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  TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE

  Italic text is denoted by _underscores_.
  The oe ligature (one occurrence) has been replaced by 'oe'.

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  THE FOLLOWING PAGES,

  ORIGINALLY INTENDED FOR THEIR AMUSEMENT,

  ARE DEDICATED TO

  MY CHILDREN.




  ORACLES FROM THE POETS.

                  I am Sir Oracle,
    And when I ope my lips let no dog bark.

  _Merchant of Venice._




  ORACLES FROM THE POETS:

  A FANCIFUL DIVERSION

  FOR

  THE DRAWING-ROOM.

  BY

  CAROLINE GILMAN.

    The enthusiast Sybil there divinely taught,
    Writes on loose foliage inspiration's thought.
    She sings the fates, and in her frantic fits
    The notes and names inscribed to leaves commits.

  _Dryden's and Symmon's Virgil._

    _Macbeth._ I conjure you, by that which you profess,
       (Howe'er you come to know it,) answer me.

    _First Witch._ Speak.

    _Second Witch._ Demand.

    _Third Witch._ We'll answer.

  NEW YORK:
  JOHN WILEY

  (OLD STAND OF "WILEY AND PUTNAM"),
  161 BROADWAY: AND PATERNOSTER ROW, LONDON.

  1848.

  Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1844,
  BY WILEY & PUTNAM.
  In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for
  the Southern District of New York.

  Stereotyped by
  RICHARD C. VALENTINE,
  45 Gold-street, New York.




PREFACE.


I was led to arrange "THE ORACLES FROM THE POETS," by observing the
vivid interest taken by persons of all ages in a very common-place
Fortune-Teller in the hands of a young girl. It occurred to me
that I might avail myself of this love of the mysterious, for the
intellectual enjoyment of my family circle.

Instead, however, of the pastime of a few days, it has been the work
of every leisure moment for six months. The first movement was the
pebble thrown into the stream; circle after circle formed, until I
found, with old Thomas Heywood,

                        "My pen was dipt
    As well in opening each hid manuscript,
    As tracts more vulgar, whether read or sung
    In our domestic or more foreign tongue."

How rich these six months have been in the purest and highest
enjoyment, I will not stop to say; but to be allowed to float in such
an atmosphere, buoyed up with the sweetest sympathies of friends, may
be conceived to be no common happiness. And now, with the hope of
communicating a portion of this pleasure more extensively, I yield
this volume up as a public offering, for the advancement of those
rational social enjoyments which seem to belong to the moral movement
of the age.

I do not know how far early associations may have influenced me, but
I distinctly recollect the first Oracle of my childhood. At the age
of eight years I attended a female seminary in a village. The classes
were allowed a half hour for recreation, and they usually played on
the green within view of the academy building. One day I observed a
group of girls of the senior class pass beyond the bounds and enter
the church, which was opened for some approaching occasional service.
I followed quietly. They walked through the aisle with agitated
whispers, and ascended to the pulpit. Then each, in turn, opening the
large Bible, laid a finger, with closed eyes, on a verse, and read it
aloud, as indicating her fate or character.

I well remember the eagerness with which I listened on the stairs,
for I was afraid to crowd into the pulpit with the _big_ girls. As
they retired, I entered. I can recall the timid feeling with which I
glanced round the shadowy building, the awe with which I closed my
eyes and placed my small finger on the broad page, and the faith with
which I read my _Oracle_.

I must make an early apology for venturing to alter the tenses of
authors so as to conform to answers. I tried the method of literal
extracts, but they were deficient in spirit and directness. I can
now only warn my readers not to quote the Oracles habitually, as
exact transcripts, but resort to the originals. I have trembled as
if it were sacrilege to turn thus the streams of Helicon into this
little channel, but I hope the evil may be balanced by the increased
acquaintance of many with slighted authors.

I have not allowed myself to select from periodicals, though American
journals contain perhaps more favorable specimens of our literature
than the published volumes to which I have felt bound to confine
myself.

My selections have extended so far beyond the limits of my plan, that
I propose furnishing another volume, in the course of the year, with
additional questions, including translations from popular authors.
One question in the present volume, _To what have you a distaste
or aversion?_ is, I think, nearly exhausted, while its opposite,
_What gratifies your taste or affections?_ presents still an ample
field for gleaning. Will this furnish any argument against those
ascetics, who think misery preponderates over happiness? One fanciful
question in the succeeding volume will be, _What is the name of your
Lady-love?_ and another, _Of him who loves you_?

I shall consider with respectful attention friendly suggestions
made to me directly, or through my publishers, preparatory to the
arrangement of another volume, particularly in bringing to view any
poet, who, by accident, may have escaped attention.

I have been urged to communicate, in a preface, the literary results
which have necessarily flowed from the examination and comparison
of such a mass of poets, but the task is beyond the limits of this
humble effort. It would, indeed, be a rich field for a Schlegel or De
Staeel.

A few curious speculations, however, may present themselves to the
most superficial critic. In Shakspeare, for instance, so affluent in
various delineations of character and personal appearance, I looked
in vain for places of residence. There seemed not to be even a fair
proportion of passages descriptive of musical sounds, hours, seasons,
and (except in The Winter's Tale) of flowers.

In Wordsworth, scarcely a flower or musical sound is described. They
are alluded to, but not painted out. The poetry of Crabbe, though
abounding in numerous characters, could surrender almost none for my
purpose, on account of their being woven into the general strain of
his narratives. Shelley, Landon, and Howitt, are eminently the poets
of flowers, while Darwin, with a whole _Botanic Garden_ before him,
and Mason, in his _English Garden_, gave me, I think, none that I
conceived fairly entitled to selection.

Few passages of any sort, except those hackneyed into adages,
could be gained from Milton, on account of the abstract, lofty,
and continuous flow of his diction. Coleridge has corresponding
peculiarities.

Keats and Shelley are the poets of the heavens. Byron, with faint
exceptions, does not describe a flower, or musical sound, or place of
residence.

The American poets, in contradistinction to their elder and superior
brethren of the fatherland, display a more marked devotion to nature,
with which a continual glow of religious sentiment aptly harmonizes.

But I am recalled by these lengthening paragraphs to my disclaimer,
and only wish that an abler and more philosophical pen than mine
could take my recent experience.

After a close examination of the earlier dramatic poets, though I
have rescued from them some exquisite gems, it seems to me far from
desirable that they should be brought forward as prominently as many
of their wordy commentators desire. A kind of pure instinct in the
British taste has placed Shakspeare without a brother on the throne.
The fathers of dramatic poetry acted according to their light, but
it was not the "true light." A few relics, selected with caution,
may honor their memory, but we should be careful while warning our
youth against the impurities of some modern poets, how we extol these
vulgarities of a darker moral age.

Before parting I must ask clemency for classing all my authors among
_Poets_, that great word so deservedly sacred, and to which I bow
with deep reverence; but the Parnassus of my Oracles has many steps,
and I cannot but feel kindly towards those, who sit gracefully
even on the lower platform, nor apprehend that they will do more
than look up deferentially to the laurel-crowned worthies at its
summit. Besides, it has been the character of my taste, or perhaps
philosophy, whenever literally or figuratively I gather a wreath of
flowers, to twine the wild blossom as heartily as the exotic, and
even insert a weed, if its color or contrast lends beauty to the
combination;--and thus with my Oracles.




CATALOGUE OF AUTHORS

QUOTED IN THE ORACLES.


ENGLISH.

  AKENSIDE
  ADDISON

  BLOOMFIELD
  BOWRING
  BAYLEY
  BARBAULD
  BURNS
  BEATTIE
  BYRON
  BOWLES
  BAILLIE
  BARTON
  BROWNE
  BUTLER
  BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER

  CROLY
  COWPER
  CAREW
  COWLEY
  COLLINS
  CONGREVE
  CAMPBELL
  CHATTERTON
  CIBBER
  CUNNINGHAM
  COOK
  COLERIDGE
  CRABBE
  CORNWALL
  CUMBERLAND
  CHAUCER
  COLEMAN
  CLARK
  CHURCHILL
  CARRINGTON
  CRASHAW

  DRYDEN
  DARWIN

  ELLIOTT

  FERGUSON
  FALCONER

  GRAY
  GOLDSMITH
  GAY
  GISBORNE
  GRAHAME

  HOWITT
  HEMANS
  HOME
  HABINGTON
  HUNT
  HOGG
  HAYLEY
  HAMMOND
  HASTINGS
  HERBERT
  HOOD

  KING JAMES
  JOHNSON
  JONES
  JONSON

  KEATS
  KEMBLE

  LANDON
  LEE
  LAMB
  LYTTLETON

  MILLER
  MOTHERWELL
  MASSINGER
  MOORE
  MILTON
  MITFORD
  MORE
  MASON
  MURPHY
  MASSINGER
  MILMAN
  MONTGOMERY
  MACKENZIE
  MACAULAY
  MACNEIL
  MATURIN

  NORTON

  OSSIAN

  POLLOK
  POPE
  PRIOR
  POMFRET
  PERCY'S RELIQUES

  RAMSAY
  ROWE
  ROGERS
  ROSCOE

  SHELLEY
  SHAKSPEARE
  SOUTHEY
  SHERIDAN
  SPENSER
  SOTHEBY
  STERLING
  SHENSTONE
  SWIFT
  SCOTT
  SMITH
  SOMERVILLE

  TAYLOR, JOHN
  TENNENT
  THOMSON
  TIGHE
  TALFOURD
  TENNYSON
  TOBIN
  TAYLOR
  THOM

  VAUX

  WORDSWORTH
  WILSON
  WILLIAMS
  WHITE
  WOTTON
  WARTON
  WATTS
  WOLCOTT
  WEBSTER

  YOUNG


AMERICAN.

  ALDRICH

  BRYANT
  BROOKS
  BULFINCH
  BENJAMIN
  BURLEIGH
  BANCROFT
  BRAINARD

  CHARLTON
  CLARK
  CAREY
  COXE
  CRANCH
  CHILD
  CRAFTS

  DANA, MRS.
  DAVIDSON, M.
  DANA, R. H.
  DRAKE
  DAWES
  DAVIDSON, L.
  DINNIES
  DICKSON
  DOANE

  EMBURY
  EMERSON
  ELLET

  FOLLEN
  FAIRFIELD
  FAY
  GALLAGHER
  GOULD
  GILMAN, S.
  GOODRICH
  GILMAN, C.
  GREENE

  HOLMES
  HILL
  HARVEY
  HALLECK
  HILLHOUSE
  HALE
  HOSMER
  HARRINGTON

  JAMES

  LEE
  LONGFELLOW
  LOWELL
  LEWIS
  LUNT

  MCLELLAN
  MORRIS
  MELLEN
  MOISE
  MILLER

  NEAL
  NOBLE
  NACK

  OSGOOD

  PERCIVAL
  PETERS
  PIERPONT
  PRENTICE
  PEABODY
  PIERSON
  PIKE
  PAYNE

  SMITH
  STREET
  SIMMS
  SARGENT
  SANDS
  SIGOURNEY
  SPRAGUE
  SCOTT

  TUCKERMAN

  WILLIS
  WHITTIER
  WARE, H.
  WELLS
  WELBY
  MRS. WARE
  WILDE
  WHITMAN
  WILCOX
  WOODWORTH


The Game of the Oracles is composed of the following fourteen
Questions, with sixty Answers each, numbered.

  What is your character?--Gentleman.                           Page 21

  What is your character?--Lady.                                  "  35

  What is the personal appearance of your lady-love?              "  51

  What is the personal appearance of him who loves
  you?                                                            "  69

  What is the character of your lady-love?                        "  83

  What is the character of him who loves you?                     "  97

  What season of the year do you love?                            " 111

  What hour do you love?                                          " 129

  What musical sounds do you love?                                " 147

  What is your favorite flower?                                   " 161

  What gratifies your taste or affections?                        " 175

  For what have you a distaste or aversion?                       " 193

  Where or what will be your residence?                           " 209

  What is your destiny?                                           " 227




DIRECTIONS

FOR THE GAME OF THE ORACLES FROM THE POETS.


FOR A FORTUNE-TELLER WITH TWO PERSONS.

The person who holds the book asks, for instance, What is your
character? The individual questioned selects any one of the sixty
answers under that head, say No. 3, and the questioner reads aloud
the answer No. 3, which will be the Oracle.


FOR A ROUND GAME.

Where there are more than six persons present, it will be well
to select the following questions, as the game, connected with
the discussions to which it will probably give rise, will be too
protracted by introducing the whole, and the remaining questions are
of a sentimental rather than personal class.

  What is your character?--Gentleman.                           Page 21

  What is your character?--Lady.                                  "  35

  What is the personal appearance of your lady-love?              "  51

  What is the personal appearance of him who
  loves you?                                                      "  69

  What is the character of your lady-love?                        "  83

  What is the character of him who loves you?                     "  97

  Where or what will be your place of residence?                  " 209

  What is your destiny?                                           " 227

A questioner having been selected, he calls on each individual
to choose a number under the question proposed, and reads each
answer aloud as the number is mentioned. If the party agree to
the arrangement, the author of the Oracle can be demanded by the
questioner, and a forfeit paid in case of ignorance, or a premium
given for a correct answer.

If the person whose Oracle is read cannot tell the author, any one of
the party may be allowed a trial in turn, and receive the premium.




WHAT IS YOUR CHARACTER?


GENTLEMAN.


    All our knowledge is ourselves to know.

            POPE.

    Oh, wad some power the giftie gie us,
    To see oursels as others see us;
    It wad frae monie a blunder free us
                  And foolish notion!

            BURNS.




WHAT IS YOUR CHARACTER?


GENTLEMAN.


    1. You kiss not where you wish to kill,
       You feign not love where most you hate,
       You break no sleep to win your will,
       You wait not at the mighty's gate.

            LORD VAUX.


    2. E'en your failings lean to virtue's side.

            GOLDSMITH.


    3. Polite, yet virtuous, you have brought away
       The manners, not the morals of the day.

            COWPER.


    4. _Thou_ art slow to science; the chart and letter'd page
       Have in them no deep spell whereby thy spirit to engage;
       But rather thou wouldst sail thy boat, or sound thy bugle-horn,
       Or track the sportsman's triumph through the fields of waving corn,
       Than o'er the ponderous histories of other ages bend,
       Or dwell upon the sweetest page that ever poet penn'd.

            MRS. NORTON.


    5. A spider you may best be liken'd to,
       Which creature is an adept, not alone
       In workmanship of nice geometry,
       But is beside a wary politician.

  TAYLOR.


    6.                      I know thee brave,--
       A counsellor subtle, and a leader proved,--
       With wisdom fitting for a king's right hand;
       Firm in resolve, nor from thy purpose moved:
       Then what lack'st thou to render thee beloved?
       Thou'st wooed and won a gentle heart, and more,--
       Hast trampled it to dust.

            ALLAN CUNNINGHAM.


    7. I would rather wed a man of dough,
       Such as some school-girl, when the pie is made,
       To amuse her childish fancy, kneads at hazard
       Out of the remnant paste.

            JOHN TOBIN.


    8. Thou, with a lofty soul, whose course
         The thoughtless oft condemn,
       Art touch'd by many airs from heaven
         Which never breathe on them.
       Moved too by many impulses,
         Which they do never know,
       Who round their earth-bound circles plod
         The dusty paths below.

            ALBERT G. GREENE.


    9. You look the whole world in the face,
       For you owe not any man.

            LONGFELLOW.


    10. You loiter, lounge, are lank and lazy,
        Though nothing ails you, yet uneasy;
        Your days insipid, dull, and tasteless,
        Your nights unquiet, long, and restless;
        And e'en your sports at balls and races,
        Your galloping through public places,
        Have sic parade, and pomp, and art,
        The joy can scarcely reach the heart.

            BURNS--_Twa Dogs_.


    11. Thou'st never bent at glory's shrine,
        To wealth thou'st never bow'd the knee,
        Beauty has heard no vows of thine,
        Thou lovest _ease_.

            R. H. WILDE.


    12. A gentleman of all Temperance.

            _Measure for Measure._


    13. You are positive and fretful,
        Heedless, ignorant, forgetful.

            SWIFT.


    14. There is one rare, strange virtue in thy speeches,
        The secret of their mastery--they're short.

            HALLECK.


    15.              For contemplation framed,
        Shy and unpractised in the strife of phrase,
        Yours is the language of the heavens, the power,
        The thought, the image, and the _silent_ joy.
        Words are but under-agents in your soul.

            WORDSWORTH.


    16. You take delight in others' excellence,
        A gift which nature rarely doth dispense;
        Of all that breathe, 'tis you, perhaps, alone,
        Would be well pleased to see yourself outdone.

            YOUNG--_Epistles_.


    17. You are the Punch to stir up trouble,
        You wriggle, fidge, and make a riot,
        Put all your brother puppets out.

            SWIFT.


    18. You'd shake hands with a king upon his throne,
        And think it kindness to his majesty.

            HALLECK.


    19. The meanest thing, earth's feeblest worm,
          You fear to scorn or hate;
        But honor in a peasant's form
          The equal of the great.

            EBENEZER ELLIOTT.


    20. You may be thrown among the gay and reckless sons of life,
        But will not love the revel scene or head the brawling strife.

            ELIZA COOK.


    21.                              You are one,
        Who can play off your smiles and courtesies
        To every lady, of her lap-dog tired,
        Who wants a plaything.

            SOUTHEY.


    22. Come, rouse thee now;--I know thy mind,
          And would its strength awaken;
        Proud, gifted, noble, ardent, kind.

            ANNA P. DINNIES.


    23.                           In choice
        Of morsels for the body, nice are you,
        And scrupulous;--
                 And every composition know
        Of cookery.

            POLLOK--_Course of Time_.


    24. A man thou seem'st of cheerful yesterdays,
        And confident to-morrows.

            WORDSWORTH.


    25. Sir, I confess you to be one well read
        In men and manners, and that usually
        The most ungovern'd persons, you being present,
        Rather subject themselves unto your censure,
        Than give you least occasion of distaste,
        By making you the subject of their mirth.

            BEN JONSON.


    26. When nae real ills perplex you,
        You make enow yoursel' to vex you.

            BURNS.


    27. You speak an infinite deal of nothing.

            _Merchant of Venice._


    28.                          Calm, serene,
        Your thoughts are clear and honest, and your words,
        Still chosen most gently, are not yet disguised
        To please the ear of tingling vanity.

            W. G. SIMMS.


    29. Large is your bounty, and your soul sincere;
          Heaven does a recompense as largely send:
        You give to misery all you have--a tear;
          You gain from heaven, 'tis all you ask--a friend.

            GRAY.


    30. You worship God with inward zeal, and serve him in each deed;
        Yet will not blame another's faith, nor have one martyr bleed.

            ELIZA COOK.


    31. Silent when glad, affectionate though shy;
          And now your look is most demurely sad;
        And now you laugh aloud, yet none know why,--
          Some deem you wondrous wise, and some believe you mad.

            BEATTIE--_Minstrel_.


    32. You act upon the prudent plan,
        "Say little, and hear all you can:"
          Safe policy, but hateful.

            COWPER.


33. You are a gentleman of excellent breeding, admirable discourse,
    generally allowed for your many warlike, courtlike, and learned
    preparations.

            _Merry Wives of Windsor._


    34. So gentle, yet so brisk, so wondrous sweet,
        Just fit to prattle at a lady's feet.

            CHURCHILL.


    35. Lord of yourself, though not of lands,
        You, having nothing, yet have all.

            SIR HENRY WOTTON.


    36. No change comes o'er thy noble brow,
      Though ruin is around thee;
    Thine eye-beam burns as proudly now
      As when the laurel crown'd thee.

            MRS. CHILD.


    37. Some have too much, yet still they crave;
          You little have, yet seek no more;
        They are but poor, though much they have,
          And you are rich with little store.
        They poor, you rich; they beg, you give;
        They lack, you lend; they pine, you live.

            LORD VAUX.


    38. With every shifting gale your course you ply,
        Forever sunk too low or borne too high.

            POPE.


    39. You will not bow unto the common things
        Men make their idols. You will stand apart
        From common men; your sensual appetite
        Shall be subservient to your loftier soul.

            MARY HOWITT.


    40.                 Sloth, the nurse of vices,
        And rust of action, is a stranger to you.

            MASSINGER.


    41. The worth of the three kingdoms I defy
        To lower you to the standard of a lie.

            COWPER.


    42. I have some comfort in this fellow;
        He hath no drowning mark upon him; his complexion
        Is perfect gallows.

            _Tempest._


    43.             You lacke no witte,
        You speke whatte bee the trouthe,
        And whatte all see is ryghte.

            ROWLEY--(_Chatterton._)


    44. A man resolved and steady to his trust,
        Inflexible to ill, and obstinately just.

            DR. WATTS.


    45. I know thy generous temper well;
        Fling but the appearance of dishonor on it,
        It straight takes fire, and mounts into a blaze.

            ADDISON--_Cato._


    46. Just like a snail through life's dull path you creep,
        Your whole existence but a waking sleep.

            R. M. CHARLTON.


    47.                           Your nature is,
        That you incline to hope rather than fear,
        And gladly banish squint suspicion.

            MILTON--_Comus._


    48.                   A right tender heart,
        Melting and easy, yielding to impression,
        And catching the soft flame from each new beauty.

            ROWE--_Jane Shore._


    49. The ruby lip, the sparkling eye,
          All unavailing prove;
        Wandering from fair to fair you fly,
          But will not learn to love.

            DR. S. H. DICKSON.


50. Never credit me, if I don't think thee more stupid, yea, more
    obtusely, intensely, and impenetrably thick-skulled, than ever
    man or woman was before thee.

            FANNY KEMBLE--_Star of Seville._


    51. Some deem you are a surly man,
          But _they_ know not your griefs and fears,
        How you have been beloved by one,
          Whose image lies "too deep for tears."

            THOMAS MILLER.


    52.                         One charm,
        We in your graceful character observe;
        That though your passions burn with high impatience,
        And sometimes, from a noble heat of nature,
        Are ready to fly off, yet the least check
        Of ruling reason brings them back to temper,
        And gentle softness.

            THOMSON--_Tancred and Sigismunda._


    53. You are the fellow at the chimney corner,
        Who keeps the fire alive that warms us all.

            FANNY KEMBLE.


    54. You love, and would be loved again;
        Do but confess it;--you possess a soul,
        That what it wishes, wishes ardently.
        You would believe you hated, had you power
        To love with moderation

            HILL--_Zara_.


    55.                            A soul
        Too great, too just, too noble to be happy.

            CIBBER--_Zimena_.


    56. Though straiter bounds your fortune does confine,
        In your large heart is found a wealthy mine

            WALLER.


    57. Your heart has settled in a sea of pride,
        Till every part is cold and petrified.

            MISS H. F. GOULD.


    58. Your mirth is the pure spirits of various wit,
        Yet never doth your God or friends forget;
        And when deep talk and wisdom come in view,
        Retires, and gives to them their due

            COWLEY.


    59.                   You are young, and of
        That mould which throws out heroes; fair in favor,
        And doubtlessly, with such a form and heart,
        Would look into the fiery eyes of war.

            BYRON--_Werner_.


    60.               Calm as evening skies
        Is your pure mind, and lighted up with hopes
        That open heaven.

            THOMSON--_Tancred and Sigismunda_.




