Life.-Dryden.

WHEN I consider Life, 'tis all a cheat;

Yet, fool'd with Hope men favour the deceit
Trust on, and think to-morrow will repay;
To-morrow's falser than the former day;

Lies worse, and, while it says, we shall be blest,
With some new Joys, cuts off what we possest.
Strange cozenage! None would live past years again,
Yet all hope Pleasure in what yet remain;
And, from the dregs of life, think to receive,
What the first sprightly running could not give.
I'm tired with waiting for this chemic Gold,
Which fools us young, and beggars us when old.

Life.-Byron.

GRIEF should be the instructor of the wise;
Sorrow is Knowledge: they who know the most
Must mourn the deepest o'er the fatal Truth,
The Tree of Knowledge is not that of Life.

Life. - Burns.

LIFE! how pleasant is thy morning,
Young Fancy's rays the hills adorning !
Cold-pausing Caution's lesson scorning,
We frisk away,

Like school-boys, at th' expected warning,
To joy and play.

We wander there, we wander here,

We eye the Rose upon the brier,
Unmindful that the Thorn is near,

Among the leaves;

And though the puny wound appear,

Short while it grieves.

Life.-Shakspeare.

THERE's nothing in this World can make me joy:

Life is as tedious as a twice-told Tale
Vexing the dull ear of a drowsy man.

Life.-Young.

L1 IFE'S little stage is a small eminence,

Inch-high the grave above: that home of man, Where dwells the multitude: we gaze around; We read their Monuments; we sigh; and while We sigh, we sink; and are what we deplored; Lamenting r lamented, all our lot!

Life. Thomson.

EVEN so luxurious men, unheeding, pass
An idle Summer-life in Fortune's shine,
A season's glitter! Thus they flutter on
From toy to toy, from Vanity to Vice;
Till, blown away by Death, Oblivion comes
Behind, and strikes them from the Book of Life.
Life. - Young.

HOW must a spirit, late escaped from Earth,
The truth of things new-blazing in his eye,
Look back, astonish'd, on the ways of Men,
Whose Lives' whole drift is to forget their graves!
Life. Spenser.

OH, vain world's glory, and unsteadfast state,

Of all that lives on face of sinful Earth! Which from their first until their utmost date Taste no one hour of Happiness or Mirth, But like as at the ingate of their birth, They crying creep out of their mother's womb, So wailing back go to their woeful Tomb.

Life. Byron.

E are fools of Time and Terror: days

WE

Steal on us and steal from us; yet we live,
Loathing our Life, and dreading still to die.
In all the days of this detested yoke-
This vital weight upon the struggling Heart,
Which sinks with sorrow, or beats quick with pain,
Or joy that ends in Agony or faintness-
In all the days of past and future, for
In Life there is no present, we can number
How few, how less than few-wherein the soul
Forbears to pant for Death, and yet draws back
As from a stream in winter, though the chill
Be but a moment's.

Life.- Spenser.
OH, why doe wretched men so much desire
To draw their Dayes unto the utmost date,
And doe not rather wish them soone expire,
Knowing the Miserie of their estate,

And thousand perills which them still awate,
Tossing them like a boate amid the mayne,

That every houre they knocke at Deathe's gate? And he that happie seemes and leaste in payne, Yet is as nigh his End as he that most doth playne.

Life.-Shakspeare.

TO-MORROW, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded Time:
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty Death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow; a poor player,
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,
And then is heard no more: it is a Tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.

Life.-Spenser.

AFTER long storms and tempests overblowne,

The Sunne at length his joyous face doth cleare: So when as Fortune all her spight hath showne, Some blissful hours at last must needes appeare; Else should afflicted wights ofttimes despeire.

Do wrong to none

Life.Shakspeare.

LOVE all, trust a few,

be able for thine Enemy Rather in power, than use; and keep thy Friend Under thy own life's key; be check'd for Silence, But never tax'd for Speech.

Life. Young.

THE world's infectious; few bring back at eve
Immaculate, the Manners of the morn.
Something we thought, is blotted; we resolved,
Is shaken; we renounced, returns again.

