Works by Letitia Elizabeth Landon

"The course of life is like the child's game – “here we go round by the rule of contrary” -- and youth, above all others, is the season of united opposites, with all its freshness and buoyancy. At no period of our existence is depression of the spirit more common or more painful. As we advance in life our duties become defined ; we act more from necessity and less from impulse ; custom takes the place of energy, and feelings, no longer powerfully excited, are proportionably quiet in re-action. But youth, balancing itself upon hope, is for ever in extremes; its expectations are continually aroused only to be baffled ; and disappointment, like a summer shower, is violent in proportion to its brevity."

"Young she was―but nineteen, that pleasantest of ages, just past the blushing, bridling, bewildering coming out, when a courtesy and a compliment are equally embarrassing; when one half the evening is spent in thinking what to do and say, and the other half in repenting what has been said and done."

"Her father had been the youngest brother, and, like many other younger brothers, both unnecessary and imprudent."

"His lady was one of those thousand-and-one women who wore dark silk dresses and lace caps ― who, after a fashion of their own, have made most exemplary wives; that is to say, they took to duties instead of accomplishments, and gave up music when they married―who spent the mornings in the housekeeper's room, and the evenings at the tea-table, waiting for the guests who came not ― who rose after the first glass of wine―whose bills and calls were paid punctually, and whose dinners were a credit to them."

"The impetuosity of youth becomes energy in manhood."

"That intuitive awe which all little people at least must have experienced ― the feeling which fixes the eye and chains the lip, on finding ourselves for the first time in the presence of some great man, hitherto to us an historical portrait, one whose thoughts are of the destinies of nations, whose part seems in the annals of England, and not in its society."

"But sentiment, like salt, is so universal an ingredient in our composition, that even Mr. Delawarr, years and years ago, had looked at a rainbow to dream of a cheek, had gathered violets with the dew on them, and thought them less bright than the eyes to which they were offerings, had rhymed to one beloved name, and had felt one fair cousin to be the fairest of created things."

"He need only not have been a politician (the very name was a stumbling-block to a young lady's romance), and he would have been erected into a hero fit for a modern novel."

"Snow-dropped, crocused, and violeted Spring, in the country, was beginning to consider about making her will, and leaving her legacies of full-blown flowers and green fruit to Summer, …"

"[Now this was a most disinterested act ; for] the member had recovered, and taken that step of all others which insures existence, purchased a life annuity; and it is a well-known fact in physiology, that annuitants and old women never die."

"[This, however, the uncle would not admit ; and] youth, if not selfish, is at least thoughtless; …"

"A great change in life is like a cold bath in winter — we all hesitate at the first plunge."

"Affection is more matter of habit than sentiment, more so than we like to admit [; and she was leaving both habits and affections behind.]"

"A white handkerchief is a signal of distress always answered: …"

"There is something very amusing in the misfortunes of others."

"Adventures never happen now-a-days; there are neither knights nor highwaymen ; no lonely heaths, with gibbets, for finger-posts ; no hope of even a dangerous rut, or a steep hill ; romance and roads are alike macadamised; no young ladies are either run away with, or run over ; —"

"— morning, that breaker of spells and sleep."

"… and French and Italian were, it must be owned, somewhat unnecessary to one who considered her own language an unnecessary fatigue."

"… [for after all,] vanity is like those chemical essences whose only existence is when called into being by the action of some opposite influence."

"Lord Etheringhame’s opinions were as hereditary as his halls ; innovation was moral rebellion ; the change of a fashion, a symptom of degeneracy ; he would as soon have destroyed his pedigree as his pigtail ; and looked on every new patent, whether for a peerage or a pie-dish, as another step to ruin ; in short, he held just the reverse of the poet’s opinion — with him, not whatever is, but whatever had been, was right."

"In the midst of a brilliant public career, he had little time to discover whether his household divinity was very like those of old — a statue."

"Shopping, true feminine felicity !"

"[… and] Emily, her head like a kaleidoscope, full of colours, with not a little disdain, put on the blue silk she had thought bleu céleste, at least in the country. What a march does a woman's intellect, i.e. taste, take in the streets of London !"

"How much we give to thoughts and things our tone-painting, And judge of others' feelings by our own!"

"[From Lady Alicia]: "[… ;] marriage is like money— seem to want it, and you never get it.""

"Now came one of those audible pauses, the tickings of the death-watch of English conversation."

"The questions of curiosity are few to those of politeness."

"[A few moments saw] the little vessel [gallantly scudding through the waters,] dashing before her a shower of foam like sudden snow — and leaving behind a silver tracks like a shining serpent, called by some strange spell from its emerald palace, and yet bright with the mysterious light of its birthplace."

"{Of a forest} [It was swept, but not bowed, by] a mighty wind, now loud as mountain thunder, and now low with that peculiar whisper which haunts the leaf of the pine — such as might have suited the oracles of old — an articulate though unknown language."

"Successful daring makes its own way; …"

"[But,] Alas, for the vanity of human enjoyment ! we grow weary of even our own perfection."

"In his mind the imagination was as yet the most prominent feature; it made him impetuous — for the unknown is ever coloured by the most attractive hues ; it made him versatile— for those very hues, from their falsehood, are fleeting, and pass easily from one object to another; it made him melancholy— for the imagination, which lives on excitement, most powerfully exaggerates the reaction; but, like a fairy gift, it threw its own nameless charm over all he did— and a touch, as it were, of poetry, spiritualised all the common-places of life."

"[By the bye,] what a barbarous, what an uncharitable act it is, of some people to furnish their rooms as they do, against all laws of humanity as well as taste ! We have actually seen rooms fitted up with sea-green, and an indigo-coloured paper: what complexion could stand it? The most proper of becoming blushes would be utterly wasted, and perhaps at the most critical moment."

"But we are patriotic people, and write treatises for the Society of Useful Knowledge."

"We have heard of the solitude of the wide ocean, of the sandy desert, of the pathless forest; but, for a real, thorough, and entire knowledge, far beyond Zimmerman’s, of the pleasures of solitude, commend us to a young damsel doomed to a sofa and female society, while quadrille after quadrille is formed in her sight, and the waltzes go round like stars with whose motions we have nothing to do."

"… : the Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge does not depend more on its encyclopædia, Mr. Brougham — the new tragedy on Macready — the balance of Europe on the Duke — none of these are so utterly dependent as a young lady on her chaperone."

"What a foundation mortified vanity is for philosophy !"

"[From Lord Etheringhame]: "Every other species of talent carries with it its eternity ; we enjoy the work of the poet, the painter, the sculptor, only as thousands will do after us ; but the actor — his memory is with his generation, and that passes away.""

"We would liken music to Aladdin’s lamp — worthless in itself, not so for the spirits which obey its call. We love it for the buried hopes, the garnered memories, the tender feelings, it can summon with a touch."

"How many gastronomes, with mouths never meant but for mutton and mashed potatoes, dilate learnedly on the merits of salmis and sautés — but far less as matter of taste than flavour!"

"Perhaps, had not Emily's judgment been a little blinded by the diamond-dust which vanity flings in the eyes, Mr. Boyne Sillery might not have appeared such a very nice young man."

"During the quadrille they progressed as rapidly as an American settlement."

"With a due proportion of the coldness of our insular atmosphere entering like a damp sea-breeze into our composition, we English are the worst people in the world to assume characters not our own —"

"[To Emily the scene was new — and] novelty is the best half of pleasure."

"Attention is always pleasant in [an acquaintance] acquaintances till we tire of them."

"[… ; and] ill nature is to conversation what oil is to the lamp — the only thing that keeps it alive."

"Mischief in a large family, like murder in the newspapers, is sure to come out."

"[But] youth, even of the most provident species, rarely desponds."

"… [; and] the ridiculous is memory's most adhesive plaster."

"It is curious to observe how soon we perceive the impropriety of departed pleasures. Repentance is a one-faced Janus, ever looking to the past."

"She went to sleep, lulled by that best of mental opiates — a good resolution."