WHAT IS YOUR CHARACTER?


LADY.


    NEVILL.--Know'st thou how slight a thing a woman is?

    SCUDMORE.--Yes; and how serious too.

            NATHANIEL FIELD--

            _Woman's a Weathercock. A Comedy_.

            From Lamb's Specimens of Old Dramatic Poets.




WHAT IS YOUR CHARACTER?


LADY.


    1.  None know thee but to love thee,
        None name thee but to praise.

            HALLECK.


    2.  Oh, thou wilt ever be what now thou art,
        Nor unbeseem the promise of thy spring;
        As fair in form, as warm, yet pure in heart,
        Love's image upon earth without its sting.

            BYRON.


    3. Ever o'er thy soul a shadow lies,
       Still darkest, when life wears the sunniest skies;
       And even when with bliss thy heart beats high,
       The swell subsides into a plaintive sigh.

            MRS. PIERSON.


    4.  Sometimes will you laugh, and sometimes cry,
        Then sudden you wax wroth, and all you know not why.

            THOMSON.


    5.  Thou doest little kindnesses,
          Which most leave undone or despise;
        For naught that sets one heart at ease,
        And giveth happiness or peace,
          Is low esteemed in thy eyes.

            JAMES R. LOWELL.


    6.  Thou art merry and free,
          Thou carest for naebody,
        If naebody care for thee.

            BURNS.


    7.  Women love you, that you are a woman
        More worth than any man; men, that you are
        The rarest of all women.

            _Winter's Tale._


    8.  Not only good and kind,
        But strong and elevated is thy mind;
        A spirit that with noble pride
        Can look superior down
        On fortune's smile or frown;
        That can, without regret or pain,
        To virtue's lowest duty sacrifice.

            LORD LYTTLETON.


    9.  At table you are scrupulous withal;
        No morsel from your lips do you let fall,
        Nor in your sauce will dip your fingers deep.
        Well can you carry a morsel, and well keep,
        That not a drop e'er falls upon your breast.
        In courtesy your pleasure much doth rest.
        Your dainty upper lip you wipe so clean,
        That in your cup there is no farthing seen
        Of grease, when you have drunk; and for your meat,
        Full seemly bend you forward on your seat.

            CHAUCER.


    10.  You have a natural, wise sincerity,
         A simple truthfulness;
         And though yourself not unacquaint with care,
         Have in your heart wide room.

            JAMES R. LOWELL.


    11. What you do
        Still betters what is done; when you speak, sweet,
        We'd have you do it ever.

            _Winter's Tale._


    12. An inward light to guide thee,
          Unto thy soul is given,
        Pure and serene as its divine
          Original in heaven.

            JAMES ALDRICH.


    13. You have no gift at all in shrewishness,
        You are a right woman for your cowardice.

            _Midsummer Night's Dream._


    14. The world has won thee, lady, and thy joys
        Are placed in trifles, fashions, follies, toys.

            CRABBE.


    15. Mishap goes o'er thee like a summer cloud;
        Cares thou hast none, and they who stand to hear thee,
        Catch the infection and forget their own.

            ROGERS--_Italy_.


    16. Nature for her favorite child,
          In thee hath temper'd so her clay,
        That every hour thy heart runs wild,
          Yet never once doth go astray.

            WORDSWORTH.


    17. Your only labor is to kill the time,
        And labor dire it is, and weary wo;
        You sit, you loll, turn o'er some idle rhyme,
        Then rising, sudden to the glass you go.

            THOMSON.

18. You will die if ---- love you not; and you will die ere you make
    your love known; and you will die if he woo you, rather than
    abate one breath of your crossness.

            _Much Ado About Nothing._


    19. It cannot bend thy lofty brow,
          Though friends and foes depart,
        The car of fate may o'er thee roll,
           Nor crush thy Roman heart.

            MRS. CHILD.


20. You wash, wring, brew, bake, scour, dress meat and drink, make
    the beds, and do all yourself.

            _Merry Wives of Windsor._


    21.                             To tend
          From good to better--thence to best,
        Grateful you drink life's cup, then bend
          Unmurmuring to your bed of rest;
        You pluck the flowers that around you blow,
        Scattering their fragrance as you go.

            BOWRING.


    22.                         Rich in love
        And sweet humanity, you will be yourself,
        To the degree that you desire, beloved.

            WORDSWORTH.


    23. You little care what others do,
        And where they go, and what they say;
        Your bliss all inward, and your own,
        Would only tarnish'd be by being shown.
        The talking, restless world shall see,
        Spite of the world, you'll happy be;
              But none shall know,
              How much you are so,
              Save only _Love_.

            MRS. BARBAULD.


    24. Scared at thy frown, abash'd will fly
          Self-pleasing folly's idle brood,
        Wild laughter, noise, and thoughtless joy,
          And leave thee leisure to be good

            GRAY.


    25. A happy lot be thine, and larger light
          Await thee there;--for thou hast bow'd thy will
        In cheerful homage to the rule of right,
          And lovest all, and doest good for ill.

            BRYANT.


    26. In you are youth, beauty, and humble port,
        Bounty, richesse, and womanly feature;
        God better knows than my pen can report,
        Wisdom, largesse, estate and cunning sure.
        In every point so guided is your measure,
        In word, in deed, in shape, in countenance,
        That nature could no more her child advance.

            _King James I._


    27. You do incline to sadness, and oft-times
        Not knowing why.

            _Cymbaline._


    28.                           You are a riddle,
        Which he who solved the sphinx's would die guessing!

            JOHN TOBIN.


    29. You have train'd your spirit to forgive,
          As you hope to be forgiven;
        And you live on earth as they should live
          Whose hopes and home are heaven.

            BOWRING.


    30.                   A reasonable woman;
        Fair without vanity, rich without pride,
        Discreet though witty, learned yet very humble.

            JOHN TOBIN.


    31. There's little of the melancholy in you; you are
          never sad but when you sleep, and not even sad
          then; for I have heard that you often dream of
          mischief, and wake yourself with laughing.

            _Much Ado About Nothing._


    32. Like a summer storm awhile you're cloudy,
        Burst out in thunder and impetuous showers,
        But straight the sun of beauty dawns abroad,
        And all the fair horizon is serene.

            NICHOLAS ROWE.


    33.                   Think not the good,
        The gentle deeds of mercy thou hast done
        Shall die forgotten all; the poor, the prisoner,
        The fatherless, the friendless, and the widow,
        Who daily own the bounty of thy hand,
        Shall cry to heaven and pull a blessing on thee.

            GEORGE LILLO.


    34. A friend to the hen-coop you often are found;
        When the rat or the weasel are prowling around,
        Or chick become motherless strays from the wing,
        A mother are you to the motherless thing.

            MARIA JAMES.


    35. A' the day you spier what news kind neibor bodies bring.

            MOTHERWELL.


    36. Innocence and virgin modesty,
        A virtue and a consciousness of worth
        That would be woo'd, and not unsought be won.

            MILTON--_Paradise Lost_.


    37. It is your pleasure sweetly to complain,
        And to be taken with a sudden pain;
        Then up you start, all ecstasy and bliss,
        And are, sweet soul, just as sincere in this.
        Oh, how you roll your charming eyes in spite,
        And look delightfully with all your might.

            DR. YOUNG--_Love of Fame_.


    38. Gracious to all; but where your love is due
        So fast, so faithful, loyal, just, and true,
        That a bold hand as soon might hope to force
        The rolling light of heaven, as stay your course.

            WALLER.


    39. Thou medley of contraries!
          We trust thee, yet we doubt thee,
        Our darkness and our light;
          Night would be day without thee,
        And day, without thee, night.

            JUDGE CHARLTON.


    40. You are a soul so white and so chaste,
        As nothing called foul
        Dares approach with a blot,
        Or any least spot;
        But still you control
        Or make your own lot,
        Preserving love pure as it first was begot.

            BEN JONSON.


    41. The power you wield has its best spells in love,
        And gentleness, and thought; never in scorn,
        Or any wayward impulse or caprice.

            W. G. SIMMS.


    42. You love to listen better than to talk,
        And, rather than be gadding, would sit quiet;--
        Hate cards, and cordials.

            TOBIN.


    43. You do not love
        As _men_ love, who love often. Yours has been
        A single sentiment for one alone,
        An all-engrossing passion, which doth live
        On hope and faith.

            ELIZABETH BOGART.


    44. Thou talkest well, but talking is thy privilege;
        'Tis all the boasted courage of thy sex.

            NICHOLAS ROWE--_Tamerlane_.


    45. Thoughts go sporting through your mind
          Like children among flowers,
        And deeds of gentle goodness are
          The measure of your hours.
        In soul or face you bear no trace
          Of one from Eden driven,
        But, like the rainbow, seem, though born
          Of earth, a part of heaven!

            GEORGE HILL.


    46. All things thou art by turns, from wrath to love,
        From the queen eagle, to the vestal dove.

            BARRY CORNWALL.


    47. You've turn'd up your nose at the short,
          And cast down your eyes at the tall;
        But then you just did it in sport,
          And now you've no lover at all.

            G. P. MORRIS.


    48. Alive to feel and curious to explore
        Each distant object of refined distress.

            WHITEHEAD--_Roman Father_.


    49.                           You have a soul
        Of god-like mould, intrepid and commanding:
        But you have passions which outstrip the wind,
        And tear your virtues up.

            CONGREVE--_Mourning Bride_.


    50. There's not a lovely transient thing
        But brings thee to our mind!
        The rainbow, or the fragile flower,
        Sweet summer's fading joys,
        The waning moon, the dying day,
        The passing glories of the clouds,
        The leaf that brightens as it falls,
        The wild tones of the AEolian harp,
        All tell some touching tale of thee;
        There's not a tender lovely thing
        But brings thee to our mind.

            MRS. FOLLEN.


    51.                   'Tis not your part,
        Out of your fond misgivings, to perplex
        The fortunes of the man to whom you cleave;
        'Tis yours to weave all that you have of fair
        And bright, in the dark meshes of their web.

            TALFOURD--_Ion_.


    52.               In our hours of ease,
        Uncertain, coy, and hard to please;
        When pain and sickness rend the brow,
        A ministering angel thou.

            SCOTT.


    53.                       Ever art thou fair,
        Ev'n in the city's gaudy tumult, fair;
        Yet he who marks thee only as the charm
        And worship of gay crowds, in festive halls,
        Knows but thy living image, not thy soul,
        Joyless in that cold pomp.

            DR. BROWN--_Bower of Spring_.


    54. Thine is the heart that is gentle and kind,
        And light as the feather that sports in the wind.

            HOGG--_Queen's Wake_.


    55. Your person is a paradise, and your soul the cherub to guard it.

            DRYDEN.


    56. Your two red lips _affected_ zephyrs blow,
        To cool the Hyson, and inflame the beau;
        While one white finger and a thumb conspire
        To lift the cup, and make the world admire.

            YOUNG.


    57. More than a sermon love you the touch'd string,
        You love to tinkling tunes your feet to fling.

            ALLAN CUNNINGHAM.


    58. Coquet and coy at once your air,
          Both studied, though both seem neglected;
        Careless you are with artful care,
          Affecting to seem unaffected.

            CONGREVE.


    59.               Your sweet humor
        Is easy as a calm, and peaceful too.
        All your affections like the dew on roses,--
        Fair as the flowers themselves, as sweet and gentle.

            BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER--_The Pilgrim_.


    60. Grateful we find you, patient of control;
        A most bewitching gentleness of soul
        Makes pleasure of what work you have to do.

            BLOOMFIELD--_The Miller's Maid_.




WHAT IS THE PERSONAL APPEARANCE OF YOUR LADY-LOVE?


                Must you have my picture?
    You will enjoin me to a strange punishment.
    With what a compell'd face a woman sits
    While she is drawing! I have noted divers
    Either to fain smiles, or suck in the lips,
    To have a little mouth; ruffle the cheeks,
    To have the dimple seen; and so disorder
    The face with affectation, at next sitting
    It has not been the same.
                        --But indeed
    If ever I would have mine drawn to the life,
    I would have a painter steal it at such a time
    I were devoutly kneeling at my prayers;
    There is then a heavenly beauty in't, the _soul_
    Moves in the superficies.

            JOHN WEBSTER--
            _The Devil's Law Case. A Tragi-Comedy._
            From Lamb's Specimens of Dramatic Poets.




WHAT IS THE PERSONAL APPEARANCE OF YOUR LADY-LOVE?


    1.  Her eyes are shadowy, full of thought and prayer,
        And with long lashes o'er a white rose cheek
        Drooping.

            MRS. HEMANS.


    2.  A thing all lightness, life, and glee,
          One of the shapes we seem
        To meet in visions of the night,
        And should they greet our waking sight,
          Imagine that we dream.

            GEORGE HILL.


    3.  A lovelier nymph the pencil never drew;
        For the fond Graces form'd her easy mien,
        And heaven's soft azure in her eye is seen.
        She seems a rose-bud when it first receives
        The genial sun in its expanding leaves.

            HAYLEY--_Triumphs of Temper_.


    4.                                    Eyes
        As tender as the blue of weeping skies,
        Yet sunny in their radiance as that blue,
        When sunset glitters on its falling dew.

            JOHN NEAL.


    5.  She bends beneath the weight of dress,
          The stiffen'd robes, which spoil her easy mien,
        And art mistaken makes her beauty less,
          While still it hides some beauties better seen.

            HAMMOND--_Love Elegies_.


    6.  There is a sweetness in her upturn'd eyes,
        A tearful lustre, such as fancy lends
        To the Madonna, and a soft surprise,
        As if they found strange beauty in the air.

            PARK BENJAMIN.


    7.  Her soft, clear eyes, deep in their tenderness,
        Reflect all beautiful and kindly things.
        She would seem infantile, but that her brow
        In lilied majesty uptowers, and tells
        That lofty thoughts and chasten'd pride are there.

            MRS. GILMAN.


    8.                          Oh, the words
        Laugh on her lips; the motion of her smiles
        Showers beauty, as the air-caressed spray
        The dews of morning; and her stately steps
        Are light, as though a winged angel trod
        Over earth's flowers, and fear'd to brush away
        Their delicate hues.

            MILMAN--_Fazio_.


    9.  She has ane e'e, she has but ane,
          The cat has twa the very color;
        Five rusty teeth forbye a stump,
          A clapper tongue would deave a miller.

            BURNS.


    10. She lacks the beauty of a "damask skin,"
        But there are roses lying near at hand,
        To spring unto her cheek; oft from within
        They come, called up at feeling's high command,
        And on the glowing surface long remain.

            MRS. M. S. B. DANA.


    11. If on her we see display'd
        Pendent gems, and rich brocade,
        If her chintz with less expense
        Flows in easy negligence,
        If she strikes the vocal strings,
        If she's silent, speaks, or sings,
        If she sit, or if she move,
        Still we love and we approve.

            DR. JOHNSON.


    12. Her laugh is like a fairy's laugh,
          So musical and sweet;
        Her foot is like a fairy's foot,
          So dainty and so fleet.
        Her smile is fitful sunshine,
          Her hand is dimpled snow,
        Her lip a very rose-bud
          In sweetness and in glow.

            MRS. OSGOOD.


    13. A thoughtful and a quiet grace,
        Though happy still;--yet chance distress
        Hath left a pensive loveliness;
        Fancy hath tamed her fairy gleams,
        And her heart broods o'er home-born dreams.

            WILSON.


    14. Her swollen eyes are much disfigured,
        And her faire face with tears
        Is foully blubbered.

            SPENSER.


    15. A downcast eye, repentant of the pain
        That its mild light creates.

            KEATS.


    16. Not fairer grows the lily of the vale,
        Whose bosom opens to the vernal gale;
        While health that rises with the new-born day,
        Breathes o'er her cheek the softest blush of May.

            FALCONER--_Shipwreck_.


    17. Fairest where all is beautiful and bright!
        With what a grace she glides among the flowers
        That smile around her, bowing at her touch.

            GALLAGHER.


    18. On her cheek an autumn flush
        Deeply ripens;--such a blush
        In the midst of brown was born,
        Like red poppies grown with corn.
        Around her eyes her tresses lay,
        Which are blackest, none can say;
        But long lashes veil a light,
        That had else been all too bright.

            HOOD.


    19. Ne in her speach, ne in her haviour
        Is lightnesse seene, or looser vanitie;
        But gratious womanhood and gravitie,
        Above the reason of her youthly yeares.
        Her golden locks she roundly doth uptye,
        In braided trammels, that ne looser heares
        Do out of order stray about her daintie eares.

            SPENSER.


    20. A silver line, that from the brow to the crown,
        And in the middle, parts the braided hair,
        Just serves to show how delicate a soil
        The golden harvest grows in; while those eyes,
        Soft and capacious as a cloudless sky,
        Whose azure depth their colour emulates,
        Must needs be conversant with upward looks,
        Prayer's voiceless service.

            WORDSWORTH.


    21. Half the charms that deck her face,
        Arise from powder, shreds, and lace.

            GOLDSMITH.


    22. Time from her form has ta'en away but little of its grace,
        His touch of thought hath dignified the beauty of her face.

            BAYLEY.


    23.                             'Tis strange,
        That though you study long, you cannot tell
        The color of her eye, that seems to change,
        Beneath the ivory lid, from brilliant black
        To liquid hazel, then to full soft gray,
        Fast melting into violet.

            MISS M. E. LEE.


24. Her face is heaven's bow in showers. Her dark hair flows round it
    like streaming clouds.

            OSSIAN.


    25. She has an innocently downcast look,
          And when she raises up her eyes of blue,
        It seems as if her features were a book,
          Where sweet affection letters love for you.

            RUFUS DAWES.


    26. Indeed she has a marvellous white hand,
        I must needs confess.

            _Troilus and Cressida._


    27. I never saw a crowned queen,
          With such a noble air,
        So angel-like, so womanly,
          As is your lady fair.

            MARY HOWITT.


    28. Around her playful lips do glitter
          Heat lightnings of a girlish scorn,
        Harmless they are, for nothing bitter
          In that dear heart was ever born.
        That merry heart, that cannot lie
          Within its warm nest quietly,
        But ever from the full dark eye
          Is looking kindly, night and morn.

            J. R. LOWELL.


    29. Oh, her glance is the brightest that ever has shone,
          And the lustre of love's on her cheek;
        But all the bewildering enchantment is gone
          The moment you hear her speak.

            MRS. ELLET.


    30. The rose, with faint and feeble streak,
        So slightly marks the maiden's cheek,
        That you would say her hue is pale;
        But if she face the Southern gale,
        Or speaks, or sings, or quicker moves,
        Or hears the praise of those she loves,
        Or when of interest is express'd
        Aught that wakes feeling in her breast,
        The mantling blood in ready play
        Rivals the blush of opening day.

            SCOTT--_Rokeby_.


    31. She dresses aye sae clean and neat,
          Both decent and genteel;
        And then there's something in her gait
          Gars ony dress look weel.

            BURNS.


    32. She walks in beauty, like the night
          Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
        And all that's best of dark and bright,
          Meet in her aspect and her eyes.

            BYRON.


    33.               Eyes of the gray,
        The soft gray of the brooding dove,
        Full of the sweet and tender ray
        Of holy love.

            MRS. NORTON.


    34. I saw her hand--she has a leathern hand,
        A freestone color'd hand. I verily did think
        That her old gloves were on, but 'twas her hand;
        She has a housewife's hand!

            _As You Like It._


    35. The fashion of her gracefulness is not a follow'd rule,
        And her effervescent sprightliness was never taught at school;
        Her words are all peculiar, like the fairy's that spoke pearls,
        And her tone is ever sweetest 'mid the cadences of girls.

            WILLIS.


    36. There's language in her eye, her cheek, her lip;
        Nay, her foot speaks.

            _Troilus and Cressida._


    37. She has that changing color on the cheek,
        Which speaks the heart so well; those deep blue eyes,
        Like summer's darkest sky, yet not so glad;
        They are too passionate for happiness.

            MISS LANDON.


    38. There is a light around her brow,
        A holiness in those dark eyes,
        Which show, though wandering earthward now,
        Her spirit's home is in the skies.

            MOORE.


    39. A still, sweet, placid, moonlight face,
          And slightly nonchalant,
        Which seems to hold a middle place
          Between one's love and aunt.
        Where childhood's star has left a ray
          In woman's summer sky,
        As morning's dew and blushing day
          On fruit and blossom lie.

            O. W. HOLMES.


    40. A bright, frank brow, that has not learn'd to blush at gaze of man.

            MACAULAY--_Lays of Ancient Rome_.


    41. If to her share some female errors fall,
        Look in her face, and you'll forget them all.

            HAYLEY--_Triumphs of Temper_.


    42. Quips, and cranks, and playful wiles,
        Nods, and becks, and wreathed smiles,
        Such as hang on Hebe's cheek,
        And love to live in dimple sleek.

            MILTON--_Comus_.


    43. Excellently done, if God did all.

            _Twelfth Night._


    44.                               A ruby lip
        First dawns; then glows the young cheek's deeper hue,
        Yet delicate as roses when they dip
        Their odorous blossoms in the morning dew.
        Then beam the eyes, twin stars of living blue,
        Half shaded by the curls of glossy hair,
        That turn to gold in the West's golden glare.

            CROLY--_Angel of the World_.


    45. Love glower'd[A] when he saw her bonnie dark e'e,
          'An swore by heaven's grace,
        He ne'er had seen, nor thought to see,
        Since e'er he left the Paphian lea,
          Mair lovely a dwallin' place.

            WILLIAM THOM.

[A] Stared with surprise.


    46. An angel-face! its sunny "wealth of hair,"
        In radiant ripples, bathes the graceful throat,
        And dimpled shoulders; round the rosy curve
        Of the sweet mouth, a smile seems wandering ever,
        While in the depths of azure fire that gleams
        Beneath the drooping lashes, sleeps a world
        Of eloquent meaning--passionate, but pure;
        Dreamy, subdued, but O, how beautiful!

            MRS. OSGOOD.


    47. Do but look in her eyes, they do light
          All that Love's world compriseth:
        Do but look on her hair, it is bright
          As Love's star when it riseth!
        Do but mark, her forehead's smoother
                    Than words that sooth her,
        And from her arched brows such a grace
                    Sheds itself through the face,
        As alone there triumphs to the life,
          All the gain, all the good, of the elements at strife.

            BEN JONSON.


    48. When first you look upon her face,
          You little note, beside
        The timidness, that still betrays
          The beauties it would hide;
        But, one by one, they look out from
          Her blushes and her eyes,
        And still the last the loveliest,
          Like stars from twilight skies.

            GEORGE HILL.


    49. Endearing! endearing!
          Why so endearing
        Are those dark lustrous eyes,
          Through their silk fringe peering?
        They love thee! they love thee!
          Deeply, sincerely;
        And more than aught else on earth,
          Thou lov'st them dearly.

            MOTHERWELL.


    50. In face an angel, but in soul a cat!

            DR. WOLCOTT--_Peter Pindar_.


    51. Her feet beat witchcraft as she heads the dance,
          Lads, like a garland, hem her round about,
        While Love rains on them from her dark eye-glance.
        The maidens near her, tittering, take their stance,
          And on her swan-white neck, and snowy arms,
        Her small and nimble feet, they look askance;
          The hoary fiddler, as he listens, warms,
        And draws a lustier bow, and gazes on her charms.

