28. There was never yet philosopher

That could endure the toothache patiently.

Shakspeare. 29. Beneath those rugged elms, that yew tree's shade, Where heaves the turf in many a mouldering heap,

Each in his narrow cell for ever laid,

The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep.- Gray. 30. Thus having reached a bridge, that overarched The rivulet where it lay becalmed

In a deep pool, by happy chance we saw
A two-fold image.-Wordsworth.

31. Throughout mankind, the Christian kind, at least
There dwells a consciousness in every breast
That folly ends where genuine hope begins,

And he that finds his heaven must lose his sins.

Cowper. 32. There is some soul of goodness in things evil,

Would men observingly distil it out.-Shakspeare. 33. I was in this mortifying situation, when a brother clergyman, who had also business at the fair, came up, and shaking me by the hand, proposed adjourning to a public house, and taking a glass of whatever we could get.

34.

35.

36.

Goldsmith. Who he was

That piled these stones, and with a mossy sod
First covered o'er, and taught this aged tree,
With its dark arms, to form a circling bower,
I well remember.- Wordsworth.

Heaven's ebon vault

Studded with stars unutterably bright,

Through which the moon's unclouded grandeur
rolls,

Seems like a canopy, which love had spread
To curtain her sleeping world.-Shelley.

I beheld the flame

That with a pale and feeble glimmering
Dimmed the noonlight.-Southey.

37. Cheerfulness, a nymph of healthiest hue,
Her bow across her shoulder flung,
Her buskins gemmed with morning dew,

Blew an inspiring air that dale and thicket rung.

Collins.

38. It was upon the evening of this memorable Sunday that Sir Everard entered the library, where he narrowly missed surprising our young hero as he went through the guards of the broadswords with the ancient weapon of old Sir Hildebrand, which, being preserved as an heir-loom, usually hung over the chimney in the library beneath a picture of the knight and his horse, where the features were almost entirely hidden by the knight's profusion of curled hair, and the Bucephalus, which he bestrode concealed by the voluminous robes of the Bath with which he was decorated.-Sir W. Scott.

39.

I thought I would have spoken
And warned that madman ere it grew too late.
Tennyson

40. There is a flower, a little flower,

With silver crest and golden eye,
That welcomes every changing hour,

And weathers every sky.-James Montgomery.

41. Beneath a lime, remoter from the scene, Where, but for him that strife had never been, A breathing but devoted warrior lay.-Byron. 42. That is true beauty, that doth argue you To be divine, and born of heavenly seed; Derived from that fair spirit from whom all true And perfect beauty did at first proceed.-Spenser.

43.

Having reached the house,
I found its rescued inmate safely lodged,
And in serene possession of himself
Beside a genial fire, that seemed to spread
A gleam of comfort o'er his pallid face.

Wordsworth.

44. Where'er I roam, whatever realms to see, My heart untravelled fondly turns to thee.

45.

46.

Goldsmith.

The morn was fair

When Rheims re-echoed to the busy hum
Of multitudes, for high solemnity

Assembled.-Southey.

What seemed his head

The likeness of a kingly crown had on.-Milton.

47. Glory is like a circle in the water,

Which never ceaseth to enlarge itself,

Till, by broad spreading, it disperse to nought.
Shakspeare.

48. The house where we were to be entertained lying at a small distance from the village, our inviter observed that, as the coach was not ready, he would conduct us on foot. Goldsmith.

49. Even in the stifling bosom of the town

50.

A garden, in which nothing thrives, has charms
That soothe the rich possessor.-Cowper.
He, at the word
Pointing towards a sweet-briar, bade me climb
The fence hard by where that aspiring shrub
Looked out upon the road.- Wordsworth.

51. The friends, who in our sunshine live,

When winter comes are flown.-Moore.

52. The Turk, who believes his doom is written on the iron leaf in the moment when he entered the world, rushes on the enemy's sabre with undivided will.-Emerson, 53. Authority forgets a dying king

Laid widowed of the power in the eye

That bowed the will.-Tennyson.

54. Among our hills and valleys, I have known Wise and brave men, who, while their diligent hands Tended or gathered in the fruits of earth,

Were reverend learners in the solemn school

Of nature.-Bryant.