"No woman looks well walking in the street : she either elbows her way in all the disagreeableness of independence, or else shuffles along as if ashamed of what she is doing [; her bonnet has always been met by some unlucky wind which has destroyed half its shape, and all its set: if fine weather, her shoes are covered with dust, and if dirty, the petticoat is defyingly dragged through the mud, or, still more defyingly lifted on one side to show the black leather boot, and draggled in deepest darkness on the other. No female, at least none with any female pretensions, should ever attempt to walk, except on a carpet, a turf, or a terrace.] [As for the men, one half look as if they were running on an errand or from an arrest, or else were creeping to commit suicide.]"

"Ah, human felicity ! to have at once so many wants suggested and supplied ! Wretched Grecian daughters! miserable Roman matrons ! to whom shopping was an unknown pleasure, what did, what could employ them ?"

"[From Mr Boyne Sillery]: "[… : moreover,] one should never let pleasure interfere with business.""

"Considering how much the ears are cultivated with all the useless varieties of "lute, sackbut, and psaltery," it is wonderful their first great quality should be so neglected ; it shows how much common sense is overlooked in our present style of education. Now, considering that it is the first step to general popularity — (that general popularity, to be turned, like a patriot’s, to particular account) — considering that it is the great general principle of conciliation towards East Indian uncles and independent aunts, it shows how much real utility is forgotten, when the science of listening is not made a prominent branch of instruction. So many act on the mistaken principle, that mere hearing is listening — the eyes, believe me, listen even better than the ears — there ought to be a professor of listening. We recommend this to the attention of the London University, or the new King's College ; both professing to improve the system of education. Under the head of listening, is to be included the arts of opportune questionings and judicious negatives — those negatives which, like certain votes, become, after a time, affirmatives."

"[From Lady Mandeville]: "Our said happiness is but the excuse of our exclusion. Whenever I hear a man talking of the advantages of our ill-used sex, I look upon it as the prelude to some new act of authority.""

"[From Mr Delawarr]: "[Ah !] You resemble those political economists who, if they see a paragraph in the paper one day rejoicing over the country's prosperity, examine its columns to see what new tax is to be suggested.""

"[From Lady Mandeville]: "What course of Eton and Oxford equals the mental fatigues of an accomplished young lady ?""

"[From Lady Mandeville]: "A woman never thoroughly knows her dependence till she is married.""

"[From the landlord of the Spread Eagle]: "[… ; and] if I had ten [pounds] in the Bank of England, there would be a national bankruptcy, on purpose that I might lose it ; and if I were to turn undertaker, nobody would die, that I mightn't have the burying of them : it's just my luck always.""

"It may sound like the after-dinner patriotism of the Freemasons' Tavern ; but surely the heart does beat somewhat high beneath the shadow of an old oak."

"[After a due portion of time employed in exclamations, sympathies, and inquiries, how they came to meet was] explained as satisfactorily as the end of an old novel, when every thing is cleared up, and every body killed, after having first repented, or married."

"They reached the house ; and what with Morton's return, Lorraine's wit, and Adelaide's gratified vanity, the supper passed with a degree of gaiety very rare in a house whose atmosphere might have vied with Leila's snow court in Thalaba for coldness and quiet."

"In marriage, as in chemistry, opposites have often an attraction."

"It was curious that, while father and mother were cut out in the most common-place shapes of social automata, both sons possessed a romance of feeling which would greatly have alarmed their rational parents. But no moral perceptions are so blunt as those of the selfish ; theirs is the worst of near-sightedness — that of the heart."

"Lord and Lady Etheringhame were blind to the faults, even as they were to the good qualities of their children, simply because to neither had they an answering key in themselves ; we cannot calculate on the motions of a world, of whose very existence we dream not."

"[There] he dreamed of life — those dreams which so unfit the visionary for action, which make the real world so distasteful when measured by that within."

"The old proverb, applied to fire and water, may, with equal truth, be applied to the imagination — it is a good servant, but a bad master."

"To me statues never bear aught of human resemblance — I cannot think of them as the likeness of man or woman — colourless, shadowy, they seem the creation of a spell ; their spiritual beauty is of another world — and well did the Grecian of old, whose faith was one of power and necessity, not of affection, make his statues deities : the cold, the severely beautiful, we can offer them worship, but never love."

"A veiled lady either is, or ought to be, enough to turn the head of any cavalier under five-and-twenty."

"Truly does passion live but in the present."

"… : The Janus of Love's year may have two faces, but they look only on each other."

"[— and] expectations have that sort of ideal beauty no reality can equal : In the moral as in the physical world, the violent is never the lasting — the tree forced into unnatural luxuriance of blossom bears them and dies."

"If there be one part of life on which the curse spoken at Eden rests in double darkness — if there be one part of life on which is heaped the gathered wretchedness of years, it is the time when guilty love has burnt itself out, and the heart sees crowd around those vain regrets, that deep remorse, whose voices are never heard but in the silence of indifference."

"Grief, after all, is like smoking in a damp country — what was at first a necessity becomes afterwards an indulgence."

"What a charm there must be in praise, when it consoles for all the miseries and mortifications of literature !"

"It is amazing how oppressive is the cleverness of some people, as if it were quite a duty in you to be clever too —"

"Alas ! for the victim of friendship, whom sentiment or silliness seduces into passing a long day ! The upright sitting on the repulsive sofa — the mental exhaustion in searching after topics of conversation, which, like the breeze in Byron's description of a calm, "come not" — the gossip that, out of sheer desperation, darkens into scandal; if ever friends or feelings are sacrificed under temptation too strong to be resisted, it is in the conversational pauses of a long day ; and worst of all, a long day between people who have scarcely an idea or an acquaintance in common, for the one to be exchanged, or the other abused — communication or condemnation equally out of the question."

"[; but] shun the establishment of a bachelor who has hung a pendulum between temptation and prudence till the age of forty-five —"

"[… and] in came [Master Adolphus and Master Alfred in full cry, having disputed by the way which was to go first — also] a baby, eloquent as infancy usual is, and, like most youthful orators, more easily heard than understood."

"[… and] it was one of those wet, miserable evenings, gratis copies distributed by November through the year."

"Suicide and antipathy to fires in a bed-room seem to be among the national characteristics. Perhaps the same moral cause may originate both."

"[From Mrs Sullivan]: “Knowledge is much like dust — it sticks to one, one does not know how.”"

"[For some time] she listened to every word she could catch, till at length the disagreeable conviction was forced upon her, that clever people talked very much as others did."

"[… ; it seemed, however,] like English sunshine, too precious to be long enjoyed."

"All around laughed, as people always laugh at misfortunes, i.e. with all their heart."

"[From a young traveller, summoned by Mrs Sullivan]: “… and if he did get out six words, seven were unintelligible.”"

"[From Miss Amesbury (who is possibly L. E. L. herself)]: “When I say your gratitude ought to be excited by my vanity, I divide the functions of vanity into two influences ; the one is, when it is passive, I only feed upon the memories it brings ; the other is, when it is active, and prompts me to exert myself for your entertainment ; and it is while thus acting for your amusement that it calls on you to be grateful, if not gratified.”"

"Miss Amesbury is especially happy in the use of quotations —an apt quotation is like a lamp which flings its light over the whole sentence."

"[From Mrs Sullivan]: “One would think that an unsuccessful volume was like a degree in the school of reviewing. One unread work makes the judge bitter enough ; but a second failure, and he is quite desperate in his damnation. I do believe one half of the injustice — the severity of 'the ungentle craft ' originates in its own want of success ; they cannot forgive the popularity which has passed them over, …”"

"[From a Scotchman, author of a history of Mary Queen of Scots]: “That a prejudice still exists between the Scotch and the English is no credit to either. Were I to allot each their shares of illiberality, I should say, there are six of the one and half-a-dozen of the other ; and as I am one who utterly despairs of improving the human race, I have no doubt it will continue.”"

"[From Mrs Sullivan]: “Travelling is as much a passion as ambition or love.”"

"[From Mrs Sullivan]: “[I like to meet him sometimes:] it is good for one's moral constitution to know there are such things as kindliness and integrity to be found in the world.”"

"[From Mrs Sullivan]: “[Perhaps from the pleasures of memory ; for] She is now half of one of those happy couples which make one understand a phrase somewhat difficult to comprehend, from so seldom witnessing it — domestic felicity.”"

"[From Mrs Sullivan]: “[I nevertheless think that] the blessings of matrimony, like those of poverty, belong rather to philosophy than reality.”"

