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The day was dying, and with feeble hands Caressed the mountain-tops; the vales between

It is much easier to be critical than to be correct. (Disraeli.

Critics are sentinels in the grand army of
letters, stationed at the corners of news-
papers and reviews, to challenge every
new author. (Longfellow.

He was in Logic a great critic,
Profoundly skill'd in Analytic;
He could distinguish, and divide
A hair 'twixt south and south-west side.

A man must serve his time to every trade,
Save censure—critics all are ready made.
Take hackney'd jokes from Miller, got by
With just enough of learning to misquote;
A mind well skill'd to find or forge a fault,
A turn for punning, call it Attic salt;
To Jeffrey go, be silent and discreet,
His pay is just ten sterling pounds per sheet,
Fear not to lie, 'twill seem a lucky hit;
Shrink not from blasphemy, 'twill pass for
Care not for feeling—pass your proper jest,
And stand a critic, hated yet caress'd.


But yonder comes the powerful King of Day
Rejoicing in the east. (Thomson.

Whence are thy beams, O sun thy everlast-
ing light? Thou comest forth in thy
awful beauty; the stars hide themselves
in the sky; the moon, cold and pale,
sinks in the western wave; but thou
thyself movest alone. (Macpherson.

The rising sun complies with our weak sight,
First gilds the clouds, then shows his globe of
At such a distance from our eyes, as though
He knew what harm his hasty beams would
do. (Waller.

And they were canopied by the blue sky,

So cloudless, clear, and purely beautiful,

That God alone was to be seen in heaven.

| Darkened; the river in the meadow-lands

Sheathed itself as a sword, and was not seen. * (Longfellow.

Hail, twilight! sovereign of one peaceful hour ! (Wordsworth.

The sun is set; and in his latest beams Yon little cloud of ashen gray and gold, Slowly upon the amber air unrolled, The falling mantle of the Prophet seems. (Longfellow. O the wierd northern twilight, which is neither night or day, When the amber wake of the long-set sun still marks his western way. (D. M. Mulock.

A cloud lay cradled near the setting-sun,
A gleam of crimson tinged its braided snow.
*. + + + + * +
Tranquil its spirit seemed, and floated slow
Even in its motion there was rest;
While every breath of eve that chanced to
Wafted the traveler to the beauteous west.
(John Wilson.

Sweet shadows of twilight! how calm their repose, While the dew drops fall soft in the breast of the rose How blest to the toiler his hour of release When the vesper is heard with its whisper of peace! (Holmes.

The day is done; and slowly from the scene The stooping sun up-gathers his spent shafts, And puts them back into his golden quiver!


Now in his Palace of the West,
Sinking to slumber the bright Day,
Like a tired monarch fann'd to rest,
"Mid the cool airs of evening lay;
While round his couch's golden rim
The gaudy clouds, like courtiers, crept—
Struggling each other's light to dim,
And catch his last smile ere he slept.


The evening came. The setting sun stretched
his celestial rods of light across the level
landscape, and, like the Hebrews in
Egypt, smote the rivers, the brooks, and

the ponds, and they became as blood.

The curfew tolls the knell of parting day.
The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea,
The ploughman homeward plods his weary
And leaves the world to darkness and to me.
Now stir the fire, and close the shutters fast,
Let fall the curtain, wheel the sofa round,
And, while the bubbling and loud hissing urn
Throws up a steamy column, and the cups,
That cheer but not inebriate, wait on each,
So let us welcome peaceful evening in.

Nature hath appointed the twilight as a
bridge to pass us out of day into night. .

Eve's silent footfall steals
Along the eastern sky,
And one by one to earth reveals
Those purer fires on high. (Keble.

'Twas twilight, and the sunless day went
Over the waste of waters; like a veil
Which, if withdrawn, would but disclose the
Of one whose hate is mask'd but to assail.
How lovely are the portals of the night,
When stars come out to watch the daylight

die. (Thomas Cole.
The Night is come, but not too soon;
And sinking silently,

All silently, the little moon
Drops down behind the sky.