            ALLAN CUNNINGHAM.


    52.                         A cheek, fair
        And delicate as rose-leaf newly blown--
        A brow like marble--lofty, and profuse
        With the rich brown of her o'ergathering hair.

            W. G. SIMMS.


    53. Such her beauty, as no arts
          Have enrich'd with borrow'd grace;
        Her high birth no pride imparts,
          For she blushes in her place.
        Folly boasts a glorious blood,
        She is noblest, being good.

            HABINGTON.


    54. O'er her features steal, serenely mild,
          The trembling sanctity of woman's truth,
        Her modesty, and simpleness, and grace;
        Yet those who deeper scan the human face,
          Amid the trial-hour of fear or ruth,
        May clearly read, upon its heaven-writ scroll,
        That high and firm resolve, which nerved the Roman soul.

            MRS. SIGOURNEY.


    55. On her forehead sitteth pride,
        Crown'd with scorn, and falcon-eyed;
        But she beneath, methinks, doth twine
        Silken smiles, that seem divine.
        Can such smiles be false and cold?
        Can she, will she wed for gold?

            BARRY CORNWALL.


    56. Oh! her beauty is fair to see,
        But still and steadfast is her e'e,
        And the soft desire of maiden's e'en,
        In that mild face can never be seen.
        Her seymat is the lily flower,
        And her cheek the moss-rose in a shower,
        And her voice, like the distant melody
        That floats along the twilight sea.
        But she lo'es to raike the lonely glen,
        And keep afar frae the haunts o' men.

            HOGG--_Queen's Wake_.


    57. 'Tis not her eye or lip we beauty call,
        But the joint force and full result of all.

            POPE.


    58.           Her face is very beautiful, and mirth
        Is native on her lip; but ever, now,
        As a sweet tone delighteth her, the smile
        Goes melting into sadness, and the lash
        Droops gently to her eye, as if it knew
        Affection was too chaste a thing for mirth.

            WILLIS.


    59. Have you seen but a bright lily grow,
          Before rude hands have touch'd it?
        Have you mark'd but the fall o' the snow,
          Before the soil hath smutch'd it?
        Have you felt the wool of the beaver?
                          Or swan's-down ever?
        Or have smelt o' the bud of the brier?
                          Or the nard in the fire?
        Or have tasted the bag of the bee?
        O so white! O so soft! O so sweet is she!

            BEN JONSON.


    60. Her nose is crook'd, and turn'd outwarde,
          Her chin stands all awry;
        A worse formed lady than she is,
          Was never seen with eye.
        Her haires like serpents cling aboute
          Her cheekes of deadlye hewe;
        A worse form'd ladye than she is
          No man mote ever view.

            PERCY'S RELIQUES--_The Marriage of Sir Gawaine_.




WHAT IS THE PERSONAL APPEARANCE OF HIM WHO LOVES YOU?


            'Twas pretty, though a plague,
    To see him every hour, to sit and draw
    His arched brows, his hawking eye, his curls,
    In our heart's table; heart, too capable
    Of every line and trick of his sweet favor.

            _All's Well That Ends Well._

I will drop in his way some obscure epistle of love; wherein, by the
color of his beard, the shape of his leg, the manner of his gait,
the expressure of his eye, forehead, and complexion, he shall find
himself most feelingly personated.

            _Twelfth Night._




WHAT IS THE PERSONAL APPEARANCE OF HIM WHO LOVES YOU?


    1.  On his bold visage middle age
        Has slightly press'd its signet sage,
        Yet has not quench'd the open truth
        And fiery vehemence of youth.

            SCOTT--_Lady of the Lake_.


    2.                  He is young
        And eminently beautiful, and life
        Mantles in eloquent fulness on his lip,
        And sparkles in his glance, and in his mien
        There is a gracious pride that every eye
        Follows with benisons.

            WILLIS.


    3.  He hath but a little wee face, with a little yellow beard.

            _Merry Wives of Windsor._


    4.            The high-born eye,
        That checks low mirth, but lacks not courtesy.

            BYRON--_Corsair_.


    5.  Locks jet black, and clustering round a face
        Open as day, and full of manly daring.

            ROGERS--_Italy_.


    6.  His face is keen as is the wind
        That cuts along the hawthorn fence,
                            A motley air
        Of courage and of impudence.

            WORDSWORTH.


    7.  Oh what a deal of scorn looks beautiful
        In the contempt and anger of his lip!

            _Twelfth Night._


    8.  A goodly person, and can manage faire
        His stubborn steed,
        Who under him doth trample in the air,
        And chafe, that any on his back should sit.

            SPENSER.


    9.  His waggish face, that speaks a soul jocose,
          Seems t'have been cast i' the mould of fun and glee;
        And on the bridge of his well-arched nose,
          Sits laughter plumed, and white-wing'd jollity.

            TENNENT--_Anster Fair_.


    10. The glow of temperance o'er his cheek is spread,
        Where the soft down half veils the chasten'd red.

            CRABBE.


    11.           Readable as open book;
        And much of easy dignity there lies
        In the frank lifting of his cordial eyes.

            LEIGH HUNT--_Rimini_.


    12. Underneath that face, like summer ocean's,
          Its lip as moveless, and its cheek as clear,
        Slumbers a whirlwind of the heart's emotions,
          Love, hatred, pride, hope, sorrow--all save fear.

            HALLECK.


    13. Singing he is, or fluting all the day;
        He is as fresh as is the month of May.
        He can songs make, and well indite,
        Jouste, and eke dance, and well portray and write;
        Courteous he is, lowly and serviceable,
        And carveth for his father at the table.

            CHAUCER.


    14. Does he not hold up his head, as it were, and strut in his gait?

            _Merry Wives of Windsor._


    15. Sober he seems, and very sagely sad,
        And to the ground his eyes are lowly bent.
        Simple in show.

            SPENSER--_Fairy Queen_.


    16.       He is the deuce among the girls,
        A thing of foppery and ton, of whiskers and of curls.

            ALBERT PIKE.


    17.                 A dainty gentleman,
        His sleepy eyes half closed, and countenance
        To no expression stronger than may suit
        A simper, capable of being turn'd.

            SOUTHEY.


18. Contempt contracts his face, a smile is on his dark-brown cheek,
    his red eye rolls half concealed beneath his shaggy brows.

            OSSIAN.


    19. Downcast, or shooting glances far,
          How beautiful his eyes,
        That blend the nature of the star
          With that of summer skies!

            WORDSWORTH.


    20. Eyebrows bent like Cupid's bow,
        Front an ample field of snow,
        Even nose, and cheek withal
        Smooth as is the billiard-ball;
        Chin as woolly as the peach,
        And his lip doth kissing teach,
        Till he cherish too much beard
        And make Love and you afear'd.

            BEN JONSON.


    21. A fair and meaning face, an eye of fire,
        That checks the bold and makes the free retire.

            CRABBE.


22. He has all the graces that render a man's society dear to ladies.

            MASSINGER.


    23. A beard that would make a razor shake,
        Unless its nerves were strong!

            ALBERT PIKE.


24. He hath but a little beard, but time will send more if the man
    will be thankful.

            _As You Like It._


    25.           A fresh young Squire,
        A lover, and a lusty bachelor;
        With locks curl'd as they were laid in press:
        Of twenty years of age he is, I guess.

            CHAUCER.


    26. His form is middle size,
        Shaped in proportion fair;
        And hazel is his eagle eye,
        And auburn of the deepest dye
        His short curl'd beard and hair.

            SCOTT.


    27. The tartness of his face sours ripe grapes.

            _Coriolanus._


    28. A kind true heart, a spirit high,
          That cannot fear, and will not bow,
        Are written in his manly eye,
          And on his manly brow.

            HALLECK.


    29. He has more goodness in his little finger, than you have in your
            whole body;
        Indeed he is a personable man, and not a spindle-shanked
            hoddy-doddy.

            SWIFT.


    30. A sweeter and a lovelier gentleman,
        Framed in the prodigality of nature,
        Young, valiant, wise,
        The spacious earth cannot afford again.

            _Richard III._


    31. A handsome gallant, and a beau of spirit,
        Who can go down the dance so well as he?

            TENNENT--_Anster Fair_.


    32. A phantom, fashionably thin,
        With limb of lath, and bearded chin.

            SCOTT--_Bridal of Triermain_.


    33. There is a fair behavior in him,
        And though that nature with a beauteous wall
        Doth oft close in pollution, yet of him
        I well believe, he has a mind that suits
        With this his fair and outward character.

            _Two Gentlemen of Verona._


    34. Like a crane, his neck is long and fine,
        With which he swalloweth up excessive feast.

            SPENSER.


    35. Oh thy love has an eye
        Like a star in the sky,
        And breath like the sweets from the hawthorn tree;
        And his heart is a treasure,
        Whose worth is past measure,
        And yet he hath given all--all to thee.

            BARRY CORNWALL.


    36. His form, his face, his noble mien,
        The sweetness of his touching tone,
        His feeling heart so simply shown,
        Such gifts of mind, such gentle grace,
        Proclaim him of no common race.

            SOTHEBY.


    37. A brow of beautiful yet earnest thought,
        A form of manly grace.

            MRS. SIGOURNEY.


    38.         He's handsome, valiant, young,
        And looks as he were laid for nature's best,
        To catch weak women's eyes.

            DRYDEN--_All for Love_.


    39. In that fair stand, his forehead, Love still bends
        His double bow, and round his arrows sends;
        In that tall grove, his hair, those globy rings
        He flying curls, and crispeth with his wings.

            BEN JONSON.


    40. He's fat, and scant o' breath.

            _Hamlet._


    41. Lordly look'd and lordly limb'd is he,--
        A frame of iron, a right arm long and stark,
        A rough, loud voice, a visage somedale dark,
        A heart which soars as dangers soar, and ne'er
        Sinks save in peace.

            ALLAN CUNNINGHAM.


    42. Tall is his frame, his forehead high,
        Still and mysterious is his eye;
        His look is like a wintry day
        When storms and winds have sunk away.

            HOGG--_Queen's Wake_.


    43.                 He chats like popinjay,
        And struts with phiz tremendously erect.

            TENNENT--_Anster Fair_.


    44. His large fair front, and eye sublime, declare
        Absolute rule, and hyacinthine locks,
        Round from his parted forelock, manly hang
        Clustering.

            MILTON--_Paradise Lost_.


45. A sweet-faced man; a proper man as one shall see in a summer's
    day; a most lovely, gentleman-like man.

            _Midsummer Night's Dream._


    46.                   Dark deep eyes, and lips
        Whose motions gift the air they breathe with love.

            SHELLEY.


    47. Full long are both his spindle-shanks, and lean
        Just like a walking-stick--no calf is seen.

            CHAUCER.


    48.                     Faster than his tongue
        Doth make offence, his eye doth heal it up.

            _As You Like It._


    49. His eyes are like the eagle's, yet sometimes
        Liker the dove's; and at his will he wins
        All hearts with softness, or with spirit awes.

            HOME--_Douglass_.


    50.                   There's a cold bearing,
        And grave, severe aspect about the man,
        That makes our spirits pay him such respect,
        As though he dwelt 'neath age's silvery pent-house,
        Despite his unripe years.

            FANNY KEMBLE.


    51.               Young and fair,
        Yet a man;--with crisped hair,
        Cast in thousand snares and rings
        For Love's fingers, and his wings:
        Chesnut color, or more slack
        Gold, upon a ground of black.

            BEN JONSON.


    52. A brow half martial, and half diplomatic,
        An eye upsoaring like an eagle's wings.

            HALLECK.


    53. He capers, he dances, he has eyes of youth;
        He writes verses, he speaks holiday,
        He smells April and May.

            _Merry Wives of Windsor._


    54. 'Tis not his talent to conceal his thoughts,
        And carry smiles and sunshine in his face,
        When discontent sits heavy at his heart.

            ADDISON--_Cato_.


    55.                       A <DW2> complete,
        He stalks the jest and glory of the street.

            CRABBE.


    56. Oh what a grace is seated on his brow!
        A combination and a form indeed,
        Where every god doth seem to set his seal
        To give the world assurance of a man.

            _Hamlet._


    57. Such beauty as great strength thinks no disgrace,
        Smiles in the manly features of his face;
        His large black eyes, fill'd with a spriteful light,
        Shoot forth such lively and illustrious night,
        As the sunbeams on jet reflecting show;
        His hair is black, in short curl'd waves doth flow;
        His tall, straight body amid thousands stands,
        Like some fair pine o'erlooking all the lands.

            COWLEY--_Davideis_.


    58. He witches the world with noble horsemanship,
        And vaults into his saddle with such ease,
        As if an angel dropt down from the clouds
        To turn and wind a fiery Pegasus.

            _Henry IV._


    59. A stalwart, active, soldier-looking stripling,
        Handsome as Hercules ere his first labor,
        And with a brow of thought beyond his years
        When in repose, till his eye kindles up,
        In answering yours.

            BYRON--_Werner_.


    60.       His face is dark, but very quiet;
        It seems like looking down the dusky mouth
        Of a great cannon.

            JOHN STERLING--_Strafford_.




WHAT IS THE CHARACTER OF YOUR LADY-LOVE?


                    Look at her, whoe'er
    Thou be that kindlest with a Poet's soul
    Intensely----from imagination take
    The treasure; what mine eyes behold see thou,
    Even though the Atlantic Ocean roll between.

            WORDSWORTH.


    The idea of her life shall sweetly creep
    Into his study of imagination;
    And every lovely organ of her life,
    Shall come apparell'd in more precious habit,
    More moving, delicate, and full of life,
    Into the eye and prospect of his soul.

            _Much Ado About Nothing._




WHAT IS THE CHARACTER OF YOUR LADY-LOVE?


    1.  Her body's matchless form
        Is better'd by the pureness of her mind.

            MASSINGER.


    2.  She's made of those rare elements that now and then appear,
        As if removed by accident into a lesser sphere,
        Forever reaching up and on to life's sublimer things,
        As if they had been used to track the universe with wings.

            WILLIS.


    3. This reasoning maid, above her sex's dread,
       Has dared to read, and dares to say she read.

            CRABBE.


    4. Her smile so soft, her heart so kind,
         Her voice for pity's tones so fit,
       All speak her woman;--but her mind
         Lifts her where bards and sages sit.

            DR. BROWN.


    5.  A perfect woman, nobly plann'd,
        To warn, to comfort, and command,
        And yet a spirit still, and bright
        With something of an angel light.

            WORDSWORTH.


    6.  One whose life is like a star,
        Without toil or rest to mar
        Its divinest harmony,
        Its God-given serenity.

            JAMES ALDRICH.


    7.  She is wise, if I can judge of her,
        And fair she is, if that mine eyes be true,
        And true she is, as she hath proved herself.

            _Merchant of Venice._


    8.  Right from the hand of God her spirit came
        Unstain'd, and she hath ne'er forgotten whence
        It came, nor wander'd far from thence,
        But laboreth to keep her still the same,
        Near to her place of birth, that she may not
        Soil her white raiment with an earthly spot.

            J. R. LOWELL.


    9.  With her mien she enamors the brave,
          With her wit she engages the free,
        With her modesty pleases the grave;
          She is every way pleasing to thee.

            SHENSTONE.


    10. I would my horse had the speed of her tongue.

            _Much Ado About Nothing._


    11. As through the hedge-row shade the violet steals,
        And the sweet air its modest leaf reveals,
        Her softer charms, but by their influence known,
        Surprise all hearts, and mould them to her own.

            ROGERS.


    12.                       Full many a lady
        You have eyed with best regard, and many a time,
        The harmony of their tongues hath into bondage
        Brought your too diligent ear; for several virtues
        You have liked several women; never any
        With so full soul, but some defect in her
        Did quarrel with the noblest grace she owed,
        And put it to the foil: But she, O she,
        So perfect and so peerless, is created
        Of every creature's best!

            _Tempest._


    13. She is all simplicity,
          A creature soft and mild;
        Though on the eve of womanhood,
          In heart a very child.

            MRS. WELBY.


    14. Who does not understand and love her,
          With feeling thus o'erfraught?
        Though silent as the sky above her,
          Like that, she kindles thought.

            DR. GILMAN.


    15. Sacred and sweet is all I see in her.

            _Taming of the Shrew._


    16.                                 She is
        Happy in all endowments, which a poet
        Could fancy in his mistress; being herself
        A school of goodness, where chaste maids may learn,
        By the example of her life and pureness,
        To be, as she is, excellent.

            MASSINGER.


    17. She steps like some glad creature of the air,
        As if she read her fate and knew it fair;
        In truth, for fate at all she hath no care.
              Yet hath she tears as well as gladness;
                A butterfly in pain
              Will make her weep for very sadness,
                But straight she'll smile again.

            A. M. WELLS.


    18.                         A maiden never bold
        Of spirit, so still and quiet, that her motion
        Blush'd at itself.

            _Othello._


    19. She saith not once _nay_ when thou sayest _yea_;
        "Do this," saith he. "All ready, sir," saith she.

            CHAUCER.


    20.   Every thought and feeling throw
          Their shadows o'er her face,
        And so are every thought and feeling join'd,
        'Twere hard to answer whether heart or mind
          Of either were the native place.

            WASHINGTON ALLSTON.


    21.             She speaks,
        Yet she says nothing!

            _Romeo and Juliet._


22. She will weep for nothing, like Diana in the fountain, when thou
    art disposed to be merry; and will laugh like a hyena, when thou
    art disposed to sleep.

            _As You Like It._


    23. Though on pleasure she is bent,
          She has a frugal mind.

            GOLDSMITH.


    24. Happy in this, she is not yet so old
        But she may learn; happier than this,
        She is not bred so dull but she can learn:
        Happiest of all is, that her gentle spirit
        Commits itself to yours to be directed.

            _Merchant of Venice._


    25. Mind is her best gift, and poetry her world;
        And she will see strange beauty in a flower,
        As by a subtle vision.

            WILLIS.


    26. A being of sudden smiles and tears,
        Passionate visions, quick light and shade.

            HEMANS.


    27. Little she speaks, but dear attentions
          From her will ceaseless rise;
        She checks our wants with kind preventions,
          And lulls the children's cries.

            DR. GILMAN.


    28. Oh when she's angry, she is keen and shrewd!
        She was a vixen when she went to school,
        And though she be but little, she is fierce.

            _Midsummer Night's Dream._


    29. Graceful and useful all she does,
        Blessing and blest where'er she goes.

            COWPER.


    30. She has an earnest intellect, a perfect thirst of mind,
        A heart by elevated thoughts and poetry refined.

            WILLIS.


    31. A timid grace sits trembling in her eye,
        Speaking most plain the thoughts which do possess
        Her gentle sprite,--peace, and meek quietness,
        And innocent love, and maiden purity.

            CHARLES LAMB.


    32. She hath more hair than wit,
        More faults than hairs,
        And more wealth than faults.

            _Two Gentlemen of Verona._


    33. Her soul is more than half divine,
          Where, through some shades of earthly feeling,
        Religion's soften'd glories shine,
          Like light through summer foliage stealing.

            MOORE.


    34. She will turn from a love-breathing seraph away,
        If he come not apparell'd in purple and gold.

            MRS. OSGOOD.


    35. She sways her house, commands her followers,
        Takes and gives back affairs and their despatch,
        With a most smooth, discreet, and stable bearing.

            _Twelfth Night._


    36. Spring hath no blossom fairer than her form,
          Winter no snow-wreath purer than her mind.
        The dew-drop trembling to the summer sun
          Is like her smile; bright, transient, heaven-refined.

            MRS. PIERSON.


    37. She is a lady of confirmed honor, of an unmatchable
    spirit, and determinate in all virtuous resolutions;
    not hasty to anticipate an affront, nor slow
    to feel where just provocation is given.

            CHARLES LAMB.


    38. Her outward charms are less
        Than her winning gentleness;
        With maiden purity of heart,
        Which, without the aid of art,
        Does in coldest hearts inspire
        Love.

            JAMES ALDRICH.


    39. She dwells among us like a star,
          That from its bower of bliss
        Looks down, yet gathers not a stain
          From aught it sees in this.

            MRS. WELBY.


    40. She in pleasant purpose doth abound,
        And greatly joyeth merry tales to feign.

            SPENSER.


    41. Early and late, at her soul's gate,
        Sits Chastity in warder wise;
        No thought unchallenged, small or great,
        Goes thence into her eyes;
        Nor may a low, unworthy thought
        Beyond that virgin warder win,
        Nor one, whose password is not "ought,"
        May go without, or enter in.

            J. R. LOWELL.


    42.               A light, busy foot astir
        In her small housewifery, the blithest bee
        That ever wrought in hive.

            MITFORD.


    43. Practised to lisp and hang the head aside,
        Faint into airs, and languish into pride.

            POPE.


    44.      She is ever fair, and never proud,
        Hath tongue at will, and yet is never loud.

            _Othello._


    45.          I call her richly blest,
           In the calm meekness of her woman's breast,
              Where that sweet depth of still contentment lies;
           And for her household love, which clings
           Unto all ancient and familiar things,
        Weaving from each some link for home's dear charities.

            HEMANS.


    46.            She's peevish, sullen, froward,
        Proud, disobedient, stubborn, lacking duty.

            _Two Gentlemen of Verona._


    47. No simplest duty is forgot;
        Life hath no dim and lowly spot
        That doth not in her sunshine share.

            J. R. LOWELL.


    48. Disdain and scorn ride sparkling in her eyes,
        Misprizing what they look on;--and her wit
        Values itself so highly, that to her
        All matter else seems weak.

            _Much Ado About Nothing._


    49.               With despatchful looks
        She turns, on hospitable thoughts intent,
        What choice to choose for delicacy best,
        What order so contrived as not to mix
        Tastes not well join'd, inelegant, but bring
        Taste after taste upheld with kindliest change.

            MILTON.


    50.                         None so gay as she;
        Up hill and down, morning, and noon, and night,
        Singing or talking; singing to herself
        When none give ear.

            ROGERS--_Italy._


    51.                     The green
        And growing leaves of seventeen
        Are round her;--and half hid, half seen,
                  A violet flower;
        Nursed by the virtues she hath been
                  From childhood's hour.

            HALLECK.


    52. Blest with temper whose unclouded ray
        Can make to-morrow cheerful as to-day:
        Spleen, vapors, or small-pox, above them all,
        And mistress of herself though china fall.

            POPE--_Characters of Women._


    53. Seldom she speaks, but she will listen
          With all the signs of soul;
        Her cheek will change, her eye will glisten,
          As waves of feeling roll.

            DR. GILMAN.


54. She bears a purse; she is a region in Guiana, all gold and bounty.

            _Merry Wives of Windsor._


    55. You are as rich in having such a jewel,
        As twenty seas, if all their sands were pearl,
        The water nectar, and the rocks pure gold.

            _Two Gentlemen of Verona._


    56. Oh, she is a golden girl,
        But a man--a _man_ should woo her!
        They who seek her shrink aback,
        When they should like storms pursue her.

            BARRY CORNWALL.


    57. She is soft as the dew-drops that fall
        From the lip of the sweet-scented pea;
        Perhaps when she smiled upon all,
        Thou hast thought that she smiled upon thee.