"[From Mrs Sullivan]: “[— and of course,] a married woman has no time for music or reading.”"

"[Divers introductions took place; and] Emily heard a great deal of conversation, of which conceit was the canvass, while flattery laid on the colours."

"She had seen many who had long been the throned idols of her imagination, and her disappointment much resembled that of the princely lover of Cinderella, who, on questioning his porters if they had seen a robed and radiant beauty pass, learnt that their uncharmed eyes had only beheld a little dirty girl. She had fallen into the common error of supposing that the author must personify his works, and that his conversation must be copy and compeer of his writings."

"There is nothing people are so much ashamed of as truth. It is a common observation, that those whose writings are most melancholy are often most lively in conversation. [They are ashamed of their real nature ; and] it is a curious fact, but one which all experience owns, that people do not desire so much to appear better, as to appear different from what they really are."

"[… ; that he has despised the flatterer, but loved the flattery — at once ungrateful and exacting; that he has praised himself —] the worst of praise is that given in hopes of return; …"

"The anxious struggle — the loneliness of neglect — the consciousness of merit — the resources which open to a mind flung back upon itself — will do more to stimulate exertion than praise or even profit. The flattered and followed author sees too soon the worthlessness and hollowness of the prize for which he contends."

"We hope, plan, execute; will it be vain? Or will the future be the past again?"

"Truly, a little love-making is a very pleasant thing, …"

"Ah ! love and youth are delightful things, before the one is chilled, and the other darkened by those after-days, each of which brings with it some dull or sad lesson ! — when we learn, that, though disappointment is misery, fruition is but weariness ; and that happiness is like the statue of Isis, whose veil no mortal ever raised."

"[… :] I do believe that the power of making the future their present is one of the first gifts with which Providence endows a great man."

"[From Edward Lorraine]: — the evil with which we are familiar seems scarce an evil : …"

"[From Lord Etheringhame]: — I see thousands and thousands rushing to every goal to which human desires can tend — and what matters it if one individual loiter on the way? I see, too, thousands and thousands daily swept off, and their places filled up, leaving not a memory to say that they have been — and again I ask, of what import is an individual ?"

"[From Edward Lorraine]: Instead of asking of what import is an individual, let us rather ask, what is there an individual may not do ?"

"[From Lord Etheringhame]: We do not kill each other quite so much, but we cheat each other more : mortifications are more frequent than wants : and it does appear to me, that, in this change of rude into civilised life, we only exchange bodily evils for mental ones."

"Truly the history of most lives may be soon comprehended under three heads — our follies, our faults, and our misfortunes."

"There is nothing so easy as to be wise for others ; a species of prodigality, by the by — for such wisdom is wholly wasted."

"[From Lady Alicia]: Oh, I have heard all this a hundred times : one hears things till one forgets them."

"[From Mr Delawarr]: ... plain truth is like a plain face — not very attractive. There is no moral Styx ; and in politics as in every thing else, censure is more bitter than praise is sweet."

"[From Mr Delawarr]: ... indifference is as fabulous as invulnerability."

"[From Edward Lorraine]: There is an ingenuity, an originality, which makes one lament over so much unappreciated genius."

"[From Edward Lorraine]: A respectable man passes six days behind his counter, and the seventh in a one-horse chaise — imagines that his own and his country's constitution equally depend on roast-beef — pays his debts regularly, and gives away half-pence in charity."

"[From Edward Lorraine]: It is certainly in the destiny of some individuals to be the idols of the circulating library."

"[From Edward Lorraine]: ... a novelist will soon be as necessary a part of a modern establishment as the minstrel was in former times."

"[From Edward Lorraine]: ... I think hearts are very much like glasses — if they do not break with the first ring, they usually last a considerable time."

"Some authors, in discussing love's divers places of vantage ground, are eloquent in praise of a dinner-table — others eulogise supper : for my part I lean to the breakfast, — the complexion and the feelings are alike fresh — the cares, business, and sorrows of the day, have not yet merged in prudence and fatigue — the imaginativeness of the morning dream is yet floating on the mind — the courtesies of coffee and chocolate are more familiar than those of soup and fish. As they say in education, nothing like an early commencement — our first impressions are always most vivid, and the simplicity of the morning gives an idea of nature piquant from probable contrast. Perhaps one's rule of three for action might run thus : be naive at breakfast, brilliant at dinner, but romantic at supper. The visions prepared for midnight should always be a little exalted : but if only one meal be at your choice, prefer the breakfast."

"It is quite wonderful what privileges are accorded to single gentlemen of a certain age and a certain fortune, — these are the people who may be rude with more than impunity, even reward. Whether the old ladies, either for themselves or their daughters, hope it is not quite too late for these said single gentlemen to marry, — whether the masculine part of the creation with that attention to business, their great moral duty, calculate on pecuniary futurities, either in the shape of legacy or loan, we know not ; but assuredly the magna charta of social life accords much to this privileged class."

"[From Mr. Morland]: Mrs. Robinson, Mrs. Smith, and Mrs. Radcliffe ruled the Europe, Asia, and Africa of the novel-writing world — America was not then discovered."

"[From Edward Lorraine]: Like the veins of a mine, the materials of fiction are soon worked out."

"[From Edward Lorraine}: When opinions have lost the support of the grounds on which they were originally formed, they become prejudices ; but in proportion as they lose their foundation, they tighten their hold : for though a man may give up his opinion he holds to his prejudice as a drowning wretch who has lost his boat grasps his oar."

"A woman always, whether she shows it or not, takes a general assertion to herself, not from vanity, but from the intense individuality of her nature ; …"

"[From Mr Morland]: .... no one sees things exactly as they are, but as varied and modified by their own method of viewing. Bid a botanist and a poet describe a rose-tree — the one will dwell upon its roots, fibres, petals, &c., and his abstract view will be of its medicinal properties ; the poet will dwell upon its beauty, and associate it with the ideas of love and summer, or catch somewhat of melancholy from its futurity of fading — no fear of want of variety."

"[From Mr Morland]: … : philosophy, like charity, begins at home ; but also, like charity, I should wish it to extend, and become the more beneficial the more it expands."

"[From Edward Lorraine]: There is always a certain capital of opinion to which men deem it proper to subscribe — our education from the first cultivates credulity — we are taught to agree, not to examine, and our judgment is formed long before our comprehension."

"Always be as witty as you can with your parting bow — your last speech is the one remembered."

"... there is no look so suspicious as a downcast one."

"[On love] Like the maiden of the fairy tale, we destroy our spell when we open it to examine in what characters it is written. In its ignorance is its happiness; there is none of the anxiety that is the fever of hope — no fears, for there is no calculation — no selfishness, for it asks for nothing — no disappointment, for nothing is expected : it is like the deep quiet enjoyment of basking in the bright sun shine, without thinking of either how the glad warmth will ripen our fruits and flowers, or how the dark clouds in the distance forebode a storm."

"To know that the love which once seemed eternal can have an end, destroys its immortality ; and, thus brought to a level with the beginnings and endings — the chances and changes of life's common-place employments and pleasures — and, alas! from the sublime to the ridiculous there is but a step — our divinity turns out an idol — we are grown too wise, too worldly, for our former faith — and we laugh at what we wept before : such laughter is more bitter — a thousand times more bitter — than tears."

"It is a wise law of nature, that we only hear at second-hand what is said of us, when, at least, we can comfort ourselves with disbelief. [His Satanic majesty did not know how to tempt Job ; instead of making him hear his friends talk to him — though that was bad enough — he should have made him hear them talk of him ; and if that did not drive him out of all patience, I know not what would.]"

"[From Edward Lorraine]: Utility is fast annihilating the empire of the sigh or the sword : a hero is pronounced to be dangerous, or, worse, useless — and Alexanders and Richelieus are equally out of keeping with our time."

"[From Edward Lorraine]: … : a Frenchman throws his discontent into an epigram, and is happy — an Englishman vents his on the weather, and is satisfied."

"[From Edward Lorraine]: … ; for our English grumbling is equally distributed between the weather and politics, and the case would be desperate when confined to the last."