There is no light in earth or heaven,
But the cold light of stars;

And the first watch of night is given
To the red planet Mars. (Longfellow.

Night drew her sable curtain down
And pinned it with a star.

(M’Donald Clarke.

See yonder fire! It is the moon Slow rising o'er the eastern hill. It glimmers on the forest tips

And through the dewy foliage drips

In little rivulets of light,
And makes the heart in love with night.

(Longfellow. Night! that great shadow and profile of the day. (Richter.

The night is calm and cloudless,
And still as still can be,
And the stars come forth to listen
To the music of the sea.
They gather, and gather, and gather,
Until they crowd the sky,
And listen, in breathless silence,

To the solemn litany. (Longfellow.

When I gaze into the stars, they look down upon me with pity from their serene and silent spaces, like eyes glistening with tears over the little lot of man. Thousands of generations, all as noisy as our own, have been swallowed up by time, and there remains no record of them any more. Yet Arcturus and Orion, Sirius and Pleiades, are still shining in their courses, clear and young, as when the shepherd first noted them in the plain of Shinar! (Carlyle.

The moon was pallid, but not faint;
And beautiful as some fair saint,
Serenely moving on her way
In hours of trial and dismay.
As if she heard the voice of God,
Unharmed with naked feet she trod
Upon the hot and burning stars,
As on the glowing coals and bars,
That were to prove her strength, and try
Her holiness and her purity. (Longfellow.

If the stars should appear one night in a thousand years, how would men believe and adore; and preserve for many generations the remembrance of the city of God which had been shown But every night come out these envoys of beauty, and light the universe with their admonishing smile. (Emerson.

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DEATH. - w

How wonderful is death, death and his brother, sleep ! (Shelley.

There is no Death ! What seems so is tran-
This life of mortal breath
Is but a suburb of the life Elysian,
Whose portal we call Death.
On the cold cheek of Death smiles and roses
are blending,
And beauty immortal awakes from the tomb.
(James Beattie.
Good-bye, proud world ! I'm going home:
Thou art not my friend, and I'm not thine.
In this dim world of clouding cares,
We rarely know, till 'wildering eyes
See white wings lessening up the skies,
The Angels with us unawares.
(Gerald Massey.
Death hath so many doors to let out life.
(Beaumont and Fletcher.
Then 'tis our best, since thus ordained to die,
To make a virtue of necessity. (Dryden.

I have been dying for years, now I shall be-
gin to live.
(Last words of Jas. Drummond Burns.
Oh, God! it is a fearful thing
To see the human soul take wing
In any shape, in any mood. (Byron.

And, as she looked around, she saw how Death, the consoler,

Laying his hand upon many a heart, had healed it forever. (Longfellow.

Thou know'st 'tis common; all that live must
Passing through nature to eternity.
Leaves have their time to fall,
And flowers to wither at the north wind's
And stars to set—but all,
Thou hast all seasons for thine own, oh!
Death. (Mrs. Hemans.

Death loves a shining mark, a signal blow. (Young. Can storied urn or animated bust Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath? Can honor's voice provoke the silent dust, Or flattery soothe the dull cold ear of - death? (Gray. We count it death to falter, not to die. (Simonides. There are slave drivers quietly whipt underground, There bookbinders, done up in boards are fast bound, There card-players wait till the last trump be played, There all the choice spirits get finally laid, There the babe, that's unborn is supplied with a berth, There men without legs get their six feet of earth, There lawyers repose, each wrapt up in his case, There seekers of office are sure of a place, There defendant and plaintiff get equally cast, There shoemakers quietly stick to the last. (Lowell. To die is landing on some silent shore, Where billows never break nor tempests roar: Ere well we feel the friendly stroke 'tis o'er. (Garth. The paths of glory lead but to the grave. (Gray.