            MACKENZIE--_Man of Feeling._


58. She is the cause of six matches being broken off, and three sons
    disinherited.

            SHERIDAN.


    59.                       All her strain
        Is of domestic gladness, fire-side bliss,
        And household rule; nor thought loose, light, or vain,
        Stains her pure vision of meek happiness.

            ALLAN CUNNINGHAM.


    60. She loves, but 'tis not you she loves,
          Not you on whom she ponders,
        When in some dream of tenderness
          Her truant fancy wanders.
        The forms that flit her vision through,
          Are like the shapes of old,
        Where tales of Prince and Paladin
          On tapestry are told.
        Man may not hope her heart to win,
          Be his of common mould.

            C. F. HOFFMAN.




WHAT IS THE CHARACTER OF HIM WHO LOVES YOU?


    Something that may serve to set in view
    The doings, observations which his mind
    Had dealt with--I will here record in verse.

            WORDSWORTH.




WHAT IS THE CHARACTER OF HIM WHO LOVES YOU?


    1.  Of manners gentle, of affections mild,
        In wit a man, simplicity a child.

            POPE.


    2. He has a shrewd wit, I can tell you;
    and he's a man good enough; he's one of the
    soundest judgments, and a proper man of person.

            _Troilus and Cressida._


    3.  Love, fame, and glory, with alternate sway
        Thrill his warm heart, and with electric ray
        Illume his eye; yet still a shade of care,
        Like a light cloud that floats in summer air,
        Will shed at times a transitory gloom,
        But shadow not one grace of manly bloom.

            MRS. K. WARE.


    4.  He wounds no breast with jeer and jest, yet bears no honey'd
            tongue,
        He's social with the gray-hair'd one, and merry with the young.

            ELIZA COOK.


    5.  A shallow brain behind a serious mask,
        An oracle within an empty cask;
        He says but little, and that little said
        Owes all its weight, like loaded dice, to lead.

            COWPER--_Conversation._


    6.  Fearless he is, and scorning all disguise;
        What he dares do, or think, though men may start,
        He speaks with mild, yet unaverted eyes.

            SHELLEY.


    7.  A lofty spirit his, and somewhat proud;
        Little gallant, and has a sort of cloud
        Hanging forever on his cold address.

            LEIGH HUNT--_Rimini._


    8.  He writes brave verses, speaks brave words,
        Swears brave oaths, and breaks them as bravely

            _As You Like It._


    9.  In truth he is a strange and wayward wight,
        Fond of each gentle and each dreadful scene;
        In darkness and in storm he finds delight,
        Nor less than when on ocean's wave serene
        The southern sun displays his dazzling sheen.

            BEATTIE--_Minstrel._


    10. There is in him so much man, so much goodness,
        So much of honor, and of all things else
        Which make our being excellent, that from his store
        He can enough lend others.

            MASSINGER.


11. He draweth out the staple of his verbosity finer than the staple
    of his argument.

            _Love's Labour Lost._


    12. His words are strong, but not with anger fraught,
        A lore benignant he hath lived and taught;
        To draw mankind to heaven by gentleness
        And good example is his business.

            CHAUCER.


    13. The monarch-mind, the mystery of commanding,
          The god-like power, the art Napoleon
        Of winning, fettering, moulding, wielding, banding
          The hearts of millions, till they move as one.

            HALLECK.


    14. Devout, yet cheerful; pious, not austere;
        To others lenient, to himself severe.

            DR. HARVEY.


    15. With scrupulous care exact, he walks the rounds
        Of fashionable duty; laughs when sad,
        When merry weeps, deceiving is deceived,
        And flattering, flatter'd.

            POLLOK.


    16. A fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy.

            _Hamlet._


    17. Erect, morose, determined, solemn, slow;
        Who knows the man can never cease to know.

            CRABBE.


    18. Rare compound of oddity, frolic, and fun,
        To relish a joke, and rejoice in a pun!

            GOLDSMITH.


    19.                     He is a man
        Among a thousand. Unassuming, he
        May yet assume unquestion'd. Gentleness,
        And a strange strength, a calm o'erruling strength,
        Are mix'd within him so, that neither take
        Possession from the other,--neither rise
        In mastery or passion, but both grow
        Harmoniously together.

            W. G. SIMMS.


    20. For beauty and fortin' the laddie's been courtin',
        Weel featured, weel tochered, weel mounted and braw!

            BURNS.


    21. He will pick a quarrel for a straw,
        And fight it out to the extremity.

            CHARLES LAMB.


    22. He cannot flatter and speak fair,
        Smile in men's faces, smooth, deceive, and coy,
        Duck with French nods, and apish courtesy.

            _Richard III._


    23. A primrose by the river's brim
        A yellow primrose is to him,
        And it is nothing more.

            WORDSWORTH.


    24. His young bosom feels the enchantment strong
        Of light, and joy, and minstrelsy and song.

            PIERPONT--_Airs of Palestine._


    25. If he has any faults he leaves us in doubt,
        At least in six weeks we can't find them out.

            GOLDSMITH.


    26. The friend of man, the friend of truth,
        The friend of age, the guide of youth;
        Few hearts like his with virtue warm'd,
        Few heads with knowledge so inform'd.

            BURNS.


    27. If his body were opened, and you find so much
    blood in his liver as will clog the foot of a flea,
    I'll eat the rest of his anatomy.

            _Two Gentlemen of Verona._


    28. He hums and he hankers, he frets and he cankers,
        You never can please him, do a' that you can;
        He's peevish and jealous of a' the young fellows.

            BURNS.


    29.                     An ample soul,
        Rockbound and fortified against assaults
        Of transitory passion, but below
        Built on a surging, subterraneous fire,
        That stirs and lifts him up to high attempts.

            TAYLOR.


    30. His very manners teach to amend,
        They are so even, grave and holy;
        No stubbornness so stiff, nor folly
        To license ever was so light,
        As twice to trespass in his sight;
        His look would so correct it when
        It chid the vice, yet not the men.

            BEN JONSON.


    31.                     He thinks,
        That he who fights and runs away
        May live to fight another day.

            BUTLER--_Hudibras._


    32. He keeps his honesty and truth,
          His independent tongue and pen,
        And moves in manhood, as in youth,
          Pride of his fellow-men.

            HALLECK.


    33.                     His life doth flow
        From its mysterious urn a sacred stream,
        In whose calm depth the beautiful and pure
        Alone are mirror'd; which, though shapes of ill
        May hover round its surface, glides in light,
        And takes no shadow from them.

            TALFOURD--_Ion._


    34. He is too costly for every day,
        You would want another for working days.

            _Much Ado About Nothing._


    35. Strange, that his nobly fashion'd mould,
          In which a very god might dwell,
        Should only live to dig for gold,
          And perish in its narrow cell!

            BOWRING.


    36. He has no party rage, no sectary's whim;
        Christian and countryman is all with him.

            CRABBE.


    37.           Valiant he as fire,
        Showing danger more than ire.
        Bounteous as the clouds to earth,
        And as honest as his birth;
        All his actions they are such
        As to do no thing too much;
        Nor o'erpraise, nor yet condemn,
        Nor outvalue, nor contemn,
        Nor do wrongs nor wrongs receive,
        Nor tie knots, nor knots unweave.
        From all baseness to be free,
        As he durst love truth and thee.

            BEN JONSON.


    38. He snuffs far off the anticipated joy,
        Turtle and venison all his thoughts employ.

            COWPER.


    39.                         In his strength
        The mighty oak has likeness; gentleness
        In him is like the rosy parasite,
        The flush Spring gives it wrapping it around
        With sweetest color and adorning grace.
        His soul, refined beyond the rustic world,
        Has yet no city vices. He has kept
        Its whiteness unprofaned.

            W. G. SIMMS.


    40. He'll never learn his bark to steer
        'Mid passion's sudden, wild career,
        Nor try at times to tack and veer
                        To interest's gale,
        But hoist the sheet, unawed by fear
                        Though storms prevail.

            HECTOR MACNEIL.


    41. A fair example of his own pure creed,
        Patient of error, pitiful to need,
        Persuasive wisdom in his thoughtful mien.

            MRS. SIGOURNEY.


    42.         One of that stubborn sort he is,
        Who if they once grow fond of an opinion,
        They call it honor, honesty, and faith,
        And sooner part with life than let it go.

            ROWE--_Jane Shore._


    43. Virtue's his path, but sometimes 'tis too narrow
        For his vast soul, and then he starts wide out,
        And bounds into a vice that bears him far
        From his first course, and plunges him in ills.

            DRYDEN--_All for Love._


    44.       A man whom storms can never make
        Meanly complain, nor can a flattering gale
        Make him talk proudly.

            DR. WATTS.


    45. He'll prattle shrewdly with such witty folly,
        As almost betters reason.

            JOHN HOWARD PAYNE.


    46. Heed not, though at times he seem
          Dark and still, and cold as clay;
        He is shadow'd by his dream,
          But 'twill pass away.

            BARRY CORNWALL.


    47. He quick is anger'd, and as quick
          His short-lived passion's over-past,
        Like summer lightnings, flashing thick,
          But flying ere a bolt is cast.

            E. D. GRIFFIN.


    48.             Oh, he's as tedious
        As a tired horse, a railing wife,
        Worse than a smoky house.

            _Henry IV._


    49.                         Love, the germ
        Of his mild nature, hath spread graces forth,
        Expanding with its progress; as the store
        Of rainbow color, which the seed conceals,
        Sheds out its tints from its dim treasury
        To flush and circle in the flower.

            TALFOURD--_Ion._


    50. He is----but what need I say that or this,
        I'd spend a month to tell ye what he is!

            RAMSAY--_Gentle Shepherd._


    51. With maids he's softer than the clouds in May;
        But had you seen him, lady, in his ire,
        When, like one born of thunder, he did march
        And strike down men as stubble sinks in fire--
        But then he hath a tongue could wile
        The laverock from the cloud.

            ALLAN CUNNINGHAM.


    52.                     Within his soul
        Springs up a deep sense of the beautiful,
        The holy, the exalted, and a love
        Embracing in its circle all creation.

            LADY FLORA HASTINGS.


    53. He so light is at legerdemain,
        That what he touches comes not to light again.

            SPENSER.


    54. Though learn'd, well-bred; and though well-bred, sincere;
        Modestly bold, and humanely severe.

            POPE.


    55. To express his mind to sense,
        Would ask a heaven's intelligence,
        Since nothing can report that flame
        But what's of kin to whence it came.

            BEN JONSON.


    56. A little, upright, pert, tart, tripping wight,
        That holds his precious self his dear delight,
        And loves his own smart shadow in the street.

            BURNS.


    57.             No caprice of mind,
        No passing influence of idle time,
        No popular show, no clamor from the crowd
        Can move him, erring, from the path of right.

            W. G. SIMMS.


    58. Wasting his life for his country's care,
        Laying it down with a patriot's prayer.

            BARRY CORNWALL.


    59. A man whose sober soul can tell
        How to wear her garments well,
        Her garments that upon her sit
        As garments should do, close and fit;
        A well-clothed soul, that's not oppress'd
        Nor choked with what she should be dress'd;
        A soul sheath'd in a crystal shrine,
        Through which all her bright features shine.

            CRASHAW.


    60. And still we gaze, and still the wonder grows,
        That one small head can carry all he knows.

            GOLDSMITH--_Deserted Village_.




WHAT SEASON OF THE YEAR DO YOU LOVE?


    January gray is here,
    Like a sexton by a grave;
    February bears the bier,
    March with grief doth howl and rave,
    And April weeps; but oh, ye hours,
    Follow with May's fairest flowers.

            SHELLEY.


                  The seasons of the year,
    ----some arm'd in silver ice that glisten,
    And some in gaudy green, come in like masquers.

            BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER.




WHAT SEASON OF THE YEAR DO YOU LOVE?


    1.  The bold _March_ wind!
        The merry, boisterous, bold March wind!
        Who in the violet's tender eyes
        Casts a kiss,--and forward flies.

            BARRY CORNWALL.


    2.  The beautiful spirit of _Spring_,
          When the demons of Winter before her fly,
        While the gentle fan of her delicate wing
          Repels the ardor of Summer's eye.

            JAMES NACK.


    3.  Thou lovest the merry _Summer_ months of beauty, song, and
            flowers,
        Thou lovest the gladsome months that bring thick leafiness to
            bowers!
        Up, up, thy heart, and walk abroad, fling cark and care aside,
        Seek silent hills, or rest thyself where peaceful waters glide,
        Or, underneath the shadow vast of patriarchal tree,
        Scan through its leaves the cloudless sky in rapt tranquillity.

            MOTHERWELL.


    4.  The _eventide of Summer_, when the trees
        Yield their fresh honors to the passing breeze,
          And woodland paths with autumn tints are dyed;
        When the mild sun his paling lustre shrouds
        In gorgeous draperies of golden clouds.

            MRS. E. C. EMBURY.


    5.  When on the breath of _Autumn_ breeze,
          From pastures dry and brown,
        Goes floating, like an idle thought,
          The fair white thistle-down.

            MARY HOWITT.


    6.  A day of _Winter_ beauty. Through the night
        The hoar-frost gather'd o'er each leaf and spray,
        Weaving its filmy net-work, thin and bright,
        And shimmering like silver in the ray
        Of the soft sunny morning;--turf and tree
        Prank'd in delicate embroidery,
        And every wither'd stump and mossy stone
        With gems encrusted and with seed-pearls sown!

            MRS. WHITMAN.


    7.                        When _May_,
            With her cap crown'd with roses,
        Stands in her holiday dress in the fields, and the wind and the
              brooklet
          Murmur gladness and peace, God's peace! with lips rosy tinted,
        Whisper the race of the flowers, and merry, on balancing branches,
          Birds are singing their carol, a jubilant hymn to the Highest.

            LONGFELLOW.


    8.                        _Autumn eventide_;
        When sinking on the blue hill's breast, the sun
        Spreads the large bounty of his level blaze,
        Lengthening the shade of mountains and tall trees.

            GEORGE LUNT.


    9.  When on a keen _December_ night, Jack Frost
        Drives through mid air his chariot icy-wheel'd,
        And from the sky's crisp ceiling, star-emboss'd,
        Whiffs off the clouds that the pure blue concealed.

            TENNENT--_Anster Fair_.


    10. When _Spring_, advancing, calls her feather'd quire,
        And tunes to softer notes her laughing lyre;
        Musk'd in the rose's lap fresh dews are shed,
        And breathe celestial lustres round her head.

            DARWIN.


    11. _June_ with its roses,----June!
        The gladdest month of the capricious year,
        With its thick foliage, and its sunlight clear,
            And with a drowsy tune
        Of the bright leaping waters, as they pass
        Laughingly on, amid the springing grass!

            W. H. BURLEIGH.


    12. When _Autumn_, like a faint old man, sits down
        By the wayside, a-weary.

            LONGFELLOW.


    13. _Winter_, shod with fleecy snow,
        Who cometh _white_, and _cold_, and _mute_,
        Lest he should wake the Spring below.

            BARRY CORNWALL.


    14. When the south wind in _May_ days,
        With a net of shining haze,
        Silvers the horizon wall;
        And with softness touching all,
        Tints the human countenance
        With a color of romance,
        And infusing gentle heats,
        Turns the sod to violets.

            R. W. EMERSON.


    15. When _Spring's_ unfolded blooms
        Exhale in sweetness, that the skilful bee
        May taste, at will, from their selected spoils,
        To work her dulcet sweet.

            AKENSIDE--_Pleasures of the Imagination_.


    16.           The joyous _Winter_ days,
        When sits the soul intense, collected, cool,
        Bright as the skies, and as the season keen.

            THOMSON.


    17. The _Spring_, as she passes along
        With her eye of light, and her lip of song.

            W. G. CLARK.


    18. _October!_ Heaven's delicious breath,
        When woods begin to wear the crimson leaf,
        And suns grow meek, and the meek sun grows brief,
        And the year smiles, as drawing near its death.

            W. C. BRYANT.


    19. The _April_ rain! the _April_ rain!
          To list the pleasant sound,
        Now soft and still like gentle dew,
          Now drenching all the ground.
        Pray tell me why an April shower
          Is pleasanter to see,
        Than falling drops of other rain?
          I'm sure it is to thee.

            MRS. SEBA SMITH.


    20. _Spring_, when from yon blue-topp'd mountain
        She leaves her green print 'neath each spreading tree,
        Her tuneful voice beside the swelling fountain
        Giving sweet notes to its wild melody.

            JULIA H. SCOTT.


    21. A season _atween June and May_,
        Half prankt with Spring, with summer half embrown'd.

            THOMSON--_Castle of Indolence_.


    22. When comes the calm, mild day, as still such days will come,
        To call the squirrel and the bee from out their winter home;
        When the sound of dropping nuts is heard, though all the trees
            are still,
        And twinkle in the smoky light the waters of the rill;
        The south wind searches for the flowers whose fragrance late he
            bore,
        And sighs to find them in the wood, and by the stream no more.

            W. C. BRYANT.


    23. Brave _Winter_ and thou shalt ever agree,
        Though a stern and frowning gaffer is he;
        You like to hear him, with hail and rain,
        Come tapping against the window pane;
        You joy to see him come marching forth,
        Begirt with the icicle gems of the north;
        But you like him best when he comes bedight
        In his velvet robes of stainless white.

            ELIZA COOK.


    24. When "adieu!" father Winter has sadly said
          To the world, when about withdrawing,
        With his old white wig half off his head,
          And his icicle fingers _thawing_!

            MISS H. F. GOULD.


    25.               Gentle _May_,
        She with her robe of flowers;
        She with her sun and sky, her clouds and showers!
        Who bringeth forth unto the eye of day,
        From their imprisoning and mysterious night,
        The buds of many hues, the children of her light.

            J. LAWRENCE, JR.


    26. The last days of _Autumn_, when the corn
        Lies sweet and mellow in the harvest-field,
        And the gay company of reapers bind
        The bearded wheat in sheaves.

            I. MCLELLAN.


    27.                   Drear _Winter!_
        With no unholy awe we hear thy voice,
        As by our dying embers, safely housed,
        We in deep silence muse.

            H. K. WHITE.


    28. You love to go in the capricious days
        Of _April_, and hunt violets, when the rain
        Is in their blue cups, trembling as they nod
        So gracefully, to kisses of the wind.

            N. P. WILLIS.


    29. Merry, ever merry May!
        Made of sun-gleams, shades, and showers,
        Bursting buds, and breathing flowers;
        Dripping-lock'd, and rosy-vested,
        Violet-slipper'd, rainbow-crested,
        Girdled with the eglantine,
        Festoon'd with the flowering vine!

            GALLAGHER.


    30. When the warm sun is failing, the bleak wind is wailing,
        The bare boughs are sighing, the pale flowers are dying,
              And the year,
        On the earth her death-bed, in a shroud of leaves dead,
              Is lying.

            SHELLEY.


    31. When the angel of dread _Winter_ cometh,
        But not in anger. As he speeds along,
        Borne on the chilling wind, he bids appear
        A thousand varied hues the trees among!
        What magic beauty doth his presence fling
        Round every leaf that quivers in the dell,
        Or shrub that to the mountain side doth cling!
        And the bright scene the calm lake mirrors well,
        As if within its depths were wove some golden spell.

            H. F. HARRINGTON.


    32.                           Delicious Spring!
        Nursed in the lap of thin and subtle showers,
          Which fall from clouds that lift their snowy wing
        From odorous buds of light-enfolded flowers,
        And from enmassed bowers,
          That over grassy walks their greenness fling.

            ALBERT PIKE.


    33. The Summer, the radiant Summer's the fairest,
        For green woods and mountains, for meadows and bowers,
        For waters and fruits, and for flowers the rarest,
        And for bright shining butterflies, lovely as flowers.

            MARY HOWITT.


    34. When _September's_ golden day,
        Serenely still, intensely bright,
        Fades on the umber'd hills away
        And melts into the coming night.

            MRS. WHITMAN.


    35. When Autumn chills the foliage, and sheds
        O'er the piled leaves, among the evergreens,
        All colors and all tints to grace the scene.

            RUFUS DAWES.


    36. Ho! jewel-keeper of the hoary North!
        Whence hast thou all thy treasures? Why, the mines
        Of rich Golconda, since the world was young,
        Would fail to furnish such a glorious show!
                Yes, the _Wintry_ king,
        So long decried, hath revenue more rich
        Than sparkling diamonds!

            MRS. SIGOURNEY.


    37.               When _Spring_
        From sunny <DW72>s comes wandering,
        Calling violets from the sleep,
        That bound them under the snow-drift deep,
        To open their childlike, asking eyes
        On the new summer paradise.

            J. R. LOWELL.


    38. Autumn! how lovely is thy pensive air!
        But chief the sounds from thy reft woods delight;
        Their deep, low murmurs to the soul impart
        A solemn stillness.

            MRS. TIGHE--_Psyche._


    39. When _Winter_ nights grow long,
          And winds without blow cold,
        And we sit in a ring round the warm hearth-fire,
          And listen to stories old.

            BARRY CORNWALL.


    40.                               _Spring_;
        When blushing like a bride from Hope's trim bower,
        She leaps, awakened by the pattering shower.

            COLERIDGE.


41. _Autumn_ dark on the mountains; when gray mists rest on the
    hills. The whirlwind is heard on the heath. Dark rolls the river
    through the narrow plain. The leaves whirl with the wind, and
    strew the graves of the dead.

            OSSIAN.


    42. When the rosy-bosom'd Hours,
          Fair Venus' train, appear;
        Disclose the long-expected flowers,
          And wake the purple year.
        The attic warbler pours her throat,
        Responsive to the cuckoo's note,
          The untaught harmony of _Spring_;
        While, whispering pleasure as they fly,
        Cool zephyrs, through the clear blue sky,
          Their gather'd fragrance fling.

            GRAY.


    43. When golden _Autumn_ from her open lap
        The fragrant bounty showers.

            SOMERVILLE--_The Chace_.


    44. Dark _Winter_ is a happy time:
        God gives the earth repose, and earth bids man
        Wipe his hot brow; the poet pours his rhyme,
        And mirth awakes.

            ALLAN CUNNINGHAM.


    45.                             When _Spring-tide_ approaches;
        Leaf by leaf is developed, and warm'd by the radiant sunshine,
        Blushes with purple and gold, till at last the perfected blossom
        Opens its odorous chalice, and rocks with its crown to the breeze.

            LONGFELLOW.


    46.           The first day of _May_,
        When the sun is rejoicing alone in heaven,
          The clouds have all hurried away.
        Down in the meadow the blossoms are waking,
        Light on their twigs the young leaves are shaking,
        Round the warm knolls the lambs are a-leaping,
        The colt from his fold o'er the pasture is sweeping,
          And on the bright lake,
          The little waves break,
        For there the cool west is at play.

            J. G. PERCIVAL.


    47. The desolate and dying year,
          Yet lovely in its lifelessness,
        As beauty stretch'd upon the bier,
          In death's clay-cold and dark caress;
        There's loveliness in its decay,
        Which breathes, which lingers on it still.

            J. G. BROOKS.


    48. Pale, rugged _Winter_, bending o'er his tread,
          His grizzled hair bedropt with icy dew;
        His eyes a dusky light, congeal'd and dead,
          His robe a tinge of bright ethereal blue.

            CHATTERTON.