"[From Edward Lorraine]: Dress ought to be part of female education ; her eye for colouring, her taste for drapery, should be cultivated by intense study. [Let her approach the mirror as she would her harp or her grammar, aware that she has a task before her, whose fulfilment, not whose fulfilling, is matter of vanity. Above all, let her eschew the impertinence of invention ; let her leave genius to her milliner. In schools, there are the drawing, French, and dancing days ; there should also be dressing days. From sandal to ringlet should undergo strict investigation ; and a prize should be given to the best dressed. We should not then have our eyesight affronted by yellows and pinks, greens and blues, mingled together ; we should be spared the rigidity of form too often attendant on a new dress ; and no longer behold shawls hung on shoulders as if they were two pegs in a passage.]"

"[From Edward Lorraine]: A frivolous employment ! This comes of well-sounding morality shining in a sentence."

"I own that life is very wearisome — that we are most miserable creatures — that we go on through disappointments, cares, and sorrows, enough for a dozen of poems ; still, it has pleasant passages — for example, when one is young, pretty, and a little in love. What a pity that we cannot remain at fifteen and five and twenty ! Or, second thoughts are best — I dare say then we should sink under the ennui of enjoyment, or be obliged to commit suicide in self-defence."

"There are many odd things in society ; but its amusements are the oddest of all. Take any crowded party you will, and I doubt if there are ten persons in the room who are really pleased. To do as others do, is the mania of the day."

"Once upon a time a lady died much regretted ; for she was as kind-hearted an individual as ever gave birth-day presents in her life, or left legacies at her death. When they heard the intelligence, the whole of a married daughter's family were in great distress, — the mother cried bitterly, so did her two eldest daughters, as fitting and proper to do. The youngest child of all, a little creature who could not in the least recollect its grandmother, nevertheless retired into a corner, and threw its pinafore over its face. "Poor dear feeling little creature ! " said the nurse, "don't you cry too." "I'm not crying," replied the child ; "I only pretend." Regret and enjoyment are much the same; people are like the child, — they only pretend."

"There are many gentlemen who never drink any but sample wines, and never go beyond their first order to a wine-merchant. This would be a very excellent plan to pursue in love affairs ; for the beginning is their best part — its only fault is, that it is impossible."

"[From Mr Spenser]: .... I doubt the great advantage of the biographies of eminent men, who have arisen by their own efforts, being sedulously held up as examples to the lower classes. If great talents really exist, these very instances prove that example was not necessary to call them into action ; and if they do not, the apparent ease and the high success which attended those objects of their emulation, are calculated rather to cause delusive hopes than a beneficial effect."

"[From Mr Spenser]: We see how they scaled the mountain, and immediately give ourselves credit for being able to go and do likewise. We forget that a great man does not leave behind him his genius, but its traces. Now, there is no disappointment so bitter as that whose cause is in ourselves."

"[From Lord Mandeville]: In diffusing knowledge, there are two dangers against which we should endeavour to guard — that it be not turned to a wrong use, or made subservient to mere display. The last is the worst ; — discontent is the shadow of display, and display is the characteristic of our age. Take one of its humblest instances. Our young people go to their divers amusements, not for the purpose of enjoyment, but of display ; they require not entertainment, but compliment."

"[From Lord Mandeville]: Satiety and mortification are the extremes of vanity, and both are equally attended by envy, hatred, malice, and all uncharitableness. If the human mind were like a pond, and could be filled at once, knowledge, like the water, would be its own balance ; but as it must be done gradually, it ought to be done carefully — not one part filled to overflowing, while a second is left dry, or a third to stagnate."

"[From Lord Mandeville]: Knowledge, when only the possession of a few, has almost always been turned to iniquitous purposes."

"[From Lord Mandeville]: From religion, and that only, can they learn the inherent nature of good and evil. In the sorrows that have afflicted, in the judgments that have befallen, the highest and mightiest, they will learn the only true lesson of equality — the conviction that our destinies are not in our own hands ; they will see that no situation in life is without its share of suffering ; — and this perpetual reference to a higher power ought equally to teach the rich humility, and the poor devotion."

"[From Lord Mandeville]: Secondly, I lean rather to giving practical than scientific knowledge. I would distribute books on farming, gardening, and a cheap, simple cookery would be a valuable present: for works of mere amusement, travels plainly written, especially such as, in the wants and miseries of other countries, teach us to value the comforts and advantages of our own ; —"

"[From Mr Spenser]: Great power is almost always a great evil."

"A woman's love is essentially lonely and spiritual in its nature — feeding on fancy, rather than hope — or like that fairy flower of the East, which floats in, and lives upon, the air. Her attachment is the heathenism of the heart : she has herself created the glory and beauty with which the idol of her altar stands invested."

"[From Adelaide]: It is my misfortune, not my fault, that the felicity of the country is, to my mind, like the merriment of Christmas, more heard of than seen."

"To hold our surprises in perfect subjection is one of the first lessons of society ;"

"Many failures only increase the satisfaction of final success."

"He asked no better revenge than a reply — and arrayed in his own mind a whole battalion of arguments, and a light-armed troop of sneers. Nothing is more imaginative than anger."

"... no enmity is so bitter as a political one ..."

"Surprises are like misfortunes or herrings — they rarely come single."

"[From Mr Delawarr]: A very small loss indeed, it being only what you ought never to have had."

"[From Mr Delawarr]: He is a fool, therefore obstinate ; but vain, and therefore manageable."

"[From Mr Delawarr]: … : enmities are like friendships — useless encumbrances ; individual feelings have nothing to do with general proceedings."

"[From Edward Lorraine]: Opinions may change with the circumstances on which they were founded, but principles never."

"None are so disinterested as the thoughtless and absorbed."

"Habits are the petrifactions of the feelings, and his habits were those of business. [A resolution is never shaken by a conviction.]"

"He saw the need of instant action, and took refuge in that common resource of the destitute, a well-sounding phrase."

"Conscience always acts on the conciliatory system."

"Nothing like a gallop on a beautiful Arabian in all desperate cases."

"[From Edward Lorraine]: And thus it is, with all the works of men : whether for beauty or usefulness, how soon they perish ! One generation builds, that another may neglect or destroy. We talk of the future — we look to it — we act for it. The future comes — ourselves are forgotten — our works are ruins."

"It is hard, very hard, for the heart to part with, at one struggle, those it has most loved and reverenced."

"A century or two ago, the best blood in the kingdom was spent in defence of the right divine of kings — and it was called heroic conduct ; now it is to be shed in defence of the rights of the people — and that is very heroic conduct too. I wonder what will be heroic conduct a century hence."

"Ireland, last year, was to be paradise, if that Peri, emancipation, was but sent there ; now it is a wretched, degraded, oppressed country, unless the Union be dissolved !"

"[From Emily]: Good taste is his religion, his morality, his standard, and his test. … … Consistency of action, attention to results, and also to present benefit on the one side, and harmony of colour and graceful effect on the other, he urges arise from the same principle under different circumstances — viz. good taste !"

"[From Edward Lorraine]: The monarch must be noble as his dwelling ; ..."

"[From Edward Lorraine]: By the by, I think it among the great honours to French literature, that one of its most original branches, fairy tales, is peculiarly its own."

"[From Edward Lorraine]: … a nation only wants words for the things it knows—"

"[From Edward Lorraine]: An exquisite distinction I once heard made between wit and humour, appears to me admirably to apply to that of the French and English — that humour differs from wit in being more nearly allied with pathos. Thus it is with us islanders — we can be merry, but not lively ; and mirth brings its own reaction."

"[From Edward Lorraine]: … : you know ladies never dress but for each other ; …"

"Or is there a prophetic spirit in the human mind, which makes those of the keenest feelings often appear cold ; an intuitive, though unowned fear, repressing sensations of such deep and intense power ? They can not feel only a little ; and they shrink, though with an unconscious dread, from feeling too much."

"Shyness is too much a mere impulse in very early youth to be lasting ; …"

"It is true enough for a proverb, that the pleasantest parties are those of which the least can be told."

"Childhood is not often a happy season — it is too much forced and controlled, …"

"Our nature has many mysteries — the moral and physical world are strangely allied ; the weight on the air presages the hurricane — the darkness on the heaven the tempest — why may not destiny have its signs, and the heart its portents, …"

"Do not tell me of the happiness of life, when every day begins with a struggle and a sacrifice. To get up in the morning, both in the enjoyment it resigns and the resolution it requires, is an act of heroism."