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So live that when thy summons comes to
The innumerable caravan which moves
To that mysterious realm, where each shall
His chamber in the silent halls of death,
Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night,
Scourged to his dungeon; but, sustain'd and
By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave
Like one that draws the drapery of his couch
About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.


“Do you believe in dreams ?” and no.

When they come true, then I believe in them;

When they come false, I don't believe in them." (Longfellow.

Dream after dream ensues; And still they dream that they shall still succeed, And still are disappointed.

“Why, yes


Dreams are but interludes, which fancy

makes; When monarch Reason sleeps, this mimic wakes. (Dryden.

'Twas but a dream,_let it pass, let it vanish like so many others

What I thought was a flower, is only a weed, and is worthless. (Longfellow.

Oh! I have pass'd a miserable night,
So full of fearful dreams, of ugly sights,
That, as I am a Christian faithful man,
I would not spend another such a night,
Though 'twere to buy a world of happy days.
The fisher droppeth his net in the stream,
And a hundred streams are the same as
one ;
And the maiden dreameth her love-lit dream;
And what is it all, when all is done?
The net of the fisher the burden breaks,
And always the dreaming the dreamer wakes.
(Alice Cary. '

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My eyes make pictures when they are shut.
Sweet sleep be with us, one and all!
And if upon its stillness fall
The visions of a busy brain,
We'll have our pleasure o'er again,
To warm the heart, to charm the sight,
Gay dreams to all ! good night, good night!
(Joanna Baillie.


Education is the only interest worthy the deep, controlling anxiety of the thoughtful man. (Wendell Phillips.

Every person has two educations—one which he receives from others, and one more important which he gives himself. (Gibbon. Education commences at the mother's knee, and every word spoken within the hearsay of little children tends towards the formation of character. (Hosea Ballou.

True ease in writing comes from art, not

chance, As those move easiest who have learn'd to dance. (Pope.

Instruction ends in the schoolroom, but education ends only with life. A child is

given to the universe to educate. (Robertson.

Do not ask if a man has been through college. Ask if a college has been through him. (Chapin. There is nothing more frightful than for a teacher to know only what his scholars are intended to know. (Goethe.

Histories make men wise; poets, witty; the mathematics, subtile; natural philosophy, deep; morals, grave; logic and rhetoric, able to contend. (Bacon.

Give a boy address and accomplishments, and you give him the mastery of paiaces and fortunes where he goes. He has not the trouble of earning or owning them; they

solicit him to enter and possess. (Emerson.

The Self-Educated are marked by stubborn peculiarities. Isaac Disraeli. How much a dunce, that has been sent to roam, Excels a dunce, that has been kept at home. (Cowper. Instruction does not prevent waste of time or mistakes; and mistakes themselves are often the best teachers of all. (Froude. Uneasy lie the heads of all that rule, His worst of all whose kingdom is a school. (Holmes. When I am forgotten, as I shall be,

And sleep in dull cold marble, + + + +

Say, I taught thee. (Shakespeare. The mother's heart is the child's schoolroom. (Beecher. Learn to live, and live to learn, Ignorance like a fire doth burn, Little tasks make large returns. (Bayard Taylor. 'Tis education forms the common mind, Just as the twig is bent, the tree's inclined. (Pope. Better a little chiding than a great deal of heartbreak. (Shakespeare.

Education is the cheap defence of nations. (Edmund Burke. Educate men without religion and you make them but clever devils. (Duke of Wellington. And say to mothers what a holy charge Is theirs—with what a kingly power their love Might rule the fountains of the newborn mind. (Mrs. Sigourney.


Experience keeps a dear school, but fools will learn in no other. (Franklin.

To Truth's house there is a single door, Which is Experience He teaches best, Who feels the hearts of all men in his breast, And knows their strength or weakness through his own. (Bayard Taylor.

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