    49. The uncertain glory of an _April_ day,
          Which now shows all the beauty of the skies,
        And by and by a cloud takes all away.

            _Two Gentlemen of Verona._


    50.                     When the sun
        More darkly tinges Spring's fair brow,
          And laughing fields have just begun
        The _Summer's_ golden hues to show;
          Earth still with flowers is richly dight,
        And the _last_ rose in gardens bides to glow.

            GEORGE BANCROFT.


    51. The pryde, the _manhode_ of the yeare,
        When eke the ground is dight in its most deft[B] aumere.[C]

            ROWLEY--(_Chatterton_.)

[B] Ornamental.

[C] Mantle.


    52.     An _Autumn_ night
            With a piercing sight,
        And a step both strong and free;
            And a voice for wonder,
            Like the wrath of the thunder,
        When he shouts to the stormy sea!

            BARRY CORNWALL.


    53.                 When _Spring's_ first gale
        Comes forth to whisper where the violets lie.

            MRS. HEMANS.


    54.                                       When
        The breath of _Winter_ comes from far away,
          And the rich west continually bereaves
        Of some gold tinge, and plays a roundelay
          Of death among the bushes and the leaves.

            KEATS.


    55. When _Spring_ pours out his showers, as is his wont,
        And bathes the breathing tresses of meek eve.

            COLLINS.


    56. _Autumn_ skies, when all the woods are hung
        With many tints, the fading livery
        Of life, in which it mourns the coming storms
        Of winter; when the quiet winds awake
        Faint dirges in the wither'd leaves, and breathe
        Their sorrow through the grove.

            PERCIVAL.


    57. Sweet _Spring_, full of sweet days and roses,
        A box where sweets compacted lie.

            OLD HERBERT.


    58. When a soft haze is hanging o'er the hill,
        Tinged with a purple light. How beautiful,
        And yet how cold! 'Tis the first robe put on
        By sad _October_.

            W. G. SIMMS.


    59. _Spring_ doeth all she can, I trow;
        She brings the bright hours,
        She weaves the sweet flowers,
        She dresseth her bowers
              For all below.

            BARRY CORNWALL.


    60.                             _Spring time_,
        Which crumbles Winter's gyves with tender might,
        When in the genial breeze, (the breath of God,)
        Come spouting up the unseal'd springs to light,
        Flowers start from their dark prisons at our feet,
        And woods, long dumb, awake to hymnings sweet.

            BRYANT.




WHAT HOUR DO YOU LOVE?


    Mysterious round! what skill, what force divine,
    Deep felt, in these appear! A simple train
    Yet so delightful, mix'd with such kind art,
    Such beauty and beneficence combined,
    Shade unperceived so softening into shade,
    And all so forming an harmonious whole,
    That as they still succeed, they ravish still.

            THOMSON.


                          The winged Hours!
    Commission'd in alternate watch they stand,
    The sun's bright portals, and the skies, command;
    Close or unfold the eternal gates of day,
    Bar heaven with clouds, or roll those clouds away.

            DRYDEN'S VIRGIL.




WHAT HOUR DO YOU LOVE?


    1.  When, from ebon streak,
        The _moon_ puts forth a little diamond peak,
        No bigger than an unobserved star,
        Or tiny point of fairy cimeter;
        Bright signal, that she only stoops to tie
        Her silver sandals, ere deliciously
        She bows into the heavens her timid head.

            KEATS.


    2.  When _morning_ cometh, with a still
        And gliding mystery, on the breaking gray
        Of the fresh east.

            W. G. SIMMS.


    3.  When the _stars_ are out--
        Cold, but still beautiful,--a crowded choir,
        Harmonious in their heavenly minstrelsy.

            RUFUS DAWES.


    4.                    When blue-eyed day
        Has yielded up her regency, and _night_,
        Exceeding beautiful, resumes her right
        As solemn watchman.

            MISS M. E. LEE.


    5.  When sunk the sun, and up the eastern heaven,
        Like maiden on a lonely pilgrimage,
        Moves the meek star of eve.

            MILMAN.


    6.  When _Phoebus_, fresh as bridegroom to his mate,
        Comes dauncing forth, shaking his dewie hayre,
        And hurls his glistering beams through gloomy ayre.

            SPENSER.


    7.  When on the sunlit limits of the night,
        Her white shell trembling amid crimson air,
        Glides the _young moon_.

            SHELLEY.


    8.  When clouds lay cradled near the _setting sun_,
        And gleams of crimson tinge their braided snow.

            WILSON.


    9.             When the glorious sun has gone,
       And the gathering darkness of _night comes on_;
       Like a curtain from God's kind hand it flows,
       To shade the couch where his children repose.

            H. WARE, JR.


    10. You love the deep, deep pause, that reigns
        At _highest noon_, o'er hills and plains.

            CARRINGTON.


    11. When the stars do disappear,
        With only one remaining,
          The morning star alone;
        Just like a maid complaining,
          When all her hopes are gone.

            WILLIAM CRAFTS.


    12. When climbs above the eastern bar
        The _horned moon_, with one bright star
        Within the nether lip.

            COLERIDGE.


    13. When comes forth the _glorious day_,
          Like a bridegroom richly dight,
        And before his flashing ray
          Flies the sullen, vanquish'd night.

            S. G. BULFINCH.


    14. When Apollo doth devise
        new apparelling for western skies.

            KEATS.


    15. Ere the evening lamps are lighted,
          And like phantoms, grim and tall,
        Shadows from the fitful fire-light,
          Dance upon the parlor wall.

            LONGFELLOW.


    16. When like a dying lady, lean and pale,
        Who totters forth, wrapp'd in a gauzy veil,
        Out of her chamber, led by the insane
        And feeble wanderings of her fading brain,
        The _moon arises_ on the murky earth.

            SHELLEY.


    17. _Morning_ in your garden, when each leaf of crisped green
        Hangs tremulous in diamonds, with em'rald rays between.
        It is the birth of nature, baptized in early dew,
        The plants look meekly up and smile as if their God they knew.

            MRS. GILMAN.


    18. Ah, let the gay the roseate morning hail,
          When, in the various blooms of light array'd,
        She bids fresh beauty live along the vale,
          And rapture tremble in the vocal shade.
        Sweet is the lucid morning's opening flower,
          Her choral melodies benignly rise;
        Yet dearer to your soul the _shadowy hour_
          At which her blossoms close, her music dies.

            MISS H. M. WILLIAMS.


    19. The _middle watch_ of a summer's _night_,
        When earth is dark, but the heavens are bright;
        Naught is seen in the vault on high,
        But the moon, and the stars, and the cloudless sky,
        And the flood, which rolls its milky hue,
        A river of white on the welkin blue.

            DRAKE.


    20.         When little birds begin discourse,
        In quick, low voices, _ere the streaming light_
        Pours on their nests from out the day's fresh source.

            R. H. DANA.


    21. _Morning_, when the sun pours his first light
        Amid a forest, and with ray aslant,
        Entering its depth, illumes the branchless pines,
        Brightening their bark, tinging with redder hue
        Its rusty stains, and casting on the earth
        Long lines of shadow, where they rise erect
        Like pillars of a temple.

            SOUTHEY--_Madoc_.


    22. _Sunrise_, slanting on a city, when
        The early risen poor are coming in,
        Duly and cheerfully to toil, and up
        Rises the hammer's clink, with the far hum
        Of moving wheels, and multitudes astir,
        And all that in a city murmur swells.

            N. P. WILLIS.


    23.                   When the _west_
        Opens her golden bowers of _rest_,
        And a moist radiance from the skies
        Shoots trembling down, as from the eyes
        Of some meek penitent, whose last
        Bright hours atone for dark ones past,
        And whose sweet tears o'er wrong forgiven,
        Shine, as they fall, with light from heaven.

            MOORE--_Lalla Rookh_.


    24.                     The _midnight_ hour, when
        Slow through the studious gloom, thy pausing eye,
        Led by the glimmering taper, moves around
        The sacred volumes of the dead.

            AKENSIDE--_Pleasures of the Imagination_.


    25. When _evening's virgin Queen_
        Sits on her fringed throne serene,
        And mingling whispers, rising near,
        Steal on the still reposing ear.

            H. K. WHITE.


    26. When the moon riseth as if dreaming,
        Treading with still white feet the lulled sea.

            _From the Etonian._


    27. When day hath put on his jacket, and around
        His burning bosom button'd it with stars.

            O. W. HOLMES.


    28. _Morning_, with all her attributes; the slow
        Impearling of the heavens, the sparkling white
        On the webb'd grass, the fragrant mistiness,
        The fresh airs, with the twinkling leaves at sport,
        And all the gradual and emerging light,
        The crystalline distinctness settling clear,
        And all the wakening of strengthening sound.

            MILMAN--_Lord of the Bright City_.


    29. Her _twilight_ robe when nature wears,
        And evening sheds her sweetest tears,
        Which every thirsty plant receives,
        While silence trembles on the leaves.
        From every tree, and flower, and bush,
        There seems to breathe a soothing hush,
        While every transient sound but shows
        How deep and still is the repose.

            MRS. FOLLEN.


    30. When as the _evening shades prevail_,
        The moon takes up her wondrous tale,
        And, nightly, to the listening earth
        Proclaims the story of her birth.
        While all the stars that round her burn,
        And all the planets in their turn,
        Confirm the tidings as they roll,
        And spread the truth from pole to pole.

            ADDISON.


    31. When thronging constellations rush in crowds,
        Paving with fire the sky.

            SHELLEY.


    32. A _beautiful sunset_, when warm o'er the lake
          Its splendor, at parting, a summer eve throws,
        Like a bride full of blushes, when lingering to take
          A last look of her mirror at night ere she goes.

            MOORE--_Lalla Rookh_.


    33.                     The _midnight_ hour,
          The starlight wedding of the earth and heaven,
        When music breathes in perfume from the flower,
          And high revealings to the heart are given.

            S. L. FAIRFIELD.


    34. Weel may'st thou welcome the night's deathly reign,
        Wi' souls of the dearest ye're mingling then;
        The gowd light o' mornin' is lightless to thee,
        But, oh! for the _night_ wi' its ghost revelrie.

            WILLIAM THOM.


    35. Come, stir the fire, and close the shutters fast;
        Let fall the curtains, 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 will you welcome cheerful _evening_ in.

            COWPER--_Task_.


    36.                         When the _moon_
        Bends her _new_ silver bow, as if to fling
        Her arrowy lustre through some vapor's wing.

            PARK BENJAMIN.


    37. Be it the _summer noon_; a sandy space
        The ebbing tide has left upon its place,
        While the broad basin of the ocean keeps
        An equal motion, swelling as it sleeps,
        Then, slowly sinking, curling to the strand,
        Faint, lazy waves o'er-creep the ridgy sand.
        Ships in the calm seem anchor'd, for they glide
        On the still sea, urged solely by the tide.

            CRABBE.


    38. Night; when the stars are gemming heaven,
          And seem like angels' eyes,
        Resuming still their silent watch
          Within the far-off skies.
        When tenderly they gaze on us,
          Those children of the air,
        While every ray they send to us
          Some message seems to bear.

            MISS LEWIS.


    39.                       The _Sabbath morn_
        So sweet;--all sounds save nature's voice are still;
        Mute shepherd's song-pipe, mute the harvest horn,
        A holier tongue is given to brook and rill;
        Old men climb silently their cottage-hill,
        There ruminate, and look sublime abroad,
        Shake from their feet, as thought on thought comes still,
        The dust of life's long, dark, and dreary road,
        And rise from this gross earth, and give the day to God.

            THOMAS MILLER.


    40. When the fair young moon in a silver bow
          Looks back from the bending west,
        Like a weary soul that is glad to go
          To the long-sought place of rest.
        When her crescent lies in a beaming crown,
          On the distant hill's dark head,
        Serene as the righteous looking down
          On the world from his dying-bed.

            MISS H. F. GOULD.


    41. When gleaming through the gorgeous fold
        Of clouds, around his glory roll'd,
        The _orb of gold_, half hid, half seen,
        Swells his rays of tremulous sheen,
        That, widely as the billows roll,
        Glance quivering on their distant goal.

            SOTHEBY--_Constance de Castile_.


    42. When, like lobster boiled, the _morn_
        From black to red begins to turn.

            BUTLER--_Hudibras_.


    43. When in mid air, on seraph wing,
        The paly _moon_ is journeying
        In stillest paths of stainless blue.
        Keen, curious stars are peering through
        Heaven's arch this hour; they dote on her
        With perfect love, nor can she stir
        Within her vaulted halls apace,
        Ere, rushing out with joyous face,
          These Godkins of the sky
        Smile as she glides in loveliness,
          While every heart beats high
        With passion, and breaks forth to bless
          Her loftier divinity.

            MOTHERWELL.


    44. When comes still evening on, and twilight gray
        Hath in her sober livery all things clad,
        Silence accompanying.

            MILTON--_Paradise Lost_.


    45. When calm the grateful air, and loth to lose
        Day's grateful warmth, though moist with falling dews;
        Look for the stars, you'll say that there are none;
        Look up a second time, and one by one
        You mark them twinkle out, with silvery light,
        And wonder how they could elude your sight.

            WORDSWORTH.


    46. When your fire, with dim unequal light,
        Just glimmering, bids each shadowy image fall
        Sombrous and strange upon the darkening wall,
        Ere the clear taper chase the deepening night.

            W. L. BOWLES.


    47.               When the sun's broad orb
        Seems resting on the burnish'd wave,
                            And lines
        Of purple gold hang motionless,
        Above the _sinking sphere_.

            SHELLEY.


    48. _Morn_ breaking in the east. When purple clouds
        Are putting on their gold and violet,
        To look the meeter for the sun's bright coming.

            N. P. WILLIS.


    49.                         When the day
        In golden slumber sinks, with accent sweet
        _Mild evening_ comes, to lure the willing feet
                With her to stray,
        Where'er the bashful flowers the observant eye may greet.

            H. PICKERING.


    50. The light of _midnight_ skies
        When the red meteor rides the cloud.

            MISS LANDON.


    51.                         When at _noon_,
        High on his throne, the visible lord of light
        Rides in his fullest blaze, and dashes wide
        Thick flashes from his wheels

            _J. G. Percival._


    52. _Night_ on the waves, when the moon is on high,
        Hung like a gem on the brow of the sky,
        Treading its depths in the power of her might,
        And turning the clouds as they pass her to light.

            J. K. HERVEY.


    53. When yonder _western throng of clouds_
          _Retiring_ from the sky,
        So calmly move, so softly glow,
          They seem, to fancy's eye,
        Bright creatures of a better sphere,
        Come down at noon to worship here,
        And from their sacrifice of love
        Returning to their courts above.

            G. D. PRENTICE.


    54. When the _moon_, her lids unclosing, deigns
          To smile serenely on the charmed sea,
        That shines, as if inlaid with lightning chains,
          From which it hardly struggled to be free.

            EPES SARGENT.


    55.     The _high festival of night_,
        When earth is radiant with delight,
        And fast as weary day retires
        The heaven unfolds its secret fires,
        Bright, as when first the firmament
        Around the new-made world was bent,
        And infant seraphs pierced the blue,
        Till rays of heaven came shining through.

            W. B. O. PEABODY.


    56.                               When the _sun_
        _Rises_, visiting earth with light, and heat,
        And joy; and seems as full of youth, and strong
        To mount the steep of heaven, as when the stars
        Of morning sang to his first dawn.

            POLLOK--_Course of Time_.


    57. Let others hail the oriflamme of morn,
          O'er kindling hills unfurl'd, with gorgeous dyes,
        Oh, mild blue _evening_, still to thee we turn,
          With holier thoughts and with undazzled eyes.

            R. C. SANDS.


    58. _Night_; when a cloud, which through the sky,
        Sailing alone, doth cross in her career
        The rolling moon;--to watch it as it comes,
        And deem the deep opaque will blot her beams;
        But melting like a wreath of snow, it hangs
        In folds of wavy silver round, and clothes
        The orb with richer beauties than her own;
        Then, passing, leaves her in her light serene.

            SOUTHEY--_Madoc_.


    59.                 Thine own loved _moon's_,
        That every soft and solemn spirit worships;
        That lovers love so well; strange joy is _hers_,
        Whose influence o'er all tides of soul hath power.
        She lends her light to rapture and despair;
        The glow of hope, and wan hue of sick fancy,
        Alike reflect her rays; alike they light
        The path of meeting or of parting love;
        Alike on mingling or on breaking hearts
        _She_ smiles in throned beauty.

            MATURIN--_Bertram_.


    60.               _Sunrise;_
        Rolling back the clouds into
        Vapors more lovely than the unclouded sky,
        With golden pinnacles and snowy mountains,
        And billows purpler than the ocean's, making
        In heaven a glorious mockery of the earth,
        So like, we almost deem it permanent;
        So fleeting, we can scarcely call it aught
        Beyond a vision, 'tis so transiently
        Scatter'd along the eternal vault; and yet
        It dwells upon the soul, and sooths the soul,
        And blends itself into the soul, until
        Sunrise and sunset form the haunted epoch
        Of sorrow and of love.

            BYRON--_Sardanapalus_.




WHAT MUSICAL SOUNDS DO YOU LOVE?


    Oh for some soul-affecting scheme
    Of _moral_ music.

            WORDSWORTH.


    Music, round her creep----
    Seek her out, and when you find her,
    Gentle, gentlest music, wind her
            Round and round,
            Round and round,
    With your bands of softest sound.

            BARRY CORNWALL.




WHAT MUSICAL SOUNDS DO YOU LOVE?


    1.  The sweet and solemn sound
        Of Sabbath worshippers.

            W. C. BRYANT.


    2.        The _bugle_, silver-tipp'd,
        That with a breath, long-drawn, and slow-expiring,
        Sends forth that strain, which, echoing through the wilds,
        Tells of a loved one's glad return.

            SOUTHEY.


    3.  The voice of _waters_, and the sheen
        Of silver _fountains_ leaping to the sea.

            N. P. WILLIS.


    4.                The _humbee_ singing
        Drowsily among the flowers,
          Sleepily, sleepily,
       In noontide swayeth he,
       Half balanced on a slender stalk.

            J. R. LOWELL.


    5.  _One voice_, in its low, musical depth,
        More dear and thrilling than the crowds' applause;
        Even as the far-off murmur of the surge,
        Heard at hush'd eve, is sweeter than the homage
        Of waves tumultuous, dashing at your feet.

            MRS. ELLET.


    6.  _Small voices_, and an old _guitar_,
        Winning their way to an unguarded heart.

            ROGERS--_Italy_.


7. When soft music comes to thine ear, as thou liest at night, thine
    eyes half closed in sleep, and thy soul as a stream flowing at
    pleasant sounds. It is like the rising breeze that whirls at
    first the thistle's beard, then flies dark-shadowy over the grass.

            OSSIAN.


    8.  Kissing cymbals making merry din.

            KEATS.


    9.  _Merry cricket_, twittering thing!
        How you love to hear it sing!
        Chirping tenant, child of mirth,
        Minstrel of the poor man's hearth.

            ELIZA COOK.


    10. The wild enchanting _horn_!
        Whose music up the deep and dewy air,
        Swells to the clouds, and calls on echo there,
        Till a new melody is born.

            GRENVILLE MELLEN.


    11.             _Soft Lydian airs
        Married to immortal verse_;
        Such as meeting soul may pierce,
        In notes, with many a winding bout
        Of linked with sweetness long drawn out,
        With wanton heed, and giddy cunning,
        The melting voice through mazes running,
        Untwisting all the cords that tie
        The hidden soul of harmony.

            MILTON--L'Allegro.


    12. Words to the witches in Macbeth unknown;
        _Hydraulics_, _hydrostatics_, and _pneumatics_,
        _Chlorine_, and _iodine_, and _aerostatics_.

            HALLECK.


    13.                   The light _guitar_;
        Its holiest time the evening star,
        When liquid voices echo far.

            J. G. PERCIVAL.


    14. _Cataracts_ that blow their trumpets from the steep!

            WORDSWORTH.


    15. Through your very heart it thrilleth,
        When from crimson-threaded lips
        Silver-treble _laughter_ trilleth.

            TENNYSON.


    16. The _cricket's_ chirp, and the answer shrill
        Of the gauze-winged _katydid_.

            J. R. DRAKE.


    17. Naught as the music of _praise_ and _prayer_
        Is half so sweet.

            BOWRING.


    18. _Notes heard far off_; so far, as but to seem
        Like the faint exquisite music of a dream.

            MOORE.


    19. A solemn _dirge_; now swelling high
        In lofty strains, and now in cadence soft,
        Seeming to die away upon the ear;
        Then swelling loud again, reaching the skies,
        As if to mingle with the music there.

            MRS. DANA.


    20.       _Distance-mellow'd song_,
        From bowers of merriment.

            SOUTHEY.


    21. The melancholy strain of that sad _bird_
        Who sounds at night the warning note, that shuts
        The delicate young flowers.

            W. G. SIMMS.


    22. The glad voice, the laughing voice of _streams_,
        And the low cadence of the silvery _sea_.

            MRS. HEMANS.


    23. _Old songs_ of love and sorrow.

            MARY HOWITT.


    24.                             The lively air
        When love enlists the _serenader's_ skill.

            MRS. DANA.


    25.                   The musical confusion
        Of _hounds_ and _echo_ in conjunction.

            _Midsummer Night's Dream._


    26. When o'er the clear still water swells
        The music of the _Sabbath bells_.

            W. C. BRYANT.


    27. A deep and thrilling _song_,
    Which seems with piercing melody to reach
    The soul, and in mysterious union
    Blend with all thoughts of gentleness and love.

            SOUTHEY.


    28.                   Ever wakeful _echo_;
        The nymph of sportive mockery, that still
        Hides behind every rock and every dell,
        And softly glides, unseen, from hill to hill;
        No sound doth rise but mimic it she will.

            THEODORE FAY.


    29.           The sounding _Viol_;
        When eyes with speaking glances,
        Kindle high with pleasure,
        As rings the well-known strain;
        With easy gliding motion,
        involved in graceful fancies,
        Of light uncertain measure,
        Responds the fairy train.

            J. G. PERCIVAL.


    30.                     Low _whisperings in boats_,
        As they shoot through the moonlight, with drippings
        of oars.

            MOORE.


    31.                              The _hunter's shout_,
        When clanging _horns_ swell their sweet winding notes,
        The _pack wide-opening_ on the trembling air
        With various melody.

            SOMERVILLE--_The Chace._


    32.         The sounds awaken'd there
        In the _Pine leaves_ fine and small,
        Soft and sweetly musical,
        By the fingers of the air.

            J. G. WHITTIER.


    33. The song of _spirits_ that will sometimes sail
        Close to the ear, a deep, delicious stream,
        Then sweep away, and die with a low wail.

            CROLY--_Angel of the World._


    34.                             The roar
        Of _ocean's_ everlasting surges,
        Tumbling upon the beach's hard-beat floor,
        Or sliding backward to the shore,
        To meet the landward wave, and slowly plunge once more.

            J. R. LOWELL.


    35.                     The _rivulet_, which
        Sending glad sounds, and tripping o'er its bed
        Of pebbly sands, or leaping down the rocks,
        Seems, with continuous laughter, to rejoice
        In its own being.