"Clubs are just a modification of monasteries — places of refuge from female attentions ; and, as in former days, the finest architecture, the best situation, the most elaborate cuisine, the most refined cellar, are devoted to their use. The principal modern improvements are the omission of fasting and penance, and the substitution of magazines for missals."

"From childhood we hear some few great names to which mind has given an immortality : they are called the benefactors of their kind — their words are familiar to our lips — our early thoughts take their tone, our first mental pleasures are derived, from their pages — we admire, and then we imitate —we think how glorious it is to let the spirit thus go forth, winning a throne in men's hearts, sending our thoughts, like the ships of Tyre laden with rich merchandise, over the ocean of human opinion, and bringing back a still richer cargo of praise and goodwill. Thus was it with the great men of old, and so shall it be with us. We forget that Time, the Sanctifier, has been with them ; that no present interests jar against theirs ; and that around them is the calm and the solemnity of the grave; and we forget the ordeal through which they have passed to the temple."

"Those who have no part in the conflict see with the imagination : they behold the crimson banner, hear the stately trumpet, and think not of the dust of the march, or the agony of the battle ; …"

"All sweeping assertions are erroneous."

"[From Emily]: At all events, that gentleman's self-estimate is a pleasant one who believes that every man looks up to, and that every woman is in love with him."

"[From Mr Edward Lorraine]: Nothing is more difficult than to paint from nature — nothing so pleasant when achieved."

"[From Mr Morland]: … we like and require truth — always supposing and allowing that the said truth interferes neither with our interests nor our inclinations."

"[From Mr Morland]: Ridicule may be the test of truth, but it is not its result."

"[From Edward Lorraine]: But, really, it is scarcely worth while to be witty, when we remember how stupid people are. One would often think that a joke was as hard to be taken as an affront."

"[From Edward Lorraine]: —news lasts longer in the country than it does in town—"

"[From a lady known as our English Corinne]: 'Now, do you not see what a wicked little girl you are? Why do you not pray to God every morning to make you a better child ? ' 'And so I do,' sobbed the poor little thing, 'but he only makes me worserer and worserer.’"

"[From Lady Mandeville]: Nay, nay — it is to shew us how well you can do without us. I daily expect, in these times of reform and retrenchment, that a bill will be brought into the House for the suppression of the female sex, as an expensive and useless superfluity."

"Not one in a thousand knows how to put on a bonnet : they set it on one side like a disagreeable recollection ; or bolt upright, as if they wanted to realise Shakespeare's worst of puns, — "and she, like France, was at war with her hair (heir)." No such very great degree of genius can be displayed in the rest of the toilet. The dress has been chosen — it fits you à ravir — it has simply to be put on with mathematical accuracy : but the bonnet is the triumph of taste, — you must exert your intellect, — your destiny is in your own hands."

"People are often very generous in giving what is of no value : is it on this principle that one lady is usually so profuse in her admiration of the dress of another ?"

"The truth is, Lord Merton was, simply, naturally and intensely selfish ; he was himself "the ocean of his thoughts ;" he never considered the comfort of other people, because he never looked at it as distinct from his own ; and the most romantic devotion, the most self-denying love, would have seemed, if he were the object of it, as quite in the common course of things. This is a common character, which age alone developes into deformity. Youth, like charity, covers a multitude of sins ; but Heaven help the wife, children, servants, and all other pieces of domestic property, when such a man is fifty, and has the gout !"

"How mistaken is the phrase, "every delicacy of the season " — they mean out of season. Grapes are ripe at the same time as strawberries, and peaches come in with the crocuses."

"[From Edward Lorraine]: I think romance can never take a very high tone but in times of great civilisation. Romance is more matter of feeling than of passion ; and if violent passions belong to a barbarous, strong feelings belong to a civilised state. The refinement of our tastes, of course, is communicated to our sentiments ; and we exaggerate, subtilise, and spiritualise — the three chief ingredients of romance."

"[From Lady Mandeville]: I believe, that we abuse the age we live in, on the same principle that we take liberties with our friends. The poor present time, how it is calumniated ! degenerate, immoral, irreligious, are its best epithets ; and we talk of the good old time till we really believe it existed."

"[Reply from Mr Delawarr]: Even, as we eulogise the peace and innocence of a country life ; for the peace of the parish, apply to the rector on the tithe day — for its innocence, to the justice of the peace."

"However, there is always one solace to misery, as there is one drawback to pleasure, — they must all have an end, …"

"What an odd thing experience is ! — now turning over so rapidly the book of life, now writing so much on a single leaf."

"— Love is the least calculating of all dreamers, —"

"Shame is the worst pang of unrequited affection."

"[From Edward Lorraine]: ... pretension is a sort of general election, depending on universal suffrage, and subject to canvassing and criticism."

"[From Mr Delawarr]: The desire of notoriety, and the love of fame, differ but little ; yet one is the meanest, the other the noblest feeling in our nature : the one looks to the present, and is a mixture of the selfish and the common-place — the other dwells upon the future, and is the generous and the exalted.”"

"[From Emily]: It is curious, that when we feel in ourselves the most inclined to silence, we almost always fancy it is absolutely necessary we should talk."

"[From Edward Lorraine]: If this city system of colonisation goes on, our children will advertise a green tree, like an elephant, as 'this most wonderful production of nature ;' and the meaning of green grass will only be to be found in the dictionary."

"[From Mr Delawarr]: As it is the great principle of political economy to tax luxuries, why are not reports taxed ? Are they not the chief luxuries of society ? Of all my senses, I thank Heaven that of hearing is limited ; the dative case is very well — hearing what is said to me ; but preserve me from the ablative case — hearing what is said about me !"

"[From Edward Lorriane]: We speak ill of our neighbours, not from ill-nature, but idleness ; satire is only the cayenne of conversation : people have so few subjects for talking about in common with their friends but their friends ; and it is utterly impossible to dress them as Fontenelle did his asparagus, toute en huile."

"How untrue, to say youth is the happiest season of our life ! it is filled with vexations, for almost all its ideas are false ones ; they must be set right, and often how harshly ! Its hopes are actual beliefs: how often must they be taught doubt by disappointment ! And then its keen feelings, laying themselves so bare to the beak of the vulture experience ! Youth is a season that has no repose."

"I have heard it said, that no man ever believes a woman can fall in love with his friend : I would add, she certainly falls marvellously in his opinion if she does —"

"With the concentrated anger of fourteen patriots at a list of sinecures in which they have no part, or a dozen professors who find they cannot get pupils — nor fees without, Lord Merton steadied his voice, almost inarticulate from rage, …"

"The human heart is like Pandora's box — only it is hatred, not hope, that lies curled up at the bottom. It is well we are little in the habit of analysing our common and passing sensations, — we should be horror-struck at our own quantity of hate."

"No time passes so rapidly as that of painful expectancy, —No hour arrives so soon as the one we dread."

"Physical miseries greatly add to the discomfort of mental ones."

"… the science of human happiness — and all is science now-a-days — is greatly in arrear, or we should fix the middle of the day for farewells."

"Of all passions, love is the most engrossing and the most superstitious. How often has a leaf, a star, a breath of wind, been held as an omen ! It draws all things into somewhat of relation to itself: it is despotic, and jealous of all authority but its own : it bars the heart against the entrance of other feelings, and deems wandering thoughts its traitors."

"It is curious how inseparable eating and kindness are with some people."

"Affection exaggerates its own offences."

"How youth makes its wishes hopes, and its hopes certainties !"

"Nothing is so ingenious in its thousand ways and means as affection."

"The self-reproach of a sensitive and affectionate temper is of the most refined and exaggerating nature. Unmixed grief requires and seeks solitude — its unbroken indulgence is its enjoyment ; but that which is mingled with remorse, involuntarily shrinks from it self, — it wants consolation — it desires to hear some other voice extenuate its faults, — and even while disowning and denying the offered excuse, it is comforted."

"Enough of murder, and mystery, which always seems to double the crime it hides, …"

"Hope is the prophet of youth — young eyes will always look forwards."

