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Pity the sorrows of a poor old man,

Whose trembling limbs have borne him to your door;
Whose days are dwindled to the shortest span ;-
Oh! give relief, and Heaven will bless your store.

-Thomas Moss.

'T was sae sad,” moaned the crushed, aged mother, each word

dripping o'er with tear, “Sae far he should come for to find us, and then he should perish

sae near ! O Robin,



did wander far from us for mony a day, But when

ye ha' come back sae near us, why could na' ye come a' the way?”—Will Carleton.

6 How dark it is! I cannot seem to see
The faces of my flock. Is that the sea
That murmurs so? or is it weeping? Hush,
My little children! God so loved the world,
He gave his Son : so love ye one another.
Love God, and man.



go no more: I am afraid to think what I have done ; Look on't again I dare not.”

“Rock of ages, cleft for me
Lips grown aged sung the hymn

Trustingly and tenderly,

grown weak and eyes grown dim-
“Let me hide myself in Thee.”
Trembling though the voice and low,
Ran the sweet strain peacefully

Like a river in its flow.
“ Rock of Ages, cleft for me,

Let me hide myself in Thee.”

“She prayed, her withered hand uprearing,-
“God, who art never out of hearing,
Oh, may

he never more be warm !'



Prolongation is used to give the effect of distance, time,

and number.


O sweet and far, from cliff and scar,
The horns of Elfland faintly blowing.

- Tennyson.

“ Backward, roll backward, O Time, in your flight;
Make me a child again, just for to-night.”

To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded time.


The clock strikes twelve ;—the grave opens, and closes, and the old year is buried.—Brooks.

The stars shall fade away, the sun himself
Grow dim with age, and nature sink in years ;
But thou shalt flourish in immortal youth,
Unhurt amidst the war of elements,
The wreck of matter, and the crush of worlds.


We spend our years like a tale that is told. The days of our years are three score years and ten; and if, by reason of strength, they be four score years, yet is their strength labor and sorrow.


Oh, a wonderful st: am is the river of Time,

As it runs through the realm of tears,
With a faultless rhythm and musical rhyme,
And a boundless sweep and a surge sublime,
As it blends with the ocean of years.

-B. F. Taylor.

Oh, sweet and strange it seems to me, that ere this day is done
The voice that now is speaking may be beyond the sun,-
Forever and forever,-all in a blessed home,-
And there to wait a little while till you and Effie come,-
To lie within the light of God as I lie upon your breast,
Where the wicked cease from troubling, and the weary are at rest.

- Tennyson.

from me,

And, friends, dear friends, when it shall be
That this low breath is

And round


bier ye come to weep,
Let one, most loving of you

Say, “Not a tear must o'er her fall;
He giveth His beloved sleep.”—Mrs. Browning.


The Falsetto Quality is that tone of voice used in weakness,

in childhood, and in old age; also in merriment, in terror, and in remorse.


Out, damned spot! out, I say !-Macbeth.

I beg your pardon: I thought my father was,—or might be,


awkward! I never knew any thing happen so I am very sorry I intruded. If I had n't thought my father was here, I would n't, upon any account, have

-It is very provoking—must look very strange !Dickens.


Will the New Year come to-night, mamma? I'm tired of waiting so ;
My stocking hung by the chimney-side full three long days ago.
I run to peep within the door by morning's early light,
'Tis empty still. Oh, say, mamma, will New Year come to-night?

-Cora M. Eager.

And from the crowd beneath, in accents wild,
A mother
66 O God!

child !


child ! - George M. Baker.

Yes, it is worth talking of! But that's how you always try to put me down. You fly into a rage, and then if I only try to speak, you won't hear me. That's how you men always will have all the talk to yourselves : a poor woman is n't allowed to get a word in.

-Douglas Jerrold.

“Down in the bright deen meadows,

The pitty daisies' home,
Daisies dat are my name-sate,

Mamma said I might tum.”

Do, good people, move on ; such a rabble of boys !
I'll break every bone of 'em I come near :
Go home—you 're spilling the porter-
Go home, Tommy Jones, go along with your beer.
This is the sorrowfulest day of my

Ever since my name was Betty Morgan.Hood.

“Billy! Where are you, Billy? I say, come home to your best of

mothers. I'm scared when I think of them Cabroleys, they drive so, They'd run over their own sisters and brothers. Or maybe he's stole by some chimney-sweeping wretch to stick in

narrow flues, and what not. Oh! I'd give the whole wide world, if the world was mine, to clap

my two longing eyes on his face, For he's my darlin' of darlin's, and if he do n't soon come back,

you 'll see me drop stone dead on the place.”

“Oh, Ephraim !” said she, the tears rolling down her cheeks, and the smiles coursing up.

“Why, what is it, Arimathea ?” said the astonished Mr. Jones, smartly rubbing his head where it came in contact with the lounge.

“Baby!" she gasped.
Mr. Jones turned pale and commenced to sweat.

“Baby! Oh! oh! oh! Ephraim! Baby has-baby has got-a little toothy. Oh! oh! oh!!”

-Danbury Neuis Man.

“Sit and roast there with your meat; sit and bake there with your

bread You who sat there to see us starve! one shrinking woman said. “Sit on your throne and roast, with your crown upon your head !”


The Staccato Tone is a short, distinct, articulated style,

and is used in harsh sentiment.


Like adder darting from his coil,
Like wolf that dashes through the toil,
Like mountain cat that guards her young,
Full at Fitz James's throat she



Lay on, Macduff !
And damn'd be he who first cries “ Hold! enough!

- Macbeth.

Blow, wind! Come, wrack !
At least we 'll die with harness on our back.


Not in the legions
Of horrid hell can come a devil more damn'd
In evils to top Macbeth.—Macbeth.

And dar'st thou, then,
To beard the lion in his den,
The Douglas in his hall ?
And hop'st thou hence unscathed to go?
No! by Saint Bride of Bothwell, no :-Scott.

“ Boot, saddle, to horse, and away!
Rescue my castle before the hot day
Brightens to blue from its silvery gray:
Boot, saddle, to horse, and away!”

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