            W. C. BRYANT.


    36.                 _A damsel singing to herself_
        _A song of love by snatches_; breaking off
        If but a flower, an insect on the wing
        Please for an instant, then as carelessly
        The strain resuming.

            ROGERS--_Italy._


    37. The sound of the _church-going bell_,
        When it bursts on the ear with its full, rich swell.

            MISS M. DAVIDSON.


    38.               The brisk, awakening _viol_,
        Whose sweet, entrancing voice you love the best.

            COLLINS.


    39. The _blackbird's merry chant_. Bold plunderer!
        How sweet to hear his mellow burst of song
        Float from his watch-place on the mossy tree,
        Close at the cornfield's edge!

            J. MCLELLAN.


    40. The sound of music at even-fall,
                    Filling the heart
        With a flow of thought and feeling sweet,
        When _lips that we love_ breathe forth the song.

            LOUISA P. SMITH.


    41.                                 The harp Eolian;
        Faintly at first it begins, scarce heard, and gentle its rising,
        Low as the softest breath that passes at summer evening;
        Then, as it swells and mounts up, the thrilling melody deepens,
        Till a mightier, holier virtue comes with its powerful tone.

            SOUTHEY.


    42. The chirp of _birds_, blithe _voices_, lowing _kine_,
        The dash of _waters_, _reed_, or rustic _pipe_,
        Blent with the dulcet, distance-mellow'd _bell_.

            HILLHOUSE.


    43. A _song of love and jollitye_,
        To drive away dull melancholy.

            SPENSER.


    44. _Preluding low_, soft notes that faint and tremble,
          Swelling, awakening, dying, plaining deep;
        While such sensations in the soul assemble,
          As make it pleasant to the eyes to weep.

            MRS. MARIA BROOKS.


    45. _Song of maids_ beneath the moon,
        With fairy _laughter_ blent.

            W. C. BRYANT.


    46. To hear the glorious swell
          Of chanted psalm and prayer,
        And the deep _organ's_ bursting heart
          Throb through the shivering air.

            J. R. LOWELL.


    47. A noise like of a _hidden brook_,
          In the leafy month of June,
        That to the sleeping woods all night
          Singeth a quiet tune.

            COLERIDGE.


    48. Approaching _trumpets_, that with quavering start,
        On the smooth wind come dancing to the heart.

            LEIGH HUNT--_Rimini_.


    49. A _laugh_ full of life, without any control
        But the sweet one of gracefulness, rung from the soul.

            MOORE--_Lalla Rookh_.


    50.             _Fifes_, _cornets_, _drums_,
        That rouse the sleepy soul to arms, and bold
        Heroic deeds.

            SOMERVILLE--_The Chace_.


    51.           A _little song_,
        Neither sad nor very long.

            BARRY CORNWALL.


    52. A voice of music in the rustling leaves,
        When the green boughs are hung with living lutes,
        Whose strings will only vibrate to His hand
        Who made them.

            MISS H. F. GOULD.


    53. The drums beat in the mornin', afore the scriech o' day,
        And the wee, wee fifes piped loud and shrill, while yet the
            morn is gray.

            MOTHERWELL.


    54.                     The unseen _hawk_
        _Whistling_ to clouds, and sky-born streams.

            WORDSWORTH.


    55.                   The low, sweet _shell_,
        By whose far music shall thy soul be haunted.

            MISS LANDON.


    56. The _trumpet's_ war-note proud,
        The _trampling_ and the _hum_!

            MACAULAY.


    57.                         A pattering sound
        Of ripen'd _acorns_, rustling to the ground
        Through the crisp, wither'd leaves.

            MRS. WHITMAN.


    58. _Birds_ and _brooks_ from leafy dells,
        Chiming forth unwearied canticles.

            WORDSWORTH.


    59. When the _organ peal_, loud rolling, meets
        The halleluiahs of the _choir_; sublime,
        A thousand notes symphoniously ascend,
        As if the whole were one; suspended high
        In air, soaring heavenward, afar they float,
        Wafting glad tidings to the sick man's couch.

            GRAHAME--_The Sabbath_.


    60. Tinklings of a vigilant guitar,
        Of sleepless lover to a wakeful mistress.

            BYRON.




WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE FLOWER?


    I would I had some flowers of the Spring that might
    Become your time of day; and yours;--and yours.

            _Winter's Tale._


    I send thee flowers, oh dearest, and I deem
    That from their petals thou wilt hear sweet words,
    Whose music, sweeter than the voice of birds,
    When breathed to thee alone, perchance may seem
    All eloquent of feelings unexpress'd.

            PARK BENJAMIN.


    A garland lay him by, made by himself
    Of many several flowers,
    Stuck in that mystic order that the rareness
    Delighted me.

            BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER.




WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE FLOWER?


    1.  The _sensitive plant_, the earliest
        Up-gathered unto the bosom of rest,
        A sweet child, weary of its delight,
        The feeblest, and yet the favorite,
        Cradled within the embrace of night.

            SHELLEY.


    2.                    The _jasmine_;
        Pride of Carolina's early Spring!
                          Fairy land
        Is not more beautiful, than when, full blown,
        The jasmine, gilt by the Creator's hand,
        Hangs all around us.

            MRS. DANA.


    3.  _Hyacinths_, ringing their soft bells
        To call the bees from the anemonies,
        Jealous of their bright rivals' glowing wealth.

            MISS LANDON.


    4.                              _Primroses_,
        Which, when the lengthen'd shadows fall
          Like soft dreams o'er the earth,
        And all around a sabbath reigns
          As at creation's birth,
        Burst the magic bands of clay,
        And greet with smiles the sun's last ray.

            MISS M. E. LEE.


    5.  The chaste _camelia's_ pure and spotless bloom,
        That boasts no fragrance, and conceals no thorn.

            W. ROSCOE.


    6.  The light _snowdrops_, which, starting from their cells,
        Hang each pagoda with their silver bells.

            O. W. HOLMES.


    7.  A _tulip_, which Titania may have chosen
        For rest or revelry, to feast or doze in.

            MISS MOISE.


    8.                             _Roses_,
        Beautiful each, but different all;
        One with that pure but crimson flush,
        That marks a maiden's first love blush;
                                       _One_,
        Pale as the snow of the funeral stone;
        _Another_, rich as the damask die
        Of a monarch's purple drapery;
        And _one_ hath leaves like the leaves of gold
        Worked on that drapery's royal fold.

            MISS LANDON.


    9.  The _hare-bell_ on the heath,
        The forest tree beneath,
          Which springs like elfin dweller of the wild;
        Light as a breeze astir
        Stemm'd with the gossamer,
          Soft as the blue eyes of a poet's child.

            MARY HOWITT.


    10. Thou sweet _daisy_, common-place
        Of nature, with that homely face,
        And yet, with something of a grace,
        Which love makes for thee!

            WORDSWORTH.


    11. The good old _passion-flower_!
          It bringeth to thy mind
        The young days of the Christian church,
          Dim ages left behind.

            MARY HOWITT.


    12. _Sweet peas_ on tiptoe for a flight,
        With wings of gentle flush o'er delicate white,
        And taper fingers, catching at all things,
        To bind them round about with tiny rings.

            KEATS.


    13. _Heart's ease._ One could look for half a day
        Upon this flower, and shape in fancy out
        Full twenty different tales of love and sorrow,
        That gave this gentle name.

            MARY HOWITT.


    14.             The humble _rosemary_,
        Whose sweets so thanklessly are shed
                    To scent the dead.

            MOORE.


    15. The _primrose_, all bepearl'd with dew,
        So yellow, green, and richly too.
        Ask you why the stalk is weak,
        And bending, yet it doth not break?
        I must tell you these discover
        What doubts and fears are in a lover.

            CAREW.


    16. Those greater far than all
          Our blessed Lord did see,
        The _lilies_ beautiful, which grew
          In the fields of Galilee!

            MARY HOWITT.


    17.             A little flower, which
        Before the bolt of Cupid fell milk-white,
                    Now purple with love's wound,
        And maidens call it _love-in-idleness_.

            _Midsummer Night's Dream._


    18. The _lilac_, various in array--now white,
        Now sanguine, and her beauteous head now set
        With purple spikes pyramidal, as if,
        Studious of ornament, yet unresolved
        Which hue she most approved, she chose them all.

            COWPER.


    19. _King-cup_, with its canary hue;
        'Twas from this goblet Psyche drew
        The nectar for her butterflies.

            MISS MOISE.


    20. _Jasmine_, with her pale stars shining through
        The myrtle darkness of her leaf's green hue.

            MRS. NORTON.


    21. The _water-lilies_, that glide so pale,
        As if with constant care
        Of the treasures which they bear;
        For those ivory vases hold
        Each a sunny gift of gold.

            MISS LANDON.


    22.                         _Daffodils_,
        That come before the swallow dares,
        And take the winds of March with beauty.

            _Winter's Tale._


    23. Sweet _wild-flowers_, that hold their quiet talk
        Upon the uncultured green.

            MRS. GILMAN.


    24. The virgin _lilies_ in their white,
        Clad but with the lawn of almost naked white.

            COWLEY.


    25. The _hyacinth_, for constancy, wi' its unchanging blue.

            BURNS.


    26. Blue _pelloret_, from purple leaves up-slanting
        A modest gaze, like eyes of a young maiden,
        Shining beneath dropp'd lids, the evening of her wedding.

            DRAKE.


    27. A _tulip_ just open'd, offering to hold
          A butterfly gaudy and gay,
        Or rocking its cradle of crimson and gold,
          Where the careless young slumberer lay.

            MISS GOULD.


    28. She comes--the first, the fairest thing
        That heaven upon the earth doth fling,
          Ere winter's star has set;
        She dwells behind her leafy screen,
        And gives as angels give--unseen,--
                        The _violet_!

            BARRY CORNWALL.


    29.                     The rich _magnolia_,
        High priestess of the flowers, whose censer fills
        The air.

            MRS. SIGOURNEY.


    30.                                 CEREUS,
        Who wastes on night's dull eye a blaze of charms.

            DARWIN.


    31.             The _scarlet creeper's_ bloom,
        When 'midst her leaves the humbird's varying dyes
        Sparkle like half-seen fairy eyes.

            DR. S. H. DICKSON.


    32. You love the sweet GERANIUM'S smell,
          Its scollop'd leaves, and crimson flower;
        Of days long passed it seems to tell,
          And memory owns its magic power.

            MISS MARIA JAMES.


    33. The _wayside weed_ of homeliest hue,
        Looking erect up to the golden blue.
        For thus it speaketh to the thinking mind--
        "O'erlook me not: I for a purpose grew;
        On us one sunshine falls!"

            THOMAS MILLER.


    34.                     The last _violet_
        That sheds its fragrance on the chill, damp air
        Of a November morn, like love in death.

            LADY FLORA HASTINGS.


    35. The _peony_, with drooping head,
          Which blows a transient hour,
        And gently shaken in the breeze,
          Descends a crimson shower.

            MISS MARIA JAMES.


    36. The _blue fleur-de-lis_, in the warm sunlight shining,
        As if grains of gold in its petals were set.

            MARY HOWITT.


    37. The pale and delicate _narcissus_' flowers,
        Bending so languidly, as still they found
        In the pure wave a love and destiny.

            MISS LANDON.


    38. The _violet's_ azure eye,
        Which gazes on the sky,
        Until its hue grows like what it beholds.

            SHELLEY.


    39.                     The _evening primrose_,
        O'er which the wind might gladly take a pleasant sleep,
        But that 'tis ever startled by the leap
        Of buds into fresh flowers.

            KEATS.


    40.             The _clematis_, all graceful and fair;
        You may set it like pearls in the folds of your hair.

            MRS. A. M. WELLS.


    41.                                 The _tulip_,
        Whose passionate leaves with their ruby glow
        Hide the heart that is burning and black below.

            MISS LANDON.


    42. The _almond_, though its branch is sere,
        With myriad blossoms beautiful;
        As pink, as is the shell's inside.

            MARY HOWITT.


    43. Lilies for a bridal bed,
        Roses for a matron's head,
        Violets for a maiden dead--
        _Pansies_ let thy flower be.

            SHELLEY.


    44.           The _barberry-bush_,
        Whose yellow blossoms hang,
        As when a child by grassy lane
        Along you lightly sprang.

            MRS. GILMAN.


    45.                             The shower
        Wets not a rose that buds in beauty's bower
        One half so lovely as the _sweet brier_;
                      ----for it grows along
        The poor man's pathway, by the poor man's door.

            BRAINERD.


    46. The low dwarf _acacia_, that droops as it grows,
        And the leaves, as you gather them, tremble and close.

            MRS. A. M. WELLS.


    47. The _cowslip_, that, bending
          With its golden bells,
        Of each glad hour's ending,
          With a sweet chime tells.

            MISS LANDON.


    48. The beautiful _clover_, so round and red;
          There is not a thing in twenty,
        That lifts in the morning so sweet a head,
        Above its leaves on its earthly bed,
          With so many horns of plenty.

            MISS H. F. GOULD.


    49.                 A _lily flower_,
        The old Egyptian's emblematic mark
        Of joy immortal, and of pure affection.

            WORDSWORTH.


    50. _Mignionette_ the little nun,
        In meekness shedding soft perfume.

            MISS P. MOISE.


    51. The _heliotrope_, whose gray and heavy wreath
        Mimics the orchard blossom's fruity breath.

            MRS. NORTON.


    52. The timid _jasmine-buds_, that keep
        Their odors to themselves all day,
        But when the sunlight dies away,
        Let the delicious secret out.

            MOORE.


    53.                           _Violets_ dim,
        but sweeter than the lids of Juno's eyes,
        or Cytherea's breath.

            _Winter's Tale._


    54. _Fox-glove_, whose purple vest conceals
        Its hollow heart.

            MISS MOISE.


    55.                   The _housatonia cerulea_,
          Its snowy circle ray'd
        With crosslets, bending its pearly whiteness round,
        While the spreading lips are bound
            With such a mellow shade,
            As in the vaulted blue
        Deepens at midnight, or grows pale
        When mantled in the full moon's slender veil.

            PERCIVAL.


    56.                               The _lily_,
        Imperial beauty, fair unrivall'd one!
        What flower of earth has honor high as thine,
        To find thy name on _His_ unsullied lips
        Whose eye was light from heaven!

            MISS H. F. GOULD.


    57. The little _windflower_, whose just open'd eye
        Is blue as the Spring heaven it gazes at;
        Startling the loiterer in naked paths
        With unexpected beauty.

            W. C. BRYANT.


    58. The trailing _arbutus_, shrouding its grace,
        Till fragrance bewrayeth its hiding-place.

            MRS. SIGOURNEY.


    59.                     The _woodbine wild_,
        That loves to hang on barren boughs remote
        Her wreaths of flowery perfume.

            W. MASON--_The English Garden_.


    60. The Naiad-like _lily of the vale_,
        Whom youth makes so fair and passion so pale,
        That the light of its tremulous bells is seen
        Through their pavilions of tender green.


            SHELLEY.




WHAT GRATIFIES YOUR TASTE OR YOUR AFFECTIONS?


            "We like not most what most is twin to self,
            "But that which best supplies the void within."




WHAT GRATIFIES YOUR TASTE, OR YOUR AFFECTIONS?


    1.  To walk in _choice gardens_,
        And from variety of curious flowers
        Contemplate nature's workmanship and wonders.

            MASSINGER.


    2.  You love to wander by old _ocean's_ side,
        And hold communion with its sullen tide,
        To climb the _mountain's_ everlasting wall,
        And linger where the _thunder-waters_ fall.

            SPRAGUE.


    3.     _Happy children at their play_,
       Whose hearts run over into song.


            J. R. LOWELL.


    4.           _Dogs_ of grave demeanor,
       All meekness, gentleness, though large of limb.

            ROGERS--_Italy_.


    5. _Old legends_ of the monkish page,
       Traditions of the saint and sage,
       Tales that have the rime of age
              And character of eld.

            LONGFELLOW.


    6. GENTLEMAN.--       A _lock_, a _leaf_,
          That some dear girl has given;
          Frail record of an hour, as brief
          As sunset clouds in heaven,
       But spreading purple twilight still
       High over memory's shadow'd hill.

            O. W. HOLMES.


    6. LADY.--There's little that you care for now,
       Except a simple _wedding ring_.

            THOMAS MILLER.


    7.             _Fruits that have just begun
       To flush_ on the side that is next the sun.

            H. F. GOULD.


    8. GENTLEMAN.--You do wish that you could be
       A _sailor_, on the rolling sea;
         In the shadow of the sails
       You would ride and rock all day,
         Going whither blow the gales,
       As you've heard the seamen say.

            L. S. NOBLE.


    8.  LADY.--By the _low cradle_ thou delight'st to sit
        Of sleeping infants, watching their soft breath.

            CHARLOTTE SMITH.


    9.  You like a _ring_, an ancient ring,
          Of massive form, and virgin gold;
        As firm, as free from base alloy
          As were the sterling hearts of old.

            G. W. DOANE.


    10. There's a room you love dearly, the sanctum of bliss,
        That holds all the comforts you least like to miss;
        Where, like ants in a hillock, you run in and out,
        Where sticks grace the corner, and hats lie about,
        With book-shelves, where tomes of all sizes are spread,
        Not placed to be look'd at, but meant to be read.

            ELIZA COOK.


    11. GENTLEMAN.--Ah, how glorious to be free,
          Your good _dog_ by your side,
        With _rifle_ hanging on your arm,
          To range the forest wide.

            E. PEABODY.


    11. LADY.--       To look into the smooth
        Clear glass,
        Where as you bend to look, just opposite,
        A shape within the polish'd frame appears
        Bending to look on you.

            MILTON, _modified_.


    12. Your sociable piazza,--you prize its quiet talk,
        When arm in arm with one you love you tread the accustom'd walk,
        Or loll within your rocking-chair, not over nice or wise,
        And yield the careless confidence where heart to heart replies.

            MRS. GILMAN.


    13.                 An eye that will mark
        Your coming, and look brighter when you come.

            BYRON.


    14. Give you a slight _flirtation_,
          By the light of a chandelier,
        With music to fill up the pauses
          And nobody very near.

            N. P. WILLIS.


    15. Give all things else their honor due,
        But _gooseberry-pie_ is best.

            SOUTHEY.


    16. An ever _drizzling_ raine upon the lofte,
        Mixt with a murmuring winde, much like the sownde
        Of murmuring bees.

            SPENSER--_Fairy Queen_.


    17. Oh, sweeter than the marriage feast,
          'Tis sweeter far to thee,
        To walk together to the kirk
          With a goodly company.

            COLERIDGE--_Ancient Mariner_.


    18. The world below hath not for thee
          Such a fair and glorious sight,
        As a noble _ship_ on a rippling sea
          In the clear and full moonlight.

            ELIZA COOK.


    19. GENTLEMAN.--           A _noble horse_,
        With flowing back, firm chest, and fetlocks clean,
        The branching veins ridging the glossy lean,
        The mane hung sleekly, the projecting eye
        That to the stander near looks awfully,
        The finish'd head in its compactness free,
        Small, and o'er-arching to the bended knee,
        The start and snatch, as if he felt the comb,
        With mouth that flings about the creamy foam,
        The snorting turbulence, the nod, the champing,
        The shift, the tossing, and the fiery tramping.

            LEIGH HUNT--_Rimini_.


    19. LADY.--          Your witless puss;
        While many a stroke of fondness glides
        Along her back and tabby sides,
        Dilated swells her glossy fur,
        And softly sings her busy pur;
        As timing well the equal sound,
        Her clutching feet bepat the ground,
        And all their harmless claws disclose
        Like prickles of an early rose,
        While softly from her whisker'd cheek
        The half-closed eyes peer mild and meek.

            JOANNA BAILLIE.


    20. The tall larch sighing in the _burial place_,
        Or willow trailing low its boughs, to hide
        The gleaming marble.

            W. C. BRYANT.


    21.                 The dance,
        Pleasant with graceful flatteries.

            MISS LANDON.


    22. You rather look on _smiling faces_,
          And linger round a _cheerful hearth_,
        Than mark the stars' bright hiding-places,
          As they peep out upon the earth.

            MRS. WELBY.


    23. Wreathy _shells_, with lips of red,
        On a beach of whiten'd sand.

            HOSMER.


    24. When to the startled eye the sudden glance
        Appears far south, _eruptive, through the cloud_,
        And following slower, in explosion vast,
        The _thunder_ raises his tremendous voice.

            THOMSON--_Seasons_.


    25. GENTLEMAN.--"'Tis heaven to lounge upon a couch," said Gray,
        "And read new novels through a rainy day."
        Add but the Spanish weed, the bard was right.

            SPRAGUE.


    25. LADY.--Your moralizing knitting-work, whose threads most aptly
            show
        How evenly around life's span our busy threads should go;
        And if a stitch perchance should drop, as life's frail stitches
            will,
        How, if we patient take it up, the work will prosper still.

            MRS. GILMAN.


    26. 'Tis pleasant, by the cheerful hearth, to hear
        Of tempests, and the dangers of the deep,
        And pause at times, and feel that we are safe,
        Then listen to the perilous tale again,
        And with an eager and suspended soul
        Woo terror to delight us.

            SOUTHEY--_Madoc_.


    27.                                 The _moon_,
        Which kisseth every where, with silver lip,
        Dead things to life.

            KEATS.


    28. The _insect_, that when evening comes,
        Small though he be, and scarce distinguishable,
        Unsheaths his wings, and through the woods and glades
        Scatters a marvellous splendor.

            ROGERS--_Italy_.


    29. When down the green lane come heart-peals of laughter,
          For school has sent its eldest inmates forth,
        And when a smaller band comes dancing after,
          Filling the air with shouts of infant mirth.

            MRS. SCOTT.


    30.           _A couch near to a curtaining_,
        Whose airy texture, from a golden string
        Floating, into the room permits appear
        Unveil'd, the summer heaven, blue and clear.

            KEATS.


    31. Dear to your heart are the scenes of your childhood,
          When fond recollection presents them to view,
        The orchard, the meadow, the deep-tangled wild-wood,
          And every loved spot which your infancy knew.

            WOODWORTH.


    32. To seek the patient _fisher's_ silent stand,
        Intent, your angle trembling in your hand;
        With looks unmoved to lure the scaly breed,
        And eye the dancing cork and bending reed.

            POPE.


    33. _Converse_, which qualifies for solitude,
        As exercise for salutary rest.

            YOUNG--_Night Thoughts_.


    34. GENTLEMAN.--To follow, fleetest of the fleet,
        The _red deer_, driven along its native plains,
        With cry of _hound_ and _horn_.

            WORDSWORTH.


    34. LADY.--One wild-flower from the path of love,
          All lowly though it lie,
        Is dearer than the wreath that waves
          To stern ambition's eye.

            H. T. TUCKERMAN.


    35.           The laugh-provoking _pun_; absurd
        Though it be, far-fetched, hard to be discern'd,
        It serves the purpose if it shake our sides.

            GRAHAME.


    36. You have a wish, and it is this--that in some uncouth glen,
        It were your lot to find a spot, unknown by selfish men,
        Where you might be securely free, like eremite of old,
        From worldly guile, from woman's wile, and friendships brief
            and cold.

            MOTHERWELL.


