hest morals, and is a man of natural justice and good temper, we seldom think of the other question, whether he be religious and devout?-Shaftesbury.

MCXXXVI.

Wise legislators never yet could draw
A fox within the reach of common law:
For posture, dress, grimace, and affectation,
Though foes to sense, are harmless to the nation.
Our last redress is dint of verse to try,

And satire is our Court of Chancery.

MCXXXVII.

Dryden.

The current of tenderness widens as it proceeds; and two men imperceptibly find their hearts filled with goodnature for each other, when they were at first only in pursuit of mirth or relaxation.-Goldsmith.

MCXXXVIII.

Didst thou but know the inly touch of love,
Thou wouldst as soon go kindle fire with snow,
As seek to quench the fire of love with words.
The more thou dam'st it up, the more it burns;
The current, that with gentle murmur glides,
Thou know'st, being stopped, impatiently doth rage;
But when his fair course is not hindered,

He makes sweet music with the enamel'd stones,
Giving a gentle kiss to every sedge

He overtaketh in his pilgrimage;

And so by many winding nooks he strays,

With willing sport, to the wild ocean.

MCXXXIX.

Shakspeare.

The manner in which most writers begin their treatises on the use of language is generally thus: " Language has been granted to man, in order to discover his wants and necessities, so as to have them relieved by society. Whatever we desire, whatever we wish, it is but to clothe those desires or wishes in words, in order to fruition; the principal use of language, therefore," say they, "is

to express our wants, so as to receive a speedy redress." Such an account as this may serve to satisfy gramma rians and rhetoricians well enough, but men who know the world maintain very contrary maxims; they hold, and I think with some show of reason, that he who best knows how to conceal his necessities and desires, is the most likely person to find redress, and that the true use of speech is not so much to express our wants as to conceal them.-Goldsmith.

MCXL.

A diamond,

Though set in horn, is still a diamond,
And sparkles as in purest gold.

MCXLI.

Massinger.

Had mankind nothing to expect beyond the grave, their best faculties would be a torment to them; and the more considerate and virtuous they were, the greater concern and grief they would feel from the shortness of their prospects.-Balguy.

MCXLII.

As rust corrupts iron, so envy corrupts man.-Antisthenes.

MCXLIII.

Orpheus could leave the savage race;
And trees uprooted left their place,
Sequacious of the lyre:

But bright Cecilia raised the wonder higher:
When to her organ vocal breath was given,
An angel heard, and straight appeared,
Mistaking earth for heaven.

MCXLIV.

Dryden.

Demetrius. Horace is a mere spunge; nothing but humours and observation: he goes up and down sucking from every society, and when he comes home squeezes himself dry again.

Tucca. Thou say'st true, my poor poetical fury, he will pen all he knows. A sharp thorny-tooth'd satirical

rascal, fly him; he carries hay in his horn; he will sooner lose his best friend than his least jest. What he once drops upon paper against a man, lives eternally to upbraid him in the mouth of every slave, tankard-bearer, or waterman; not a boy that comes from the bakehouse but shall point at him: 'tis all dog and scorpion; he carries poison in his teeth, and a sting in his tail. Fough! body of Jove! I'll have the slave whipt, one of these days, for his satires and his humours, by one cashier'd clerk or other.

Crispinus. We'll undertake him, Captain.

Dem. Aye, and tickle him i' faith; for his arrogancy and his impudence, in commending his own things; and for his translating, I can trace him, ' faith. O, he is the most open fellow living; I had as lieve as a new suit I were at it.

Tuc. Say no more, then, but do it; 'tis the only way to get thee a new suit: sting him, my little neufts; I'll give you instructions; I'll be your intelligencer: we'll all join and hang upon him like so many horse-leeches, the players and all. We shall sup together soon, and then we'll conspire, i' faith.

The Poetaster-Ben Jonson.

MCXLV.

An intrepid courage is at best but a holiday-kind of virtue, to be seldom exercised, and never but in cases of necessity: affability, mildness, tenderness, and a word which I would fain bring back to its original signification of virtue, I mean good-nature, are of daily use; they are the bread of mankind, and staff of life.—Dryden.

MCXLVI.

Alas! what pains, what racking thoughts he proves,
Who lives remov'd from her he dearest loves!
In cruel absence doom'd past joys to mourn,
And think on hours that will no more return!
Oh! let me ne'er the pangs of absence try,
Save me from absence, Love, or let me die.

Congreve,

MCXLVII.

Admiration is a very short-lived passion, that immediately decays upon growing familiar with its object, unless it be still fed with fresh discoveries, and kept alive by a new perpetual succession of miracles rising up to its view.-Addison.

MCXLVIII.

In a true piece of wit all things must be,
Yet all things there agree:

As in the ark joined without force or strife,
All creatures dwelt, all creatures that had life:
Or, as the primitive forms of all,

If we compare great things with small,
Which without discord or confusion lie
In that strange mirror of the Deity.

MCXLIX.

Cowley.

By all that's good (and you, Madame, are a great part of my oath,) your incomparable letter hath put me so far besides myselfe, that I have scarce patience to write prose, and my pen is stealing into verse every time I kisse your letter. I am sure, the poore paper smarts for my idolatry, which, by wearing it continually neere my brest, will, at last, be burnt and martyred in those flames of adoration which it hath kindled in me. fe * You are pleased, Madame, to force me to write, by sending me materialls, and compell me to my greatest happinesse. Yet, though I highly value your magnificente presente, pardon mee, if I must tell the world, they are imperfect emblems of your beauty; for the white and redde of waxe and paper are but shaddowes of that vermillion and snow in your lips and forehead; and the silver of the inkehorne, if it presume to vye whitenesse with your skinne, must confesse itselfe blacker than the liquor it containes.-Dryden's Letter to a Lady.

MCL.

No might nor greatness in mortality

Can censure 'scape; back-wounding calumny

The whitest virtue strikes: What king so strong,
Can tie the gall up in the slanderous tongue?

MCLI.

Shakspeare.

Many come to a play so overcharged with criticism, that they very often let fly their censure, when, through their rashness, they have mistaken their aim.-Congreve. MCLII.

All places that the eye of heaven visits,

Are to a wise man ports and happy havens:
Teach thy necessity to reason thus;
There is no virtue like necessity.
Think not the king did banish thee;
But thou the king. wo doth the heavier sit,
Where it perceives it is but faintly borne.
Go, say-I sent thee forth to purchase honour,
And not-the king exiled thee: or suppose,
Devouring pestilence hangs in our air,
And thou art flying to a fresher clime.
Look, what thy soul holds dear, imagine it
To lie that way thou go'st, not whence thou com❜st:
Suppose the singing birds, musicians;

The grass on which thou tread'st, the presence strew'd;
The flowers, fair ladies; and thy steps no more

Than a delightful measure, or a dance:

For gnarling sorrow hath less power to bite
The man that mocks at it, and sets it light.

King Richard II. Bolingbroke-Shakspeare.

MCLIII.

Many have no happier moments than those that they pass in solitude, abandoned to their own imagination, which sometimes puts sceptres in their hands, or mitres on their heads, shifts the scene of pleasure with endless variety, bids all the forms of beauty sparkle before them, and gluts them with every change of visionary luxury. -Johnson.

MCLIV.

The time was once, when wit drown'd wealth; but now, Your only barbarism is t' haye wit, and want.