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Let there be gall enough in thy ink, though In this broad earth of ours, thou write with a goose-pen, no matter.

Amid the measureless grossness and the slag, Twelfth Night. Act III. Sc. 2. L. 52. Enclosed and safe within its central heart,

Nestles the seed perfection.
You write with ease, to show your breeding,

WALT WHITMAN—Song of the Universal.
But easy writing's curst hard reading.
R. B. SHERIDAN—Clio's Protest. See MOORE'S

Life of Sheridan. Vol. I. P. 55.

In virtue, nothing earthly could surpass her, The feather, whence the pen

Save thine "incomparable oil," Macassar! Was shaped that traced the lives of these good

BYRONDon Juan. Canto I. St. 17. men, Dropped from an Angel's wing:

And the ripe harvest of the new-mown hay WORDSWORTH-Ecclesiastical Sonnets. Pt. III. Gives it a sweet and wholesome odour. V. Walton's Book of Lives.

COLLEY CIBBER-Richard III. (Altered.) Act (See also BERRY)

V. Sc. 3. L. 44.



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He gives us the very quintessence of perception. And ever since then, when the clock strikes two, LOWELL-My Study Window. Coleridge.

She walks unbidden from room to room,

And the air is filled that she passes through PERFECTION

With a subtle, sad perfume.

The delicate odor of mignonette, Trifles make perfection, and perfection is no The ghost of a dead and gone bouquet, trifle.

Is all that tells of her story—yet MICHAEL ANGELO. See C. C. COLTON—Lacon. Could she think of a sweeter way?

BRET HARTE—Newport Legend. Quoted by

AUGUSTUS THOMAS in The Witching Hour. What's come to perfection perishes, Things learned on earth we shall practise in

(See also MEREDITH Under JASMINE) heaven; Works done least rapidly Art most cherish(s.

Look not for musk in a dog's kennel.

HERBERT-Jacula Prudentum.
ROBERT BROWNING-Old Pictures in Florence.
St. 17.


A stream of rich distillid perfumes.
The very pink of perfection.

MILTON—Comus. 556.
GOLDSMITH-She Stoops to Conquer. Act I.
Sc. 1.

Sabean odours from the spicy shore

Of Arabie the blest. Whoever thinks a faultless piece to see,

MILTONParadise Lost. Bk. IV. L. 162. Thinks what ne'er was, nor is, nor e'er shall be. POPE-Essay on Criticism. Pt. II. L. 53.

An amber scent of odorous perfume

Her harbinger
Whose dear perfection hearts that scorn'd to MILTON--Samson Agonistes. L. 720.

Humbly call'd mistress.
All's Well That Ends Well. Act V. Sc. 3. L. 16.

And all your courtly civet cats can vent

Perfume to you, to me is excrement. 11

POPE-Epilogue to the Satires. Dialogue II. How many things by season season'd are

L. 188.
To their right praise and true perfection!
Merchant of Venice. Act V. Sc. 1. L. 107. And all Arabia breathes from yonder box.

POPE-The Rape of the Lock. Canto I. L. 134.
It is the witness still of excellency
To put a strange face on his own perfection.

So perfumed that

The winds were love-sick. Much Ado About Nothing. Act II. Sc. 3. L. 48.

Antony and Cleopatra. Act II. Sc. 2. L. 198. 13 A man cannot have an idea of perfection in

From the barge another, which he was never sensible of in A strange invisible perfume hits the sense himself.

Of the adjacent wharfs. STEELE—The Tatler. No. 227.

Antony and Cleopatra. Act II. Sc. 2. L. 216.







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PHILADELPHIA They say that the lady from Philadelphia who is staying in town is very wise. Suppose I go ask her what is best to be done.

LUCRETIA P. HALE-Peterkin Papers. Ch. I.


Gutta cavat lapidem non vi, sed sæpe cadendo.

The drop hollows out the stone not by strength, but by constant falling. Quoted in the Menagiana, 1713. Probably first to use it was RICHARD, MONK OF S. VICTOR; Paris. (Died about 1172. Scotchman by birth.) In his Adnotationes mysticæ in Psalmos he says: "Quid lapide durius, quid aqua mollius?

Verumtamen gutta cavat lapidem non vi sed sæpe cadendo." See MIGNE's Patrologia Latina. Vol. CXCVI. P. 389. Said to be by CHERILUS OF SAMOS, by SIMPLICIUS-Ad Aristot. Physic. Auscult. VIII. 2. P. 429. (Brand's ed.) Same idea in LUCRETIUS I. 314; also in IV. 1282. Trans. of a proverb quoted by GALEN. Vol. VIII. P. 27. Ed. by KÜHN, 1821,

Hail! Philadelphia, tho' Quaker thou be,
The birth-day of medical honors to thee
In this country belongs; 'twas thou caught the

That crossing the ocean from Englishmen came
And kindled the fires of Wisdom and Knowledge,
Inspired the student, erected a college,
First held a commencement with suitable state,
In the year of our Lord, seventeen sixty-eight.
WM. TODD HELMUTH-The Story of a City


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Nec sibi sed toti genitum se credere mundo.

