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These annotations are fitly supplemented by the articles "AUTHORSHIP" and "CRITICISM" (under which last will be found 170 quotations).

II. "MORNING."-One of the finest compositions in the writings of the late Daniel Webster is a letter on the morning, written to Mrs. J. W. Paige, and dated at Richmond, April 29, five o'clock A.M., 1847. (See Private Correspondence of Daniel Webster, 1857, ii. 240.) "Beautiful descriptions of the 'morning' abound in all languages. . . . Milton has fine descriptions of morning, but not so many as Shakespeare, from whose writings pages of the most beautiful images, all founded on the glory of the morning, might be filled," etc. this title 152 extracts, from 38 authors, will be found.


III. “RIVERS."-In his very interesting Recollections of Past Life (1872, chapter ii.), Sir Henry Holland remarks, "Much more I could say of rivers, as giving to travel the greatest charm of landscape, while affording lessons in geology and physical geography invaluable to science. Even the simple brook, followed step by step to its course, illustrates, in the windings of its channel, its depths and deposits, and the sections which its banks disclose, many of the grandest phenomena and conclusions of geology. In the poetry of every age the flow of river-waters has been a favourite theme,-one symbol of the life and destinies of man." The reader will find 94 quotations under this head.

"BIRDS" are celebrated in 260 passages by 45 authors; "LAW" contains 194, "LOVE" 565, "POLITICS" 157, "SLEEP" 242, "WOMAN" 291, and "YOUTH" 227 quotations. In the whole (as stated on the title-page) 435 subjects are illustrated, by 550 authors, in 13,600 quotations, which may be read in course, or consulted separately, as occasion serves.

PHILADELPHIA, February 8, 1873.








Since she must go, and I must mourn, come night,

Environ me with darkness whilst I write.


Where'er I roam, whatever realms to see,
My heart, untravell'd, fondly turns to thee:
Still to my brother turns, with ceaseless pain,
And drags at each remove a lengthening chain.
GOLDSMITH: Traveller.
Short absence hurt him more,

Winds murmur'd through the leaves your short And made his wound far greater than before;

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And walks wear fresher green at your return.

She vows for his return with vain devotion


Absence not long enough to root out quite
All love, increases love at second sight.

Short retirement urges sweet return.


Oh! couldst thou but know
With what a deep devotedness of woe
I wept thy absence, o'er and o'er again
Thinking of thee, still thee, till thought grew

Forced from her presence, and condemn'd to And memory, like a drop that night and day


Unwelcome freedom, and unthank'd reprieve.


Falls cold and ceaseless, wore my heart away!
MOORE: Lalla Rookh.

Ye flowers that droop, forsaken by the spring;

Love reckons hours for months, and days for Ye birds that, left by summer, cease to sing,


And every little absence is an age.

DRYDEN: Amphytrion.
His friends beheld, and pity'd him in vain,
For what advice can ease a lover's pain?
Absence, the best expedient they could find,
Might save the fortune, if not cure the mind.
DRYDEN: Fables.
His absence from his mother oft he'll mourn,
And, with his eyes, look wishes to return.
DRYDEN: Juvenal, Sat. II.


Ye trees that fade, when autumn heats remove,
Say, is not absence death to those who love?


As some sad turtle his lost love deplores,
Thus far from Delia to the winds I mourn,
Alike unheard, unpitied, and forlorn.


Fate some future bard shall join
In sad similitude of griefs to mine;
Condemn'd whole years in absence to deplore,
And image charms he must behold no more.
POPE: Eloisa.


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I charge thee loiter not, but haste to bless me:
Think with what eager hopes, what rage, I burn,
For every tedious moment how I mourn:
Think how I call thee cruel for thy stay,
And break my heart with grief for thy delay.

What! keep a week away? seven days and nights?


One tragic sentence if I dare deride,
Or well-mouth'd Booth with emphasis pro-
Which Betterton's grave action dignified;


Though but perhaps a muster-roll of names.


Is it not monstrous that this player here,
But in a fiction, in a dream of passion,
Could force his soul so to his own conceit,
That, from her working, all his visage wann'd?


The gods in bounty work up storms about us,
That give mankind occasion to exert
Their hidden strength, and throw out into prac-

Eightscore eight hours? and lovers' absent Virtues which shun the day.

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Looking my love, I go from place to place, Like a young fawn that late hath lost the hind;

And seek each where, where last I saw her face, Whose image yet I carry fresh in mind.

SPENSER. Since I did leave the presence of my love, Many long weary days I have out-worn, And many nights that slowly seem'd to move Their sad protract from evening until morn. SPENSER.

For since mine eye your joyous sight did miss, My cheerful day is turn'd to cheerless night.


The rugged metal of the mine


Must burn before its surface shine;
But plunged within the furnace flame,
It bends and melts-though still the same.
BYRON: Giaour.

By adversity are wrought
The greatest works of admiration,
And all the fair examples of renown
Out of distress and misery are grown.

DANIEL: On the Earl of Southampton.
Some souls we see

Grow hard and stiffen with adversity.


Aromatic plants bestow
No spicy fragrance while they grow;
But, crush'd or trodden to the ground,
Diffuse their balmy sweets around.


By how much from the top of wond'rous glory, Strongest of mortal men,

To lowest pitch of abject fortune thou art fall'n.

The scene of beauty and delight is changed:
No roses bloom upon my fading cheek,
No laughing graces wanton in my eyes;
But haggard Grief, lean-looking sallow Care,
And pining Discontent, a rueful train,
Dwell on my brow, all hideous and forlorn.


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