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NAME. What's in a name? That, which we call a rose, By any other name would smell as sweet.

Shakspere. Who steals my purse steals trash; 't is something,

nothing; 'Twas mine, 't is his, and has been slave to thousands. But he who filches from me my good name, Robs me of that which not enriches him, And makes me poor indeed.

Who gave her a name,

So true to her fame,
Does a providence rule in the fate of a word?

Sways there in heaven a viewless power.
O’er the chance of the tongue in the naming hour?

Who gave her a name,
This daughter of strife, this daughter of shame,
The spear-wooed maid of Greece.

Blackie, from Æschylus.
If parts allure thee, think how Bacon shin'd,
The wisest, brightest, meanest of mankind;
Or, ravish'd with the whistling of a name,
See Cromwell damn’d to everlasting fame.
Thus peaceful rests, without a stone, a name,
What once had beauty, titles, wealth, and fame.

Pope. . He left a name, at which the world grew pale, To point a moral, or adorn a tale.

Johnson. Who hath not paus’d while beauty's pensive eye Ask'd from his heart the tribute of a sigh? Who hath not own'd, with rapture-smitten frame, The power of grace—the magic of a name?

Campbell. Names alone mock destruction; they survive The doom of all creation: hence we hive The rapturous hope of immortality; Then worship that which never seems to die.



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To study God, God's student, man, was made,
To read him as in nature's text conveyed; ,
Not as in heaven, but as he did descend
To earth his easier book, where to suspend
And save his miracles, each little flower,
And lesser fly, shows his familiar power.

Sir W. Davenant.
Lo! the poor Indian-whose untutor'd mind
Sees God in clouds, or hears him in the wind;
His soul proud science never taught to stray
Far as the solar walk or milky way;
Yet simple nature to his hope has given,
Behind the cloud-topped hills, an humbler heaven.

Pope. () faithful nature! dictate of the laws Which govern and support the mighty frame Of universal being.


Lovely indeed the mimic works of art,
But nature's works far lovelier.


There is a pleasure in the pathless woods;

There is a rapture on the lonely shore; There is society where none intrudes

By the deep sea, and music in its roar;

I love not man the less, but nature more, From these our interviews, in which I steal,

From all I may be, or have been before, To mingle with the universe, and feel What I can ne'er express, yet cannot all conceal.

Byron. A deep, mysterious sympathy doth bind

The human heart to nature's beauties all; We know not, guess not, of its force or kind,

But what it is we know, when ill doth fall Upon us--when our hearts are sear'd and riven, We'll seek the forest lands for peace and heaven.

R. Nicol.




NAVIGATION. THOUGH you wake the winds, and let them fight Against the churches, though the yeasty waves Confound and swallow navigations up. Shakspere. Rude as their ships, was navigation then,

No useful compass or meridian known;
Coasting, they kept the land within their ken,
And knew no north but when the pole-star shone.

Navigation, that withstood
The mortal fury of the flood,
And prov'd the only means to save
All earthly creatures from the wave,
Has, for it, taught the sea and wind
To lay a tribute on mankind,
That by degrees has swallowed more,
Than all it drown'd at once before. Butler.

Who, then, can strive with strong necessity,
That holds the world in his still changing state?

'Tis necessity
To which the gods must yield; and I obey,
Till I redeem it by some glorious way.

Beaumont and Fletcher.

When fear admits no hope of safety, then
Necessity makes dastards valiant men.


Fatal necessity is never known,
Until it strike; and, till that blow be come,
Who falls, is by false visions overthrown.

Lord Brooke.
Strong as necessity he starts away,
Climbs against wrongs, and brightens into day.


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This, my long suffering and day of grace,
Those who neglect and scorn shall never taste.

Milton. Rescue my poor remains from vile neglect. Prior.

Ah me! full sorely is my heart forlorn

To think how modest worth neglected lies; While partial fame doth with her hosts adorn

Such deeds alone as pride and pomp disguise, Deeds of ill sort, mischievous emprise.-Shenstone.

NEWS. With news the time's in labour, and throws forth Each minute some.


The rabble gather round the man of news,
And listen with their mouths wide open:
Some tell, some hear, some judge of news, some make it,
And he that lies most loud, is most believ'd.

Hark! 't is the twanging horn o’er yonder bridge,
That with its wearisome but needful length,
Bestrides the wintry flood, in which the moon
Sees her unwrinkled face reflected bright:
He comes,

the herald of a noisy world, With spattered boots, strapped waist, and frozen locks, News from all nations lumb'ring at his back.

Corper. The news!—there scarcely is a word, I'll venture

here to say, That o'er men's thoughts and fancies holds more

universal sway; The old, the young, the grave, the gay, the wealthy and the

poor, All wish on each succeeding day, to hear it o'er and o’er, Though on each day 't is always chang’d from what it was before.

J. T. Watson.

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NIGHT. Dark night, that from the eye its function takes, The ear more quick of apprehension makes ; Wherein it doth impair the seeing sense, It pays the hearing double recompense. Shakspere. The diligence of trade and noiseful gain,

And luxury, more late asleep were laid: All was the night's, and in her silent reign

No sound the rest of nature did invade.-Dryden.

Now night her course began, and over heaven
Inducing darkness, grateful truce, impos'd
Her silence on the odious din of war:
Under her cloudy covert hath retir'd
Victor and vanquish'd.


-The approach of night, The skies yet blushing with departing light, When falling dews with spangles deck the glade, And the low sun has lengthen'd every shade.-Pope.

This dead of night, this silent hour of darkness,
Nature for rest ordain'd, and soft repose.


0, treach'rous night! Thou lend’st thy ready veil to every treason, And teeming mischiefs thrive beneath thy shade!

Aaron Hill. All was so still, so soft, in earth and air, You scarce would start, to meet a spirit there; Secure that nought of evil could delight To walk in such a scene, on such a night! Byron.

Hail eldest Night! Mother of human fear!
Vague solitude where infant man first felt
His native helplessness! Beneath whose drear
And solemn coverture he trembling knelt
To what in thy vast womb of darkness dwelt
Unseen, unknown!

Thomas Cooper.

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