confessions give definiteness to memories that might more easily melt away without them.

Questions of origination in stirring periods are notoriously hard to settle. It is by no means necessary in human things that there should be only one beginner.

—0—

The destructive spirit tends towards completeness; and any object once maimed or otherwise injured, is as readily doomed by unreasoning men as by unreasoning boys.

To be right in great memorable moments, is perhaps the thing we need most desire for ourselves.

—0—

So our lives glide on the river ends we don't know where, and the sea begins, and then there is no more jumping ashore.

What we call illusions are often, in truth, a wider vision of past and present realities—a willing movement of a man's soul with the larger sweep of the world's forces-a movement towards a more assured end than the chances of a single life. We see human heroism broken into units and say, this unit did little -might as well not have been. But in this way we might break up a great army into units; in this way we might break the sunlight into fragments, and think that this and the other might be cheaply parted with. Let us rather raise a monument to the soldiers whose brave hearts only kept the ranks unbroken, and met death-a monument to the faithful who were not famous, and who are precious as the continuity of the sunbeams is precious, though some of them fall unseen and on barrenness.

MOTTOES.

Ist Citizen.-Sir, there's a hurry in the veins of youth That makes a vice of virtue by excess.

2d Citizen.-What if the coolness of our tardier veins Be loss of virtue?

Ist Citizen.—

All things cool with timeThe sun itself, they say, till heat shall find

A general level, nowhere in excess.

2d Citizen. 'Tis a poor climax, to my weaker thought, That future middlingness.

The mind of a man is as a country which was once open to squatters, who have bred and multiplied and become masters of the land. But then happeneth a time when new and hungry comers dispute the land; and there is trial of strength, and the stronger wins. Nevertheless the first squatters be they who have prepared the ground, and the crops to the end will be sequent (though chiefly on the nature of the soil, as of light sand, mixed loam, or heavy clay, yet) somewhat on the primal labour and sowing.

M.-It was but yesterday you spoke him well—
You've changed your mind so soon?

N.

Not I-'tis he

That, changing to my thought, has changed my

mind.

No man puts rotten apples in his pouch

Because their upper side looked fair to him.

Constancy in mistake is constant folly.

Oh, sir, 'twas that mixture of spite and over-fed merriment which passes for humour with the vulgar. In their fun they have much resemblance to a turkeycock. It has a cruel beak, and a silly iteration of ugly sounds; it spreads its tail in self-glorification, but shows you the wrong side of that ornament-liking admiration, but knowing not what is admirable.

-0

Truth is the precious harvest of the earth.
But once, when harvest waved upon a land,
The noisome cankerworm and caterpillar,
Locusts, and all the swarming foul-born broods,
Fastened upon it with swift, greedy jaws,
And turned the harvest into pestilence,
Until men said, What profits it to sow?

0

It is a good and soothfast saw;
Half-roasted never will be raw ;
No dough is dried once more to meal,
No crock new-shapen by the wheel;
You can't turn curds to milk again,
Nor Now, by wishing, back to Then ;
And having tasted stolen honey,

You can't buy innocence for money.

'Tis grievous, that with all amplification of travel both by sea and land, a man can never separate himself from his past history.

See now the virtue living in a word!
Hobson will think of swearing it was noon
When he saw Dobson at the May-day fair,
To prove poor Dobson did not rob the mail.
'Tis neighbourly to save a neighbour's neck:
What harm in lying when you mean no harm?
But say 'tis perjury, then Hobson quakes—
He'll none of perjury.

Thus words embalm

The conscience of mankind; and Roman laws
Bring still a conscience to poor Hobson's aid.

—0—

He rates me as the merchant does the wares
He will not purchase 'quality not high!—
"Twill lose its colour opened to the sun,
Has no aroma, and, in fine, is naught—
I barter not for such commodities—
There is no ratio betwixt sand and gems.'
'Tis wicked judgment! for the soul can grow,
As embryos, that live and move but blindly,
Burst from the dark, emerge regenerate,
And lead a life of vision and of choice.

No man believes that many-textured knowledge and skill—as a just idea of the solar system, or the power of painting flesh, or of reading written harmoniescan come late and of a sudden: yet many will not stick at believing that happiness can come at any day and hour solely by a new disposition of events; though there is nought least capable of a magical production than a mortal's happiness, which is mainly a complex