    37. You love the fields, the woods, the streams,
          The wild-flowers fresh and sweet,
        And yet you love no less than these
          The crowded city street;
        For _haunts of men_, where'er they be,
        Awake your deepest sympathy.

            MARY HOWITT.


    38. Sleep,--soft closer of our eyes,
        Low murmurer of tender lullabies.

            KEATS.


    39. You love the sweet _Sabbath_, that bids in repose
        The plough in its mid-furrow stand.

            DR. GILMAN.


    40. Pleasant it is when woods are green,
          And winds are soft and low,
        To lie amid some sylvan scene,
        Where, the long drooping boughs between,
        Shadows dark and sunlight sheen
          Alternate come and go.

            LONGFELLOW.


    41. GENTLEMAN.--To beat the surges under you,
        And ride upon their backs; to tread the water
        Whose enmity you flung aside, and breast
        The surge most swollen, that meets you; your bold head
        'Bove the contentious waves keeping, and oar
        Yourself with your good arms, in lusty stroke
        To the shore.

            _Tempest._


    41. LADY.--Beside the dimness of the _glimmering sea_,
            with a dear friend to linger,
        Beneath the gleams of the silver stars.

            SHELLEY.


    42. To pluck some way-side flower,
        And _press it_ in the choicest nook
        Of a much-loved and oft-read _book_.

            J. R. LOWELL.


    43. A wheel-footed _studying-chair_,
          Contrived both for toil and repose,
        Wide-elbow'd, and wadded with care,
          In which you both scribble and doze.

            COWPER.


    44. GENTLEMAN.--Hurrah for you! the wind is up, it bloweth fresh and
            free,
        And every chord, instinct with life, pipes out its fearless glee;
        Big swell the bosom'd sails with joy, and they madly kiss the
            spray,
        As proudly through the foaming surge the sea-king bears away.

            MOTHERWELL.


    44. LADY.--To place your lips to a spiral shell,
          And breathe through every fold;
        Or look for the depth of its pearly cell,
          As a miser would look for gold.

            MISS H. F. GOULD.


    45. GENTLEMAN.--        The soil to tread
          Where man hath nobly striven,
        And life like incense hath been shed
          An offering unto heaven.

            MRS. HEMANS.


    45. LADY.--The old _study-corner_ by a nook,
        Crowded with volumes of the old romance.

            N. P. WILLIS.


    46. Ay, 'tis to you a glorious sight
          To gaze on _ocean's_ ample face;
        An awful joy, a deep delight,
          To see his laughing waves embrace
          Each other, in their frolic race.

            GEORGE LUNT.


    47. You love the _pictures_ that you see
        At times in some _old gallery_;
        You love them, although art may deem
        Such pictures of but light esteem.

            MARY HOWITT.


    48. GENTLEMAN.--            A brown cigar,
        A special, smooth-skinn'd, real Havanna.

            MOTHERWELL.


    48. LADY.--Your quiet, pleasant _chamber_, with the rose-vine
        Woven round the casement.

            MISS MITFORD.


    49.         _Old books_ to read!
        Ay, bring those nodes of wit,
        The brazen-clasp'd, the vellum writ,
        Time-honor'd tomes.

            HENRY CAREY.


    50. A _youthful mother_ to her infant smiling,
        Who with spread arms, and dancing feet,
        And cooing voice, returns an answer sweet.

            JOANNA BAILLIE.


    51. GENTLEMAN.--To be toss'd on the waves alone, or mid the crew
        Of joyous comrades, now the reedy marge
        Clearing, with strenuous arm dipping the oar.

            WORDSWORTH.


    51. LADY.--When the sail is slack, the course is slow,
        That at your leisure, as you coast along,
        You may contemplate, and from every scene
        Receive its influence.

            ROGERS.


    52.             An antique _chair_,
        Cushion'd with cunning luxury.

            N. P. WILLIS.


    53. You love a hand that meets your own
          With grasp that causes some sensation;
        You love a voice whose varying tone
          From truth has learn'd its modulation.

            MRS. OSGOOD.


    54. When each and all come crowding round to share
          A cordial greeting, the beloved sight;
        When welcomings of hand and lip are there,
          And when these overflowings of delight
        Subside into a sense of quiet bliss,
        Life hath no purer, deeper happiness.

            SOUTHEY.


    55. Oh yes, the poor man's garden!
          It is great joy to thee,
        This little, precious piece of ground,
          Beside his door to see.
        For in the poor man's garden grow
          Far more than herbs and flowers,
        Kind thoughts, contentment, peace of mind,
          And joy for weary hours.

            MARY HOWITT.


    56. To be sad, and say nothing.

            _As You Like It._


    57. Sweet _poetry_, the alchymy
        Which turneth all it toucheth into gold.

            MRS. DANA.


    58. GENTLEMAN.--        With a _swimmer's_ stroke
        To fling the billows back from your drench'd hair,
        And laughing from your lip the audacious brine;
                          ----rising o'er
        The waves as they arise, and prouder still
        The loftier they uplift thee; then, exulting,
        With a far-dashing stroke, and drawing deep
        The long suspended breath, again to spurn
        The foam which breaks around thee, and pursue
        Thy track like a sea-bird.

            BYRON--_The Two Foscari_.


    58. LADY.--A _needle_, which though it be small and tender,
        Yet it is both a maker and a mender,
        A grave reformer of old rents decay'd,
        Stops holes, and seams, and desperate cuts display'd;
        And for your country's quiet, you would like
        That womankind should use no other pike.
        It will increase their peace, enlarge their store,
        To use their tongues less, and their needles more.
        The needle's sharpness profit yields and pleasure,
        But sharpness of the tongue bites out of measure.

            JOHN TAYLOR--_Needle's Excellency_.


    59.                 _Infant charms_,
        Unconscious fascination, undesign'd;
        The orison repeated in your arms,
        The book, the bosom on your knee reclined,
        The low sweet fairy lore to con.

            CAMPBELL--_Gertrude of Wyoming_.


    60. With _Shakspeare's self_ to speak and smile alone,
        And no intruding visitation fear
        To shame the unconscious laugh, or stop your sweetest tear.

            CAMPBELL--_Gertrude of Wyoming_.




FOR WHAT HAVE YOU A DISTASTE OR AVERSION?


    "I do not like you, Dr. Fell--
    "The reason why I cannot tell;
    "But this I know full well,
    "I do not like you, Dr. Fell."




FOR WHAT HAVE YOU A DISTASTE OR AVERSION?


    1. GENTLEMAN.--Three loud talking women,
       That are discoursing of the newest fashion.

            JOHN TOBIN.


    1.  LADY.--Ye say, "There is naething I hate like the men,
        But the deuce gae wi'm to believe me."

            BURNS.


    2.  The banquet-hall, the play, the ball,
        Have lost their charms for thee.

            G. P. MORRIS.


    3.  It's hardly in a body's power
        To keep at times frae being sour,
          To see how things are shared;
        How best o' chiels are whiles in want,
        While coofs on countless thousands rant,
            And ken na how to wair't.

            BURNS.


    4.  Oh, it is sad to look upon
          The play-place of our youthful hours,
        And mark what _wasting change_ hath run
          As fire amid its bowers,
        And sear'd its greenwood tree, and left
        A trunk all blacken'd and bereft!

            J. W. MILLER.


    5.  Conversation, when reduced to say
        The hundredth time what you have said before.

            MRS. SIGOURNEY.


    6.  You never speak the word _farewell_
          But with an utterance faint and broken,
        A heart-sick yearning for the time
          When it shall never more be spoken.

            BOWLES.


    7.  GENTLEMAN.--Now, my lord, as for tripe, it's your utter aversion.

            GOLDSMITH--_Haunch of Venison_.


    7.  LADY.--An _exquisite_ of the highest stamp.

            ALBERT PIKE.


    8.                  To see
        Things of no better mould
          Than thou thyself art, greedily
        In Fame's bright page enroll'd.

            MOTHERWELL.


    9.                    Weaving spiders.--
        Hence, you long-legged spinners, hence!

            _Midsummer Night's Dream._


    10. You have no taste for _pomp_ and _strife_,
          Which others love to find;
        Your only wish, that bliss of life,
          A poor and quiet mind.

            CLARE.


    11. You like not this _phrenology_,
          This system of unfolding
        The secret of a man's desires
          To every one's beholding.

            R. M. CHARLTON.


    12. The sullen passion, and the hasty pet,
        The swelling lip, the tear-distended eye,
        The peevish question, the perverse reply.

            HAYLEY--_Triumphs of Temper_.


    13. Nor do you love that common phrase of guests,
        As, _we make bold_, or, _we are troublesome_;
        _We take you unprovided_, and the like;
          ----nor that common phrase of hosts,
        _Oh, had I known your coming, we'd have had_
        _Such things and such_; nor blame of cook, to say,
        _This dish or that hath not been served with care_.

            THOMAS HEYWOOD AND RICHARD BROOME--_The Late Lancashire
            Witches_.


    14. Tales of love were wont to weary you;
        I know you joy not in a _love-discourse_.

            _Two Gentlemen of Verona._


    15. 'Tis a dreary thing to be
        _Tossing on the wide, wide sea_,
        When the sun has set in clouds,
        And the wind sighs through the shrouds,
        With a voice and with a tone
        Like a living creature's moan!

            EPES SARGENT.


    16. _To hear the French talk French_ around you,
          And wonder how they understand each other;
        To hearken, and find all attempts confound you
          At guessing what they mean by all their pother.

            BYRON--_Giuseppino_.


    17. _Books!_ out upon them; faithless chroniclers
        Mere wordy counsellors--cold comforters
        In the hour of sorrow.

            LADY FLORA HASTINGS.


    18. Your curse upon the venom'd slang
        That shoots your tortured _gums_ alang,
        An' through your lugs gies mony a twang,
                    Wi' gnawing vengeance;
        Tearing your nerves wi' bitter pang,
                    Like racking engines.

            BURNS.


    19. As for stupid _reason_,
          That stalking, ten-foot rule,
        She's always out of season,
          A tedious, testy fool.

            MRS. FOLLEN.


    20. GENTLEMAN.--That most active member of mortal things,
        A _woman's tongue_; something like a smoke-jack,
        For it goes ever, without winding up.

            JOHN TOBIN--_Honey Moon_.


    20. LADY.--You would rather hear your dog bark at a crow,
        Than a man swear he loves you.

            _Much Ado About Nothing._


21. Age is dark and unlovely; it is like the glimmering light of the
    moon when it shines through broken clouds, and the mist is on
    the hills: the blast of the north is on the plain; the traveller
    shrinks in the midst of his journey.

            OSSIAN.


    22. To have _odd quirks_ and remnants of _wit_ broken on you.

            _Much Ado About Nothing._


    23. Whenever a change is wrought,
        And you know not the reason why,
        In your own or an old friend's thought.

            BARRY CORNWALL.


    24. You are weary of the endless theme of Cupid's smiles and sighs,
        You are sick of reading rigmaroles about "my lady's eyes;"
        You cannot move, you cannot look around, below, above,
        But men and women, birds and bees, are prating about love.

            R. M. CHARLTON.


    25. You hate _ingratitude_ more in man,
        Than lying, vainness, babbling, drunkenness,
        Or any taint of vice whose strong corruption
        Inhabits our frail blood.

            _Twelfth Night._


    26. There are haughty steps that would walk the globe
          O'er necks of humbler ones;
        _You_ would scorn to bow to their jewell'd robes,
          Or the beam of their _coin-lit_ suns.

            MISS L. P. SMITH.


    27. You'd rather hear a brazen candlestick turn'd,
          Or a dry wheel grate on an axle-tree,
        And that would set your teeth nothing on edge,
          Nothing so much as _mincing poetry_.

            _Henry IV._


    28.                 In your soul you loathe
        All _affectation_. 'Tis your perfect scorn,
        Object of your implacable disgust.

            COWPER--_Task_.


    29. GENTLEMAN.--To pick up fans and knitting-needles,
        And list to songs, and tunes, and watch for smiles,
        And smile at pretty prattle.

            BYRON--_Werner_.


29. LADY.--An a lover be _tardy_, you had as lief be wooed of a
    snail; for though the snail comes slowly, he carries his house on
    his head.

            _As You Like It._


    30. That the _king_ should reign on a throne of gold,
        Fenced round by his power divine;
        That the _baron_ should sit in his castle old,
        Drinking his ripe red wine;
        While below, below, in his ragged coat,
        The _beggar_ he tuneth a hungry note,
        And the _spinner_ is bound to his weary thread,
        And the _debtor_ lies down with an aching head.

            BARRY CORNWALL.


    31.                   Lighted halls,
        Cramm'd full of fools and fiddles.

            R. C. SANDS.


    32.                         To hear
        The roaring of the raging elements,
        To know all human skill, all human strength
        Avail not; to look round, and only see
        The mountain wave, incumbent with its weight
        Of bursting waters o'er the reeling bark;--
       Oh, God, this is indeed a dreadful thing!
        And he who hath endured the horror once
        Of such an hour, doth never hear the storm
        Howl round his home, but he remembers it,
        And thinks upon the suffering mariner.

            SOUTHEY--_Madoc_.


    33. I perceive you delight not in _music_.

            _Merry Wives of Windsor._


    34. You hate the gold and silver which persuade
        Weak men to follow _far-fatiguing trade_;
        Who madly think the flowery mountain's side,
        The fountain's murmur, and the valley's pride,
        The river's flow, less pleasing to behold
        Than dreary deserts, if they lead to _gold_.

            COLLINS--_Eclogues_.


    35. To climb life's worn and heavy wheel,
        Which draws up _nothing new_.

            YOUNG--_Night Thoughts_.


36. To tax a _bad voice_ to slander music. An he had been a dog that
    should have howled thus, they would have hanged him.

            _Much Ado About Nothing._


    37. It moves you more perhaps than folly ought,
        When some _green heads_, as void of wit as thought,
        Suppose themselves monopolists of sense,
        And wiser mens' ability pretence.

            COWPER.


    38. GENTLEMAN.--A _woman moved_, which like a fountain troubled
        (Is) muddy, ill-seeming, thick, bereft of beauty,
        And in no wise is meet or reasonable.

            _Taming of the Shrew._


    38. LADY.--            The heavens preserve me
        From that dull blessing, an _obedient husband_.

            TOBIN--_Honey Moon_.


    39. You're tired of _visits_, _modes_, and _forms_,
        And _flatteries_ paid to fellow-worms;
                Their conversation cloys.

            DR. WATTS.


    40. The _spider_, that weaver of cunning so deep,
        Who rolls himself up in a ball to sleep.

            MRS. SIGOURNEY.


    41. A _fly_ that tickles the nasal tip.

            MISS H. F. GOULD.


    42. _Man_ delights not thee; no, nor _woman_ neither.

            _Henry IV._


    43. Church-yards _unadorn'd with shades_
        And _blossoms_----Naked rows of graves
        And melancholy ranks of monuments;
              ----where the course grass between
        Shoots up its dull green spikes, and in the wind
        Hisses;
              ----where the neglected bramble
        Grows near the dead.

            BRYANT.


    44.       You all _punctilios_ hate,
        Though long familiar with the great.

            SWIFT.


    45. That he who's right, and he who swerveth,
          Meet at the goal the same,
        Where no one hath what he deserveth,
          Not even an empty name.

            BARRY CORNWALL.


    46. Wooing, wedding, and repenting.

            _Much Ado About Nothing._


    47. Soft-buzzing _slander_--silky moth that eats
        An honest name.

            THOMSON.


    48. The blood-extracting bill and filmy wing,
        The light pump, and freckled feet--
        Of the _musquito_.

            BRYANT.


    49. You do not like _but yet_;
        _But yet_ is as a jailer to bring forth
        Some monstrous malefactor.

            _Antony and Cleopatra._


    50. GENTLEMAN.--            You'd rather
        Ride a day's hunting on an outworn jade,
        Than _follow in the train of a great man_
        In his dull pageantries.

            BYRON--_Werner_.


    50. LADY.--Never yet did housewife notable
        Greet with a smile a _rainy washing-day_.

            MRS. BARBAULD.


    51.       Thou dread'st to see
        The glowing summer sun,
          And balmy blossoms on the tree
        Unfolding one by one;
        They speak of things which once have been,
          But never more can be:
        And earth all deck'd in smiles again
          Is still a waste to thee.

            SARAH H. WHITMAN.


    52. Softest winds are dreary,
        And summer sunlight weary,
        And sweetest things uncheery,
                You know not why.

            J. R. LOWELL.


    53.                         The _Guinea-hen_,
        Which keeps a piercing and perpetual scream.

            MRS. SIGOURNEY.


    54. Sleep, infested with the burning sting
        Of _bug_ infernal, who the live-long night
        With direst suction sips thy liquid gore.

            ROBERT FERGUSON.


    55.         When you behold a spider
        Prey on a fly, a magpie on a worm,
        Or view a butcher, with horn-handled knife,
        Slaughter a tender lamb as dead as mutton,
        Indeed, indeed you're very, very sick!

            HORACE AND JAMES SMITH--_Rejected Addresses_.


    56. Where'er that place the priests ca' hell,
        Whence a' the tones of misery yell,
        And ranked plagues their numbers tell,
                  In dreadfu' row,
        Thou, _toothache_, surely bear'st the bell
                  Amang them a'!

            BURNS.


    57. You scorn this hated scene
          Of masking and disguise,
        Where men on men still gleam
          With falseness in their eyes,
        Where all is counterfeit,
          And truth hath never say,
        Where hearts themselves do cheat,
          Concealing hope's decay,
        And, writhing at the stake,
          Themselves do liars make.

            MOTHERWELL.


    58. You call the time misspent that is bestow'd
        On loud-tongued orators, whose art it is
        To launch their hearers upon passion's tide,
        And drive them on by gusts of windy words.

            CUMBERLAND--_Calvary_.


59. You do despise a _liar_ as you do despise one that is false, or
    as you despise one that is not true.

            _Merry Wives of Windsor._


    60.               _Songs and unbaked poetry_,
        Such as the dabblers of our time contrive,
        That has no weight, nor wheel to move the mind,
        Nor indeed nothing but an empty sound.

            BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER--_The Elder Brother_.




WHERE OR WHAT WILL BE YOUR RESIDENCE?


    The World was all before her, where to choose
    Her place of rest, and Providence her guide.

            MILTON.


    The _mind_ is its own place, and of itself
    Can make a heaven of hell, a hell of heaven.

            MILTON.




WHERE OR WHAT WILL BE YOUR RESIDENCE?


    1.  Near some fair town you'll have a _private seat_,
        Built uniform, not little, nor too great;
        It shall within no other things contain,
        But what are useful, necessary, plain;
        A little garden grateful to the eye,
        While a cool rivulet runs murmuring by.

            _Pomfret's Choice._


    2.                        Amongst the vines,
        See'st thou not where thy _villa_ stands? The moonbeam
        Strikes on the granite column, and mountains
        Rise sheltering round it.

            LADY FLORA HASTINGS.


    3.  Child of the _town_ and _bustling street_,
        What woes and snares await thy feet!
        Thy paths are paved for many miles,
        Thy groves and hills are peaks and tiles.

            ALLAN CUNNINGHAM.


    4.  _A warm but simple home_, where thou'lt enjoy
        With one, who shares thy pleasures and thy heart,
        Sweet converse, sipping calm the fragrant lymph
        Which neatly is prepared.

            COWPER.


    5.                        _Low in the glen_,
        Down which a little stream hath furrow'd deep
        'Tween meeting birchen boughs, a shelvy channel,
        And brawling mingles with the western tide.
        Far up the stream, almost beyond the roar
        Of storm-bulged breakers, foaming o'er the rocks
        With furious dash, your lowly dwelling lurks,
        Surrounded by a circlet of the stream.
        Before the wattled door, a greensward plat
        With daises gay, pastures a playful lamb.
        A pebbly path, deep-worn, leads up the hill,
        Winding among the trees, by wheel untouch'd.
        On every side it is a shelter'd spot,
        So high and suddenly the woody steeps
        Arise. One only way, downward the stream,
        Just o'er the hollow, 'tween the meeting boughs,
        The distant wave is seen, with now and then
        The glimpse of passing sail; though when the breeze
        Cresteth the distant wave, this little nook
        Is all so calm, that on the limberest spray
        The sweet bird chanteth motionless, the leaves
        At times scarce fluttering.

            GRAHAME--_Birds of Scotland_.


    6.  Neat is your house; each table, chair, and stool
        Stands in its place, or moving, moves by rule;
        No lively print or picture grace the room,
        A plain brown paper lends its decent gloom.

            CRABBE.


    7.                    _A summer lodge amid the wild_,--
        'Tis shadow'd by the tulip-tree, 'tis mantled by the vine;
        The wild plum sheds its yellow fruit from fragrant thickets nigh,
        And flowery prairies from the door stretch till they meet the sky.

            BRYANT.


    8.                          _Beside a public way_,
        Thick strewn with summer dust, and a great stream
        Of people hurrying to and fro.

            SHELLEY.


    9.  Crowning a gradual hill, your mansion swells
        In ancient English grandeur; turrets, spires,
        And windows, climbing high from base to roof,
        In wide and radiant rows, bespeak its birth
        Coeval with those rich cathedral fanes,
        (Gothic ill-famed,) where harmony results
        From disunited parts; and shapes minute,
        At once distinct and blended, boldly form
        One vast majestic whole.

            W. MASON--_The English Garden_.


    10. In a _proud city_ and a rich,
          A city fair and old,
        Fill'd with the world's most costly things,
          Of precious stones and gold;
        Of silks, fine wool, and spiceries,
          And all that's bought and sold.

            MARY HOWITT.


    11. I see, I see the _rustic porch_,
          And close beside the door
        The old elm, waving still as green
          As in the days of yore.
        I see the wreathing smoke ascend
          In azure columns up the sky,
        I see the twittering swallow
          Around in giddy circles fly.

            T. MCLELLAN.


    12. A house, whence, as by stealth, you catch
        Among the hills a glimpse of busy life,
        That sooths, not stirs.

            ROGERS.


    13. In stately dwelling built of squared _bricke_.

            SPENSER.


    14. A _city_, that great sea whose ebb and flow
        At once is deaf and loud.
        In its depth what treasure--you will see.

            SHELLEY.


    15. In a fair and _stately mansion_, with old woods
        Girdled around.

            HOWITT.


    16.                 A _low, Sweet Home_,
        A Pastoral Dwelling With Its Ivied Porch,
        And Lattice, Gleaming Through the Leaves.

            HEMANS.


    17. You shall dwell in some bright little isle of your own,
        In a blue summer ocean far off and alone,
        Where a leaf never dies in the still blooming bowers,
        And the bee banquets on through a whole year of flowers.

            MOORE.


    18. You scarce upon the borders enter,
        Before you're at the very centre.
        Though small your farm, it has a house
        Full large to entertain a mouse;
        But if it's enter'd by a rat,
        There is no room to bring a cat.
        Round your garden is a walk
        No longer than a tailor's chalk;
        One salad makes a shift to squeeze
        Up through a tuft you call your trees,
        And, once a year, a single rose
        Peeps from the bud, but never blows.
        In vain then you'll expect its bloom,
        It cannot blow for want of room.
        In short, in all your boasted seat
      There's nothing but _yourself_ that's great.

            SWIFT.