Life. Thomson.

THE human race are sons of Sorrow born;

And each must have his portion. Vulgar minds Refuse, or crouch beneath their load; the Brave Bear theirs without repining.

Life.-Spenser.

SUCH is the weaknesse of all mortall Hope;
So fickle is the state of earthly things;
That ere they come unto their aymed scope,
They fall too short of our fraile reckonings,
And bring us bale and bitter sorrowings,
Instead of Comfort which we should embrace:
This is the state of Keasars and of Kings!
Let none, therefore, that is in meaner place,
Too greatly grieve at his unlucky case!

Life. Cowper.

ASK what is Human Life-the Sage replies,
With disappointment low'ring in his eyes,
A painful Passage o'er a restless flood,
A vain Pursuit of fugitive false good,
A sense of fancied Bliss and heartfelt care,
Closing at last in Darkness and despair.

Life. - Keats.

FOUR seasons fill the measure of the year:

There are four seasons in the Mind of man:
He has his lusty Spring, when fancy clear
Takes in all beauty with an easy span :
He has his Summer, when luxuriously

Spring's honey'd cud of youthful thought he loves To ruminate, and by such dreaming high

Is nearest unto Heaven: quiet coves

His soul hath in its Autumn, when his wings
He furleth close; contented so to look
On mists in Idleness-to let fair things
Pass by unheeded as a threshold brook.
He has his Winter too of pale misfeature,
Or else he would forego his mortal nature.

The King's Life. Shakspeare.
THE single and peculiar Life is bound,

With all the strength and armour of the Mină, To keep itself from 'noyance; but much more That Spirit, upon whose weal depend and rest The lives of many. The cease of Majesty Dies not alone; but, like a gulf, doth draw What's near it, with it: it is a massy wheel, Fix'd on the summit of the highest mount, To whose huge spokes ten thousand lesser things Are mortised and adjoin'd; which, when it falls, Each small annexment, petty consequence, Attends the boist'rous ruin. Never alone Did the King sigh, but with a general Groan

Light.- Milton.

HAIL holy Light, offspring of Heaven first born, Or of the eternal co-eternal beam,

May I express thee unblamed? since God is light,
And never but in unapproached light,

Dwelt from Eternity, dwell then in thee,
Bright effluence of bright essence increate.

Light. - Milton.

BEFORE the Sun,

Before the Heavens thou wert, and at the voice
Of God, as with a mantle didst invest

The rising world of Waters dark and deep
Won from the void and formless Infinite.

Celestial Light.- Shakspeare.

ANGELS are bright still, though the brightest fell:
Though all things foul would wear the brows of Grace,
Yet Grace must still look so.

Listening. Colton.

WERL we as eloquent as Angels, yet should we please some Men, some Women, and some Children much more by listening than by talking.

Literature. — Anon.

LITERARY Dissipation is no less destructive of sympathy with the living world, than sensual Dissipation. Mere Întellect is as hard-hearted and as heart-hardening as mere Sense; and the union of the two, when uncontrolled by the Conscience, and without the softening, purifying influences of the moral affections, is all that is requisite to produce the diabolical ideal of our Nature. Nor is there any repugnance in either to coalesce with the other: witness Iago, Tiberius, Borgia.

Literature. — Prescott.

THE triumphs of the warrior are bounded by the narrow theatre of his own age; but those of a Scott or a Shakspeare will be renewed with greater and greater lustre in ages yet unborn, when the victorious chieftain shall be forgotten, or shall live only in the song of the minstrel and the page of the chronicler.

Living. — Addison.

THE man who will live above his present circumstances, is in great danger of living in a little time much beneath them.

Living well. - Fuller.

HE lives long that lives well; and Time misspent, is not lived, but lost. Besides, God is better than his promise if he takes from him a long lease, and gives him a Freehold of a better value.

Living well. Seneca.

IT is the bounty of Nature that we live, but of Philosophy that we live well; which is, in truth, a greater benefit than Life itself.