55. Calm as a frozen lake when ruthless winds Blow fiercely, agitating earth and sky,

The mother now remained.-Wordsworth.

56. Waverley, riding post, as was the usual fashion of the period, without any adventure save one or two queries, which the talisman of his passport sufficiently answered, reached the borders of Scotland.-Sir W. Scott.

57. Who builds a church to God and not to fame Will never mark the marble with his name.—

-Pope.

58. Chained to the grovelling frailties of the flesh,
Mere mortal man, unpurged from earthly dross,
Cannot survey, with fixed and steady eye,
The dim uncertain gulf which now the Muse
Adventurous would explore.-Kirke White.

59.

Love's heralds should be thoughts,
Which ten times faster glide than the sun's beams,
Driving back shadows over low'ring hills.

Shakspeare. 60. Every country has its traditions, which, either too minute, or not sufficiently authentic to receive historical sanction, are handed down among the vulgar, and serve at once to instruct and amuse them.-Goldsmith.

61.

62.

I should have grieved
Hereafter, not escaping self-reproach,
If from my poor retirement ye had gone,
Leaving this nook unvisited.—Wordsworth.
Where the Cæsars dwelt,
And dwell the tuneless birds of night, amidst
A grove which springs through levelled battlements
And twines its roots with the imperial hearths,

Ivy usurps the laurel's place of growth.-Byron.

63. The Ganges, rushing through a hundred channels to the sea, has formed a vast plain of rich mould, which, even under the tropical sky, rivals the verdure of an English April.-Macaulay.

64. Stunned by that loud and dreadful sound,
Which sky and ocean smote,

Like one that hath been seven days drowned,
My body lay afloat.-Coleridge.

65. His native hills that rise in happier climes,
The grot that heard his song of other times,
His cottage home, his bark of slender sail,
His glassy lake, and broomwood-blossomed vale,
Rush on his thought.-Campbell.

66. In that green nook, close by the churchyard wall, Beneath yon hawthorn planted by myself

In memory and for warning, and in sign

Of sweetness where dire anguish had been known,
Of reconcilement after deep offence,

There doth he lie.-Wordsworth.

67. The first ray of light which illumines the gloom, and converts into a dazzling brilliancy that obscurity in which the earlier history of the public career of the immortal Pickwick would appear to be involved, is derived from the perusal of the following entry in the Transactions of the Pickwick Club, which the editor of these papers feels the

highest pleasure in laying before his readers, as a proof of the careful attention, indefatigable assiduity, and nice discrimination, with which his search among the multifarious documents confided to him has been conducted.-Dickens.

68. Meanwhile, upon the firm spacious globe

Of this round world, whose first convex divides
The luminous inferior orbs inclosed

From Chaos, and the inroad of Darkness old,
Satan alighted walks.-Milton.

69. Near to the bank of the river overshadowed by oaks, from whose branches

Garlands of Spanish moss and of mystic mistletoe flaunted,

Such as the Druids cut down with golden hatchets at Yule-tide,

Stood, secluded and still, the house of the herdsman.

Longfellow.

70. During the time of Augustus Cæsar, Emperor of Rome, there reigned in England, which was then called Britain, a king, whose name was Cymbeline.-Charles Lamb.

71.

Almost at the root

Of that tall pine, the shadow of whose bare
And slender stem, while here I sit at eve,

Oft stretches towards me like a long straight path
Traced faintly in the greensward, there, beneath
A plain blue stone, a gentle Dalesman lies.

Wordsworth. 72. Near yonder copse, where once the garden smiled, And still where many a garden flower grows wild, There, where a few torn shrubs the place disclose, The village preacher's modest mansion rose.

Goldsmith.

73. I, who erewhile the happy garden sung,
By one man's disobedience lost, now sing
Recovered Paradise to all mankind.-Milton.

74. In that pleasant district of merry England which is watered by the river Don, there extended in ancient times a large forest, covering the greater part of the beautiful hills and valleys which lie between Sheffield and the pleasant town of Doncaster.-Sir W. Scott,