"The narrative of the young carries its hearer along by its own buoyancy — by the gladness which is contagious ; …"

"Amid the many signs of that immortality of which our nature is so conscious, none has the certainty, the conviction, of affection : we feel that love, which is stronger and better than life, was made to outlast it. In the memory that survives the lost and the dear, we have mute evidence of a power over the grave :"

"There is wisdom in even the exaggeration of grief — there is little cause to fear we should feel too much."

"Deep as may be the regret, though the lost be the dearest, nay, the only tie that binds to earth, never did the most passionate grief give way to its emotion in the presence of the dead. Awe is stronger than sorrow : there is a calm, which, though we do not share, we dare not disturb : the chill of the grave is around them and us."

"A gallop always puts people in a good humour ; …"

"The surprise was something of a shock ; but people may be frightened into their wits as well as out of them ; and the necessity for exertion usually brings with it the power —"

"— Lady Lauriston was a woman with whom it would be as wearisome to talk as it would be to perambulate long a straight gravel walk and neatly arranged flowers ; …"

"A kindly intention is often the best eloquence ; …"

"Love is at once the best temptation for a hermit, and the best cure for a misanthrope."

"Vanity is love's visier, and often more powerful than his master."

"Oh, Life ! — the wearisome, the vexatious — whose pleasures are either placed beyond our reach, or within it when we no longer desire them — when youth toils for the riches, age may possess but not enjoy ; — where we trust to friendship, one light word may destroy ; or to love, that dies even of itself; — where we talk of glory, philosophical, literary, military, political — die, or, what is much more, live for it — and this coveted possession dwells in the consent of men of whom no two agree about it."

"The politician — oh, Job ! the devil should have made you prime minister — set the Tories to impeach your religion, the Whigs your patriotism — placed a couple of Sunday newspapers before you — he certainly would have succeeded in making you curse and swear too ; and then posterity — it will just be a mooted point for future historians, whether you were the saviour, the betrayer, or the tyrant of your country, those being the three choice epitaphs kept for the especial use of patriots in power."

"Or — to descend to the ordinary ranks and routine of life — we furnish a house, that our friends may cry out on our extravagance or bad taste; — we give dinners, that our guests may hereafter find fault with our cook or our cellar ; — we give parties, that three parts of the company may rail at their stupidity; — we dress, that our acquaintance may revenge themselves on our silks, by finding fault with our appearance ;— we marry ; if well, it was interest — if badly, it was insanity ; — we die, and even that is our own fault ; if we had but done so and so, or gone to Dr. such a one, the accident would not have happened."

"No illusions are so perfect as those of love — none, therefore, so pleasant."

"And also, like most indolent people, he easily yielded to any impression : his character may be summed up by saying, he would have made an exquisite woman."

"Change of opinion is like waltzing — very much the fashion, and very proper ; but the English have so many ridiculous prejudices, that they really do both as if they were doing something very wrong."

"It is very pleasant to follow one's inclinations ; but, unfortunately, we cannot follow them all. They are like the teeth sown by Cadmus ; they spring up, get in each other's way, and fight."

"Well, an obstinate temper is very disagreeable, particularly in a wife ; a passionate one very shocking in a child ; but, for one's own particular comfort, Heaven help the possessor of an irresolute one ! Its day of hesitation — its night of repentance — the mischief it does — the miseries it feels ! — its proprietor may well exclaim, "Nobody can tell what I suffer but myself!”"

"It is a wretched thing to pass one's life among those utterly incapable of appreciating us ; upon whom our sense or our sentiment, our wit or our affection, are equally thrown away : people who make some unreal and distorted picture of us — say it is our likeness, and act accordingly."

"Your weak animals are almost always cunning ;"

"— obstinacy is the heroism of little minds —"

"Thoughts rarely wander without an object ; and that object once found, they fix there with all the intensity which any thing of sentiment acquires in solitude or idleness."

"Absence is a trial whose result is often fatal to love ; but there are two sorts of absence. I would not advise a lover to stake his fortune or his feelings on the faith of the mistress whose absence is one of flattery, amusement, and that variety of objects so destructive to the predominance of one — at least not to trust an incipient attachment to such an ordeal ; but he may safely trust absence which is passed in loneliness, where the heart, thrown upon itself, finds its resource in that most imaginative faculty — memory."

"Every girl has a natural fancy for enacting the heroine — and, generally speaking, a very harmless fancy it is, after all."

"If there be two things in the world — to use a common domestic expression — enough to provoke a saint, it is, first to have your husband not enter into your feelings — (your feelings sound so much better than your temper) — and, in the second place, laughing at them."

"Surprise is the only power that works miracles now-a-days ; …"

"Nothing circulates so rapidly as a secret."

"General assertions, like general truths, are not always applicable to individual cases [; and]"

"[; and] though Fortune's wheel is generally on the turn, sometimes when it gets into the mud, it sticks there."

"Ah ! money is the true Aladdin's lamp ; and I have often thought the Bank of England is the mysterious roc's egg, whose movements are forbidden to mortal eye."

"How irksome, how wearying, to be doomed always to the society of those who are like people speaking different languages! It resembles travelling through the East, with a few phrases of lingua franca — just enough for the ordinary purposes of life — enow of words to communicate a want, but not to communicate a thought !"

"… indifference is but another of the illusions of youth : …"

"… the country owes much of its merit to being unknown."

"Spring and Morning are ladies that owe half their charms to their portrait-painters."

"[From Mr Morland]: … our present mode of education has too much of the forcing system in it. The forward child grows into the dogmatic youth, and it takes ten years of disappointment and mortification to undo the work of twenty. Nothing leads to such a false idea of self-importance as display. I dislike those railroads to information, because the labour of acquiring knowledge is even more valuable than the knowledge acquired. It is a great misfortune to children to be made of too much consequence."

"[From Lady Mandeville]: … we over-educate the memory, while the temper and the feelings are neglected, forgetting that the future will be governed much more by the affections than by the understanding."

"O for some German philosopher, with the perseverance of the African travellers, who seem to make a point of conscience to die on their travels, not, though, till the said travels are properly interred in quartos — with their perseverance, and the imagination of a poet to examine into the doctrine of sympathies ! And to begin with letters, in what consists the mysterious attraction no one will deny they possess ? Why, when we neither expect, hope, nor even wish for one, and yet when they are brought, who does not feel disappointed to find there are none for them? and why, when opening the epistle would set the question at rest, do we persevere in looking at the direction, the seal, the shape, as if from them alone we could guess the contents? What a love of mystery and of vague expectance there is in the human heart !"

"[From Lord Mandeville]: What will Lady Lauriston do without a daughter to marry ? She really must advertise for one."

"[From Mr Morland]: You all universally like the qualities in which you yourselves are deficient : the more you indulge in that not exactly deceit, which, in its best sense, belongs to your sex, the more you appreciate and distinguish that which is true in the character of man."

"What betraying things blushes are ! Like sealing wax in the juvenile riddle, a blush "burns to keep a secret.""

"We build our castles on the golden sand ; — the material is too rich to be durable."

"Women in black gowns, and drab-coloured shawls hung upon their shoulders as if they were pegs in a passage — men in coats something between a great-coat and a frock — strings of hackney-coaches which moved not — stages which drove along with an empty, rattling sound — and carts laden with huge stones, now filled Piccadilly."

"— it makes good the observation that a bystander sees more of the game than those who are playing ; —"

"But pleasures are always most delightful when we look back upon, or forward to them : …"

"No thoroughly occupied man was ever yet very miserable."

"… : people cannot be married without a clergyman — the milliner and the jeweller are equally indispensable."

"Any great change is like cold water in winter — one shrinks from the first plunge; and a lover may be excused who shivers a little at the transmigration into a husband."

"A new acquaintance was like a new book — and, as in the case of the book, it must be confessed she often arrived very quickly at the end."

"… imagination is as useful in keeping affection alive as the eastern monarch's fairy ring was in keeping alive his conscience."

"[From Mr Morland]: {of Wordsworth} —he is the most poetical of philosophers. Strange, that a man can be so great a poet, and yet deficient in what are poetry's two grand requisites, — imagination and passion."

"[From Mr Morland]: That a peculiar temperament is required for poetry, no one will deny; but what produces that temperament ? — scenery and circumstances certainly do not. I, for one, am content to leave the question with the longitude and the philosopher's stone."