He believed that he was born, not for himself, but for the whole world. LUCANPharsalia. II. 383. 22

To pity distress is but human; to relieve it is Godlike. HORACE MANN—Lectures on Education. Lec

ture VI. 23

Take heed that ye do not your alms before men, to be seen of them.

Matthew. VI. 1.

Scatter plenty o'er a smiling land.

GRAY-Elegy in a Country Churchyard. St. 16.



When thou doest alms, let not thy left hand know what thy right hand doeth.

Matthew. VI. 3.



Steal the hog, and give the feet for alms.

HERBERT Jacula Prudentum.

11 By Jove the stranger and the poor are sent, And what to those we give, to Jove is lent. HOMER-Odyssey. Bk. VI. L. 247. POPE's trans.

It never was our guise To slight the poor, or aught humane despise. HOMER-Odyssey. Bk. XIV. L. 65. POPE's

trans. 13 In every sorrowing soul I pour'd delight, And poverty stood smiling in my sight. HOMER-Odyssey. Bk. XVII. L. 505. POPE's

trans. 14 Alas! for the rarity Of Christian charity Under the sun. Ob! it was pitiful!

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For his bounty There was no winter in't; an autumn 'twas That grew the more by reaping: his delights Were dolphin-like.

Antony and Cleopatra. Act V. Sc. 2. L. 87. For this relief, much thanks: 'tis bitter cold, And I am sick at heart.

Hamlet. Act I. Sc. 1. L. 8.


O vitæ philosophia dux! O virtutis indagatrix, expultrixque vitiorum! Quid non modo nos, sed omnino vita hominum sine et esse potuisset? Tu urbes peperisti; tu dissipatos homines in societatum vitæ convocasti.

O philosophy, life's guide! O searcher-out of virtue and expeller of vices! What could we and every age of men have been without thee? Thou hast produced cities; thou hast called men scattered about into the social enjoyment of life. CICERO—Tusc. Quæst. Bk. V. 2. 5.


A tear for pity and a hand Open as day for melting charity.

Henry IV. Pt. II. Act IV. Sc. 4. L. 31.

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The bosom-weight, your stubborn gift, That no philosophy can lift.


As sunbeams stream through liberal space
And nothing jostle or displace,
So waved the pine-tree through my thought
And fanned the dreams it never brought.

EMERSON—Woodnotes. II.


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Like two cathedral towers these stately pines
Uplift their fretted summits tipped with cones;
The arch beneath them is not built with stores,
Not Art but Nature traced these lovely lines,
And carved this graceful arabascue of vines;
No organ but the wind here sighs and inoans,
No sepulchre conceals a martyr's bones,
No marble bishop on his tomb reclires.
Enter the pavement, carpeted with leaves,
Gives back a softened echo to thy tread!
Listen! the choir is singing; all the birds,
In leafy galleries beneath the eaves,
Are singing! listen, ere the sound be fled,
And learn there may be worship without words.

LONGFELLOW-Sonnets. My Cathedral.


PIGEON Wood-pigeons cooed there, stock-doves nestled

there; My trees were full of songs and flowers and fruit, Their branches spread a city to the air. CHRISTINA G. ROSSETTI-From House to Home.

St. 7.

Under the yaller pines I house,

When sunshine makes 'em all sweet-scented, An' hear among their furry boughs

The baskin' west-wind purr contented. LOWELL-The Biglow Papers. Second Series.

No. 10.


The pine is the mother of legends.

LOWELLThe Growth of a Legend.



With his mouth full of news

he will put on us, as pigeons feed their

young. As You Like It. Act I. Sc. 2. L. 98.

To arched walks of twilight groves, And shadows brown that Sylvan loves, Of pine.

MILTONIl Penseroso. L. 133.



Thou pigeon-egg of discretion.

Love's Labour's Lost. Act V. Sc. 1. L. 75.

Here also grew the rougher rinded pine, The great Argoan ship's brave ornament.

SPENSER—Virgil's Gnat. L. 209.

This fellow pecks up wit as pigeons pease.

Love's Labour's Lost. Act V. Sc. 2. L. 315.



Ancient Pines, Ye bear no record of the years of man. Spring is your sole historian.

BAYARD TAYLORThe Pine Forest of Monterey.

'Tis a bird I love, with its brooding note,
And the trembling throb in its mottled throat;
There's a human look in its swelling breast,
And the gentle curve of its lowly crest;
And I often stop with the fear I feel
He runs so close to the rapid wheel.

WILLISThe Belfry Pigeon.

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