    19. Your _island_ lies nine leagues away;
          Along its solitary shore
        Of craggy rock, and sandy bay,
          No sound but ocean's roar,
        Save where the bold, wild sea-bird makes her home,
        Her shrill cry coming through the sparkling foam.

            R. H. DANA.


    20. Sweet sights, sweet sounds, all sights all sounds excelling;
        Oh, 'tis a ravishing spot, form'd for a Poet's dwelling!

            DRAKE.


    21.                             _A city_
        Where trade and joy in every _busy street_
        Mingling are heard, and in whose _crowded ports_
        The rising masts an endless prospect yield.

            THOMSON.


    22. A _valley_, from the river shore withdrawn,
        Shall be your home--two quiet woods between,
        Whose lofty verdure overlooks the lawn;
        And waters, to their resting-place serene,
        Come freshening and reflecting all the scene.

            CAMPBELL.


    23.           Please step in
          And visit roun' an' roun';
        There's naught superfluous to gie pain
          Or costly to be foun',
        Yet a' is clean.

            ALLAN RAMSAY--_Gentle Shepherd_.


    24. A whitewash'd wall, a nicely sanded floor,
        A varnish'd clock that clicks behind the door,
        A chest contrived a double debt to pay,
        A bed by night, a chest of drawers by day;
        While broken tea-cups, wisely kept for show,
        Ranged on the chimney, glisten in a row.

            GOLDSMITH--_Deserted Village_.


    25. How beautiful it stands,
          Behind its elm-trees' screen,
        With simple attic cornice crown'd,
          All graceful and serene!

            MRS. SIGOURNEY.


    26. O'er the glad waters of the dark blue sea,
        Your thoughts as boundless and your soul as free,
        Far as the breeze can bear, the billows foam,
        Survey your empire, and behold your _home_!

            BYRON.


    27. A _pastoral scene_ of your own land,
        Groves darkly green, neat farms, and pastures gay
        With golden flowers; brooks stealing over sand,
        Or smooth-worn pebbles, murmuring light away;--
        Blue rye-fields, yielding to the gentle hand
        Of the cool west wind; scented fields of hay,
        Falling in purple bloom!

            PERCIVAL.


    28. A pleasant aspect shall your _parlor_ wear,--
        Pictures, and busts, and books, and flowers,
        And a light hearth where one may sit for hours,
        And feel the minutes in their rapid flight,
        Yet never think to count them as they go;
        The mind, in converse sweet, beguiled so.

            MRS. A. M. WELLS.


    29.           A light commodious _chamber_
        Looking out to the hills, and where the shine
        Of the great sun may enter.

            MARY HOWITT.


    30. It is a _chosen plot of fertile land_,
        Emongst wide waves sett, like little nest,
        As if it had by nature's cunning hand
        Bene choycely picked out from all the rest,
        And laid forth for ensample of the best.

            SPENSER.


    31.           A _mansion_, where _domestic love_
        And truth breathe simple kindness to the heart;
        Where white arm'd childhood twines the neck of age;
        Where hospitable cares light up the hearth,
        Cheering the lonely traveller on his way.

            MRS. GILMAN.


    32. Thine be a _cot beside the hill_:
          A beehive's hum shall sooth thine ear;
        A willowy brook that turns the mill
          With many a fall, shall linger near.

            ROGERS.


    33.             The dense city's roofs
        Throng around thee, and the vertic' sun
        Pours from those glowing tiles a fervid heat
        Upon your shrinking nerves.

            MRS. SIGOURNEY.


    34.         A _lodge_ of ample size,
        But strange of structure and device;
        Of such materials, as around
        The workman's hand has readiest found.

            SCOTT.


    35. Among the jumbled heap of murky buildings.

            KEATS.


    36. You will be blest as now you are with friends, and home, and all
        That in the exulting joy of love your own you fondly call;
        Beloved and loving faces, that you've known so long and well,
        The dear familiar places where your childish footsteps fell,
        Where you join'd with careless heart and free your playmates'
            blooming band,
        As happy still as now in this,--you'll _tread your native land_.

            MRS. OSGOOD.


    37. On the well-sloped banks arise trim clumps,
        Some round and some oblong, of shrubs exotic;
        While, at respectful distance, rises up
        The red brick wall, with flues and chimney-tops
        And many a leafy crucifix adorn'd.
                      The smooth expanse,
        Well cropp'd, and daily, as the owner's chin,
        Not one irregularity presents,
        Not even one grassy tuft in which a bird
        May find a home and cheer the dull domain.

            GRAHAME--_Birds of Scotland_.


    38.               The city's gloom, that falls
        Where the same window fronts the same dull walls;
        To see new, weary idlers tread once more
        The mud or dust, which crowds have trod before,
        Or the gay chariot loiter to await
        Some fool you scorn, or envious flirt you hate.

            DR. BROWN--_Bower of Spring_.


    39. A _lone dwelling_, built by whom, or how,
        None of the rustic island people know.
        The isle and house are thine.--
        Nature, with all her children, haunts the hill;
        The spotted deer bask in the fresh moonlight,
        Before thy gate.--Be this thy home in life.

            SHELLEY.


    40. In a city vast and populous,
          Whose thronging multitude
        Sends forth a sound afar off heard,
          Strong as the ocean flood;
        A strong, deep sound of many sounds,
          Toil, pleasure, pain, delight,
        And traffic, myriad-wheel'd, whose din
          Ceases not day and night.

            MARY HOWITT.


    41.                     A _simple home_,
        A plain well-order'd household, without show
        Of wealth or fashion.

            PERCIVAL.


    42. All day within your dreary house
        The doors upon their hinge will creak,
        The blue-fly sing in the pane, the mouse
        Behind the mouldering wainscot creep,
        Or from the crevice peer about.

            TENNYSON.


    43.               _Upon a green bank side_,
          Skirting the smooth edge of a gentle river,
        Whose waters seem unwillingly to glide,
          Like parting friends, who linger ere they sever.

            DRAKE.


    44. Where _streets_ are _stifling_, _bustling_, _noisy_, _dry_;
        Hot are the pavements as an oven floor;
        Dingy-red brick grows tiresome to the eye.

            MARY HOWITT.


    45.                 _Refinement's chosen seat_,
        Art's trophied dwelling, learning's green retreat.

            SPRAGUE.


    46.                   I know the spot;
        The curtain'd windows half exclude the light,
          Yet eager still to make their way,
        A thousand elfin sunbeams bright,
          Glittering about the carpet play.
        But what attracts you chiefly there
        Is _one_ who in a cushion'd rocking-chair
        Doth sit and read.

            MRS. A. M. WELLS.


    47. The wild wind sweeps across your low damp floors,
          And makes a weary noise and wailing moan;
        All night you hear the clap of broken doors,
          That on their rusty hinges grate and groan;
        And then old voices, calling from behind
        The worn and wormy wainscot, flapping in the wind.

            THOMAS MILLER.


    48.             In simple _western_ style,
        With all your chambers on the lower floor;
        In fact, of stories you will boast no more
        Than simply one. 'Tis at the river's side,
        And near it grows a noble sycamore;
        A velvet lawn of green, outspreading wide,
        <DW72>s smoothly down, to meet the ever-rippling tide.

            MRS. DANA.


    49. It is a _home to die for_, as it stands
          Through its vine foliage, sending forth a sound
        Of mirthful childhood o'er the green repose
          And laughing sunshine of the pastures round.

            HEMANS.


    50.                 Gay apartments,
        Where mimic life beneath the storied roof
        Glows to the eye, and at the painter's touch
        A new creation glows along the walls.

            ARTHUR MURPHY--_Orphan of China_.


    51. Down by the hamlet's hawthorn-scented way,
        Where round the cot's romantic glade are seen
        The blossom'd bean-field, and the sloping green.

            CAMPBELL.


    52.               A _lonesome lodge_,
        That stands so lowe in lonely glen.
        The little windowe dim and darke
          Is hung with ivy, brier, and yewe;
        No shimmering sun here ever shone,
          No halesome breeze here ever blewe.
        No chair, no table may you spye,
          No cheareful hearth, no welcome bed,
        Naught save a _rope_ with running noose,
          That dangling hangs up o'er your heade.

            PERCY'S RELIQUES--_Heir of Linne_.


    53. The mountains, the mountains! amidst them is your home;
        To their pure and sparkling fountains impatiently you come;
        Their bleak and towering summits invade the dark blue sky,
        But o'er their rudest ridges your fancy loves to fly.

            DR. S. H. DICKSON.


    54.                           A lowly roof;
        Thou know'st it well, and yet 'twill seem more low
        Than it was wont to seem, for thou wilt be
        A visitant of loftier domes and halls,
        Meet for the feet of princes.

            MRS. SIGOURNEY.


    55.     Your house a _cottage more_
        Than _palace_, and will fitting be
        For all your use, not luxury.
            Your garden painted o'er
        With Nature's hand, not Art's, will pleasures yield
        Horace might envy in his Sabine field.

            COWLEY.


    56. You'll think yourself superbly off, though rather cramp'd in bed,
        If your garret keep the winter rain from dropping on your head.

            ALBERT PIKE.


    57. A snug thack house; before the door a green,
        Hens on the midding, ducks in pools are seen.
        On this side stands a barn, on that a byre,
        A peat-stack joins, an' forms a rural square.
        The house is yours,--there shall we see you lean
        And to your turfy seat invite a frien'.

            ALLAN RAMSAY--_Gentle Shepherd_.


    58. It is a quiet picture of delight,
        Your humble cottage, hiding from the sun
        In the thick woods. We see it not till then,
        When at its porch. Rudely but neatly wrought,
        Four columns make its entrance; slender shafts,
        The rough bark yet upon them, as they came
        From the old forest----
            ----Prolific vines
        Have wreath'd them well, and half obscured the rinds
        Unpromising that wrap them. Crowding leaves
        Of glistening green, and clustering bright flowers
        Of purple, in whose cups throughout the day
        The humming-bird wantons boldly, wave around
        And woo the gentle eye and delicate touch.
        This is the dwelling, and 'twill be to thee
        Quiet's especial temple.

            W. G. SIMMS.


    59.                     That dear old home!
        Something of old ancestral pride it keeps,
        Though fallen from its early power and vastness!
        The sunlight seems to thy eyes brighter there
        Than wheresoever else.

            FANNY KEMBLE.


    60. In a vale with dwellings strown,
        One is standing all alone;
        White it rises mid the leaves,
        Woodbines clamber o'er its eaves,
        And the honeysuckle falls
        Pendant on its silent walls.
        'Tis a cottage small and fair
        As a cloud in summer air.

            PARK BENJAMIN.




WHAT IS YOUR DESTINY?


                        You unconcern'd
    And calm, can meet your coming destiny,
    In all its charming, or its frightful shapes.

            DR. WATTS.


    I have an ear that craves for every thing,
    That hath the smallest sign or Omen in it.


            JOANNA BAILLIE.


                      Let me deem that
    Some unknown influence, some sweet oracle,
    Communicates between us though unseen,
    In absence, and attracts us to each other.

            BYRON.




WHAT IS YOUR DESTINY?


    1. Ye'll draw a bonny silken purse;
       Ye'll ca' your coach, ye'll ca' your horse.

            BURNS.


    2. Of the present much is bright,
          And in the coming years I see
       A brilliant and a cheering light,
          Which burns before thee constantly.

            W. D. GALLAGHER.


    3. A better cellar nowhere can be found;
       The pantry never is without baked meat,
       And fish and flesh, so plenteous and complete:
       It snows within your house of meat and drink,
       Of all the dainties that a man can think.

            CHAUCER.


    4. GENTLEMAN.--Thine never was a woman's dower
          Of tenderness and love!
        Thou who canst chain the eagle's power,
          Canst never tame the dove.

            E. C. EMBURY.


    4.  LADY.--Let me gaze for a moment, that ere I die
        I may read thee, lady, a prophecy.
        That brow may beam in glory awhile,
        That cheek may bloom, and that lip may smile,
        But clouds shall darken that brow of snow,
        And sorrow blight thy bosom's glow.

            MISS L. DAVIDSON.


    5.  The best establishment in the city,
        Coaches and horses, hounds and liveried servants.

            MARY HOWITT.


    6.  Thou seest only what is fair,
          Thou sippest only what is sweet;
        Thou wilt mock at fate and care,
          Leave the chaff, and take the wheat.

            R. W. EMERSON.


    7.  Ye build, ye build, but ye enter not in!

            MRS. SIGOURNEY.


    8.  I'll warrant thee from drowning, though thy
        Ship were no stronger than a nut-shell.

            _Tempest._


    9.  The sea of ambition is tempest-toss'd,
          And thy hopes may vanish like foam;
        But when sails are shiver'd and rudder lost,
          Then look to the light of _home_!

            MRS. HALE.


    10. Your life's a summer even,
          Whose sun of light, though set
        Amidst the clouds of heaven,
          Leaves streams of brightness yet.

            BOWRING.


    11.                   In a narrow sphere,
        The little circle of domestic love,
        You will be known and loved; the world beyond
        Is not for you.

            SOUTHEY.


    12. Thou dwell'st on sorrow's high and barren place,
        But round about the mount an angel-guard--
        Chariots of fire, horses of fire--encamp,
        To keep thee safe for heaven!

            MRS. ELLET.


    13. To cheer with sweet repast the fainting guest,
        To lull the weary on the couch of rest,
        To warm the traveller, numb'd with winter cold,
        The young to cherish, to support the old,
        The sad to shelter, and the lost direct--
        These are your cares, and this your glorious task;
        Can heaven a nobler give, or mortals ask?

            SIR WILLIAM JONES.


    14.       The sordid cares in which you dwell
        Shrink and consume your heart.

            BRYANT.


    15. A wide future is before you;
          Your heart will beat for fame,
        And you will learn to breathe with love
          The music of a name,
        Writ on the tablets of that heart
          In characters of flame.

            J. O. SARGENT.


    16. To grow in the world's approving eyes,
          In friendship's smile, and home's caress,
        Collecting all the heart's sweet ties
          Into one knot of happiness.

            MOORE.


    17. Sorely harass'd, and tired at last with fortune's vain
            delusions, O,
        You'll drop your schemes like idle dreams, and come to this
            conclusion, O,--
        The past was bad, the future hid, the good and ill untried, O,
        But the present hour is in your power, and so you will enjoy it, O.

            BURNS.


    18. You will be blest exceedingly; your store
        Grow daily, weekly, more and more,
        And peace so multiply around,
        Your very hearth seem holy ground.

            MARY HOWITT.


    19. With steady aim your fortune chase,
        Keen hope let every sinew brace,
        Through fair, through foul, urge on your race,
                      And seize the prey;
        Then cannie, in some cozie place,
                      Thou'lt close life's day.

            BURNS.


    20. In your dreams a form you'll view,
        That thinks on you and loves you too;
        You start, and when the vision's flown
        You'll weep that you are all alone.

            H. K. WHITE.


    21.                     Quiet by day,
        Sound sleep by night, study and ease
        Together mix'd, sweet recreation,
        And innocence which most doth please,
                            With meditation.

            POPE.


    22. GENTLEMAN.--A gentle lover shalt thou be,
          Sitting at thy loved one's side;
        She giving her whole soul to thee,
          Without a thought or wish of pride,
        And she shall be thy cherish'd bride.

            J. R. LOWELL.


    22. LADY.--Be thou as chaste as ice, as pure as snow,
        Thou shalt not escape calumny.

            SHAKSPEARE.


    23.                     Every day
        A little life, a blank to be inscribed
        With gentle deeds, such as in after time
        Console, rejoice, whene'er you turn the leaf
        To read them.

            ROGERS.


    24. Through many a clime 'tis yours to go,
          With many a retrospection cursed;
        And all your solace is to know,
          Whate'er betide, you've known the worst.

            BYRON.


    25. Rouse to some high and holy work of love,
          And thou an angel's happiness shalt know,
        Shalt bless the earth while in the world above;
          The good begun by thee shall onward flow,
          In many a branching stream, and wider flow.

            CARLOS WILCOX.


    26. You shall go down as men have ever done,
        And tread the pathway worn by common tramp.

            A. C. COXE.


    27. Friendship shall still thy evening feasts adorn,
        And blooming peace shall ever bless thy morn
        Succeeding years their happy race still run,
        And age unheeded by delight come on.

            PRIOR.


    28. GENTLEMAN.--She's fair and fause that caused your smart,
          You will lo'e her mickle and lang;
        She will break her vow, she will break your heart,
          And ye may e'en go hang.

            BURNS.


    28. LADY.--Gay hope is yours by fancy led,
          Less pleasing when possess'd,
        The tear forgot as soon as shed,
          The sunshine of the breast.

            GRAY.


    29. Single as a stray glove.

            FANNY KEMBLE.


    30. GENTLEMAN.--You will not waste your spring of youth
        In idle dalliance. You will plant rich seeds
        To blossom in your manhood, and bear fruit
        When you are old.

            HILLHOUSE.


    30. LADY.--To shrine within your heart's core one dear image,
        To think of it all day, to dream all night.

            MARY HOWITT.


    31. The duties of a wedded life
        Hath heaven ordain'd for thee.

            SOUTHEY.


    32.                           To love,
        Love fondly, truly, fervently, and pine
        When you have told your love, and sue in vain.

            WORDSWORTH.


    33. Hope, and health, and "learned leisure,"
        Friends, books, thy thoughts.

            BARRY CORNWALL.


    34.   Toiling, rejoicing, sorrowing;
        Each morn will see some task begun,
          Each evening see it close;
        Something attempted, something done,
          Will earn a night's repose.

            LONGFELLOW.


    35. You will go east, you will go west,
          To seek for what you will not find,--
        A heart at peace with its own thoughts,
          A quiet and contented mind.
        You will seek high, you will seek low,
        But your search will be in vain.

            LANDON.


    36. A course of days composing happy months,
        And they as happy years; the present still
        So like the past, and both so firm a pledge
        Or a congenial future, that the wheels
        Of pleasure move without the aid of hope.

            WORDSWORTH.


    37. You will tread the path of fame,
        And barter peace to win a name.

            S. G. GOODRICH.


    38.       Each hour, each minute of your life
        Shall be a golden holiday; and if a cloud
        O'ercast thee, 'twill be light as gossamer.

            G. COLEMAN.


    39.               A little, and content;
        The faithful friend, and cheerful night,
        The social scene of dear delight,
        The conscience pure, the temper gay,
        The musing eve and busy day.

            THOMAS WARTON.


    40. Live where your father lived, die where he dies;
        Live happy, die happy.

            POLLOK.


    41. You'll use up life in anxious cares,
        To lay up hoards for future years.

            GAY.


    42. You think of all the bubbles men are chasing;
          They dream them worlds, because they're bright and fair;
        You sit down with your book, your fireside facing,
          And laugh to think of the wealth to which you are heir.

            CRANCH.


    43. Impell'd with steps unceasing to pursue
        Some fleeting good that mocks thee with the view.

            GOLDSMITH.


    44. You'll have a clear and competent estate,
        That you may live genteelly, but not great;
        As much as you can moderately spend,
        A little more, sometimes, to oblige a friend.

            _Pomfret's Choice._


    45. Rich, hated; wise, suspected; scorn'd if poor;
        Great, feared; fair, tempted; high, still envied more.

            SIR H. WOTTON.


    46. GENTLEMAN.--            You love
        A blooming lady, a conspicuous flower,
        Admired for beauty, for her sweetness praised,
        Whom you have sensibility to love,
        Ambition to attempt, and skill to win.

            WORDSWORTH.


    46. LADY.--I fain would give to thee the loveliest things,
        For lovely things belong to thee of right.

            J. R. LOWELL.


    47. Oh, you will still enjoy the cheerful day,
          Till many years unheeded by have roll'd;
        Pleased in your age to trifle life away,
          And tell how much you loved ere you grew old.

            HAMMOND--_Love Elegies_.


    48. Endless labor all along,
        Endless labor to do wrong.

            DR. JOHNSON.


    49. A fearful sign stands in thy house of life,
        An enemy;----a fiend lurks close behind
        The radiance of thy planet:--Oh, be warn'd!

            COLERIDGE.


    50. Thy God, in the darkest of days, will be
        Greenness, and beauty, and strength to thee.

            BARTON.


    51. You were not meant to struggle from your birth,
        To skulk and creep, and in mean pathways range;
        Act with stern truth, large faith, and loving will,
        Up and be doing.

            J. R. LOWELL.


    52. GENTLEMAN.--To die 'midst flame and smoke,
        And shout, and groan, and sabre stroke,
        And death-shots falling thick and fast
        As lightning from the mountain cloud.

            HALLECK.


    52. LADY.--                Death shall come
          Gently, to one of delicate mould like thee,
        As light winds wandering through groves of bloom
          Detach the delicate blossom from the tree.

            BRYANT.


    53. I know that pleasure's hand will throw
          Her silken nets about thee,
        I know how lonesome friends will find
          The long, long days without thee;
        But in thy _letters_ there'll be joy,
          The reading, the replying;
        They'll kiss each word that's traced by thee,
          Upon thy truth relying.

            BAYLEY.


    54. Your life shall be as it has been,
        A sweet variety of joys.

            R. H. WILDE.


    55.     Neither poverty
          Nor riches,
          But godliness so gainful
            With content.
          No painted pomp nor glory that
            Bewitches;
          A blameless life is your best monument,
          And such a life that soars a--
            Bove the sky,
        Well pleased to live, but better pleased to die.

            HUGH PETERS.


    56.                       A life you'll lead
        Which hath no present time, but is made up
        Entirely of to-morrows.

            JOANNA BAILLIE.


    57. GENTLEMAN.--I see Lord Mayor written on your forehead.

            MASSINGER.


    57. LADY.--A marriage in May weather.

            LEIGH HUNT--_Rimini_.


    58. You'll have never a penny left in your purse,
          Never a penny but three;
        And one is brass, and another is lead,
          And another is white money.

            PERCY'S RELIQUES--_Heir of Linne_.


    59. You will double your life's fading space,
        For he that runs it well, runs twice his race;
            And in this true delight,
        These unbought sports, this happy state,
        You will not fear, nor wish your fate;
            But boldly say each night,
        "To-morrow let my sun his beams display,
        "Or in clouds hide them; _I have lived to-day_."

            COWLEY.


    60. Yet haply there will come a weary day,
            When, over-task'd at length,
        Both Love and Hope beneath the weight give way.
        Then with a statue's smile, a statue's strength,
        Stands the mute sister Patience, nothing loth,
        And both supporting, does the work of both.

            COLERIDGE.




  TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE

  Italic text is denoted by _underscores_.
  The oe ligature (one occurrence) has been replaced by 'oe'.

  Obvious typographical errors and punctuation errors have been
  corrected after careful comparison with other occurrences within
  the text and consultation of external sources. Many missing periods
  were added.

  The number 1. has been inserted at the start of each section (covered
  by an illustrated drop cap in the original book.)

  Except for those changes noted below, misspellings by the author,
  misquotations, and inconsistent or archaic usage, have been retained.

  Pg 14. 'MACAULY' replaced by 'MACAULAY'.
  Pg 43. Note: author George Lillo is not listed in 'Catalogue of Authors'
             at the front of the book.)
  Pg 61. 'MACAULEY' replaced by 'MACAULAY'.





End of Project Gutenberg's Oracles from the Poets, by Caroline Gilman

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