"[From Lady Mandeville]: I always think national costumes invented for the express advantage of travellers."

"[From Mr Morland]: … the pleasures of travelling seem to me quite ideal. I dislike having the routine of my existence disarranged — I dislike early rising — I dislike had dinners — I dread damp beds — I like new books — I like society — I respect my cook, and love my arm-chair ; so I will travel through Italy in a chapter —"

"[From Lady Mandeville]: There are two readings of content — and mine would be, monotony."

"We differ from our ancestors in many things — in none more than in cases of sentiment. Formerly, it was your susceptible school-girl, "your novel-reading miss" — now, women only grow romantic after forty. Your young beauty calculates the chances of her Grecian nose, her fine eyes, and her exquisite complexion — your young heiress dwells on the claims of her rent-roll, or the probabilities of her funded property : it is their mothers who run away — their aunts who marry handsome young men without a shilling. Well, the prudence of youth is very like selfishness, and the romance of age very like folly."

"Alas ! oblivion is our moral death, and forgetfulness is the second grave which closes over the dead."

"Great misfortunes have at least their dignity to support them ; but the many and small miseries of life, how they do gall and wear away the spirit !"

"Strange, that one whose opinion we neither respect nor admit should yet have power to wound ! — not stranger, though, than that it should have power to please. One may live to be indifferent to everything but opinion. We may reject friendship which has often deceived us; renounce love, whose belief, once found false, leaves us atheists of the heart : we may turn from pleasures which have palled — from employments which have become wearisome ; but the opinion of our kind, whether for good or for evil, still retains its hold; that once broken, every social and moral tie is broken too — the prisoner then may go to his solitary cell — the anchorite to his hermitage — the last link with life and society is rent in twain."

"Ill news travel fast ; and Mrs. Arundel's marriage was like the sun in the child's riddle, for it went "round each house, and round each house, and looked in at every window.”"

"The first great principle of our religious, moral, civil, and literary institutions, is a dinner."

"The more imaginative love is, the more superstitious it must be : the belief of omens being past — that desire of the unattainable so inherent in our nature, and which shows itself in so many shapes — now, as far as regards prophecy, it takes another form, and calls itself presentiment ; …"

"I do not think imagination an indulgence at all to be permitted in our present state of society : very well for poets and painters — it is their business, the thing of all others not to be neglected ; but in the common construction of characters and circumstances it is an illusion quite at variance with the realities on which we are to act, and among which we are to live."

"Illusions are the magic of real life, and the forfeit of future pain is paid for present pleasure."

"I cannot agree with those romantic philosophers who hold ignorance to be bliss at any time ; but ignorance, when your listener laughs at what you say, without why or wherefore, is enough to enrage a saint. By the by, considering what an irascible race they were, the reputation of the saints for patience has been very easily acquired."

"The merit we are the first to discover, almost seems as if it were our own, and that, like a newly found country, it was to bear the name of the first finder."

"It is worth while to leave home, if it were only to enjoy being of so much consequence on your return."

"[From Lady Mandeville]: His mind divided ! Verily that is making two bites of a cherry."

"I cannot see why a taste for the country should be held so very indispensable a requisite for excellence; but really people talk of it as if it were a virtue, and as if an opposite opinion was, to say the least of it, very immoral."

"Curious, that of the past our memory retains so little of what is peculiarly its own. The book we have read, the sight we have seen, the speech we have heard, — these are the things to which it recurs, and that rise up within it. We remember but what can be put to present use. It is very extraordinary how little we recollect of hopes, fears, motives, and all the shadowy tribe of feelings ; or indeed, how little we think over the past at all. Memory is that mirror wherein a man "beholdeth himself, and goeth his way, and straightway forgetteth what manner of man he was. We are reproached with forgetting others : we forget ourselves a thousand times more. We remember what we hear, see, and read, often accurately : not so with what we felt — that is faint and uncertain in its record. Memory is the least egotistical of all our faculties."

"[From Edward Lorraine]: I think that either man's or woman's character stand in a relative position to each other, like the covered statue of Isis, whose veil mortal hand hath not raised. We never see each other but through the false mediums of passion, or affection, or indifference — all three equally bad for observation."

"An invidious epithet is always remembered and reapplied : …"

"… : stupidity is the masculine of silliness."

"He soon exhausted pleasure, and then reasoned upon it : he soon exhausted it, because he wanted that colouring enthusiasm which creates more than half of what it enjoys ; and he reasoned upon it, because his activity of mind, not having been employed on fancies, remained entire for realities."

"… whatever people in general do not understand, they are always prepared to dislike ; the incomprehensible is always the obnoxious."

"Books, works of art, the noble statue, the glorious picture, how rarely are any of these the subjects of conversation ? Few venture to speak on any topic that really interests them, for fear they should be led away by the warmth of speaking, and, by saying more than they intended, lay themselves open to the sarcasm which lies, like an Indian in ambush, ready to spring forth the moment the victim is off his guard. Take one instance among many. Beyond the general coarse and false compliment which it is held necessary to address with a popular author, and which is repaid by an affected and absurd indifference, what vein of conversation is afterwards started ? Assuredly something which interests neither : the mind of the one receives no impression — that of the other puts forth no powers. The natural face may be a thousand times more attractive, still a mask must be worn. No one has courage to be himself. We look upon others, and our eyes reflect back their images. It is the same with the mind. Even thus in society do we mirror the likeness of others. All originality being destroyed, our natural craving for variety asks some stimulant, and we are obliged to relieve the insipidity by bitters and acids. Who would dare to be eloquent in the face of a sneer ? or who express a sentiment which would instantly be turned to shame and laughter ? Ridicule is the dry-rot of society."

"Sentiment, by the by, is one of those ill-used words which, from being often misemployed, require a definition when properly applied. Sentiment is the poetry of feeling. Feeling weeps over the grave of the beloved — sentiment weeps, and plants the early flower and the green tree, to weep too."

"It may be questioned whether making pleasure a duty will add either to its flavour or its longevity."

"Mr. Trevyllian affected la gastronomie : he studied it as a science ; thus vanity assisted luxury — for what professor of any science but has the pride of art ? Nothing could be more eloquent than his disdain — unless it were his pity for the uncultivated palates that rejoiced in tender beefsteaks — mouths that champed at raw celery like horses at a bit — people who simply boiled their pease, and ate apples and pears, or, as he sweepingly phrased it, "other crude vegetables.""

"[From Lady Mandeville]: What ! still retaining your Utopian visions of female felicity ? To talk of our happiness ! — ours, the ill-used and oppressed ! You remind me of the ancient tyrant, who, seeing his slaves sink under the weight of their chains, said 'Do look at the indolent repose of those people !'"

"[From Mr Trevyllian]: {Example of sexual prejudice} That preference of white sauce to brown is a singular proof of female inferiority."

"[From Mr Trevyllian]: There are three things the wise man sedulously cultivates — his intellect, his affections, and his pleasures. Who will deny how much it brightens the intellect ? When does the mind put forth its powers ? when are the stores of memory unlocked ? when does wit 'flash from fluent lips ? ' — when but after a good dinner ? Half our friends are born of turbots and truffles."

"[From Edward Lorraine]: We are ourselves the stumbling-blocks in the way of our happiness. Place a common individual — by common, I mean with the common share of stupidity, custom, and discontent — place him in the garden of Eden, and he would not find it out unless he were told, and when told, he would not believe it."

"[From Mr Morland]: It is very difficult to persuade people to be happy in any fashion but their own. We run after novelty in little things — we shrink from it in great. We make the yoke of circumstance a thousand times heavier, by so unwillingly accommodating ourselves to the inevitable."

"[From Lady Mandeville]: This is truly a man's logic, 'making the worse appear the better reason.'"

"[From Mr Trevyllian]: Curiosity is its own suicide ; and what is love but curiosity ?"

"[From Edward Lorraine]: No sin in love is so great as inconstancy, because it unidealises it. The crime of sacrilege is not in the mere theft of the golden images from the high places — it is in afterwards applying them to base and common uses. Love and faith both require the ideal to make them holy."

"[From Lady Mandeville]: We never understand the full heinousness of a crime unless we commit it."

"[From Mr Trevyllian]: There is something absurd in vowing constancy in love. Love depends on impulses and impressions : now, over neither of these have we any control. The only security is, that we soon exhaust our impulses, and grow callous to impressions ; and the attachment has then become a habit, whose chains are, of all others, the most difficult to break."

"[From Mr Morland]: In this exaltation of constancy there is something of that self-deception which attends all our imaginings of every species of virtue. We make them so beautifully perfect, to serve as an excuse for not attaining thereunto. 'Perfection was not made for man.’"

"[From Mr Trevyllian]: ... truth is like the philosopher's stone, a thing not to be discovered, …"

"[From Lady Mandeville]: I hold that vanity is to love what opium is to the constitution, — exciting, but destroying."

"[From Mr Morland]: Look at the daily papers : to what eloquence do they attain when an affair of the heart becomes an affair of the police !"

"[From Mr Morland]: Not so with Life : in at least seven cases out of nine, people are placed by fortune to fulfil a destiny for which they are eminently unfitted by nature."

"[From Mr Morland]: We have no patriotism towards posterity ; and the selfish amusement of the present always has and always will outweigh the important interests of the future,— or else a law would long ago have passed, for every century to consign the production of its predecessor to the flames. Readers would benefit by the originality this would produce ; and writers would no longer have to complain that their predecessors had taken all their best ideas :"

"This is so like a man's scheme, — always expecting others to be more disinterested than himself !"

"—for, on an average, there is not one pleasant letter out of ten, and it is miserable to pass the night ruminating on the other nine. One really wants the spirits of the morning to support the coming in of the post."

"Why, with all our deep and unutterable sympathies with love, are we inclined to laugh at half its disappointments ?"

"Nothing exaggerates self-importance like solitude ; and perhaps because we have it not, then more than ever do we feel the want of sympathy : hopes, thoughts, these link themselves with external objects ; and it is the expression of that haunting desire of association, those vine-like emotions of the human heart which fasten on whatever is near, that give an interest like truth to the poet's fiction, who says that the mournful waters and the drooping trees murmur with his murmurs, and sorrow with his sorrows."

"A ghost-story is an avalanche, increasing in horror as it goes ; and, like an avalanche, one often brings on another."

"Our sympathy is never very deep unless founded on our own feelings; we pity, but do not enter into the grief we have never known :"

"Politeness, however, acts the lady's-maid to our thoughts ; and they are washed, dressed, curled, rouged, and perfumed, before they are presented to the public"

"It is amazing how much a thought expands and refines by being put into speech: I should think it could hardly know itself."

"Great part of his reputation rested on always choosing the subject his auditor was most likely to know nothing about. To young gentlemen he talked of love — to young ladies, of learning ; and we always think, what we do not comprehend must be something very fine : for example, he dilated to Emily on the music of Homer's versification, and the accuracy of Blackstone's deductions."

"— and half the speeches that have a run in society, only require malice to think them, and courage to utter them."

"Very young people soon get acquainted ; but then they must be very young. Few general subjects have much feminine attraction ; women are not easily carried, not exactly out of themselves (for selfishness is no part of the characteristic I would describe), but out of their circle of either interests, vanities, or affections. A woman's individuality is too strong to take much part in those abstract ideas which enter largely into masculine discussion. Ask a woman for an opinion of a book — her criticism will refer quite as much to the author as to his work. But, while on the subject of this "silent hour," what an unanswerable answer it is to those who calumniate the sex as possessing the preponderance of loquacity ! Men do talk much more than women. What woman ever stood and talked seven hours at or about a schoolmaster, as has been done ? What woman ever goes to charities, to vestries, &c. for the mere sake, it seems to me, of speaking ?"

"An able general is never without a resource,"

"— a Columbus of compliments, who held that your merits were new discoveries of his own, and you were to be surprised as well as pleased."

"Three armies might have been brought to combat with half the encouragement it took to bring the timid Matilda to the harp."

"We do now too much undervalue the influence of the imagination, which so much exalts the outward shew by which it is caught. We forget there is no sense so difficult to awaken as common sense."

"The imaginative gods of the Grecians are dethroned — the war like deities of the Scandinavians feared no longer; but we have set up a new set of idols in their place, and we call them Appearances."

"It is not of much use making up your mind very positively, for it is a thousand chances whether you ever do exactly what you intended."

"Sight-seeing gratifies us in different ways. First, there is the pleasure of novelty; secondly, either that of admiration or fault finding — the latter a very animated enjoyment."

"… those who live amongst sights are those who go the least to see them. … That which is always within our reach is always the last thing we take ; and the chances are, that what we can do every day, we never do at all."

"…. ; but young ladies are like the pieces of looking-glass let into chiffonniers and doorways — only meant to reflect the actions of others."

"[From Edward Lorraine]: What a pity that one forgets one's childish thoughts ; their originality would produce such an effect, properly managed ! It is curious to observe, that by far the most useful part of our knowledge is acquired unconsciously. We remember learning to read and write; but we do not remember how we learned to talk, to distinguish colours, &c The first thought that a child wilfully conceals is an epoch — one of life's most important — and yet who can recall it ?”"

"[From Mr Morland]: Of all false assertions that ever went into the world under the banner of a great name and the mail-armour of a well-turned phrase, Locke's comparison of the mind to a blank sheet of paper appears to me among the most untrue."

"[Between Edward Lorraine and Mr Morland]: Memory is a much stranger faculty than hope. Hope I can understand ; I can divide its mixture of desire and fear ; I know when I wish for any thing — and hope is the expectation of wishing. But memory is unfathomable and indefinite. Why do we so often forget what we the most desire to remember ? and why, without any volition of our own, do we suddenly recall things, people, places, we know not why or wherefore ? Sometimes that very remembrance will haunt us like a ghost, and quite as causelessly, which at another time is a blank. Alas for love ! whose very existence depends on a faculty over which we have so little control."

"You do not love if there is not some nameless fascination in the lightest act. What would be absurd, ridiculous, nay disagreeable, in another, has in the beloved a fairy spell. Love's is the true alchemy, turning what it touches to gold."

"[From Edward Lorraine]: Enthusiasm is the royal road to success. Now, call it fame, vanity — what you will — how strange and how strong is the feeling which urges on the painter or the author ! We, who are neither, ought to marvel less at the works produced than at the efforts made."

"[From Edward Lorraine]: Alas ! we talk of their vanity ; we forget that, in doling forth the careless commendation, or as careless sneer, we are bestowing but the passing thought of a moment to that which has been the work of an existence. Truly genius, like virtue, ought to be its own reward ; but it cannot. Bitter though the toil, and vain the hope, human exertion must still look to human approbation."

"[From Mr Morland]: Artists are generally an enthusiastic, unworldly race ; jealous of praise, as the enthusiastic almost always are ; and exaggerating trifles, as the unworldly always do. But society is no school for the artist : the colours of his mind, like those of his pictures, lose their brilliancy by being exposed to the open air."

"[From Mr Morland]: Genius is the Hannibal of the mind. The Alps, which to the common observer seemed insurmountable, served only to immortalise his passage. The imagination is to work with its own resources ; the more it is thrown on them, the better."

"It passed as weeks do when all is hurry, confusion, and packing — when there are a thousand things to do, and another thousand left undone. It is amazing how long such a week seems — events lengthen the time they number : it is the daily and quiet round of usual occupation that passes away so quickly ; it is the ordinary week which exclaims, "Good gracious ! it is Saturday again.”"

"The government of the mind is absolute, but nothing in its whole dominion does it modify as it does the face."

"… : the ridiculous is the reality of the sublime, …"

"We travel for many acquirements — health, information, amusement, notoriety, &c. &c. The advantages of each of these acquisitions have been eloquently set forth from the days of Ulysses, who travelled to seek his native land, to those of the members of the club who travel to seek anything else."

"People and places are usually flattered in their portraits."

"Rome, once the mistress, is now the caravanseray of the world."

"How duly do we appreciate the merit we ourselves discover and direct !"

"[From Lord Mandeville]: From religion, ..., they will learn the only true lesson of equality — the conviction that our destinies are not in our own hands ; they will see that no situation in life is without its share of suffering ; — and this perpetual reference to a higher power ought equally to teach the rich humility, and the poor devotion."

"[From Mr Morland]: I never knew any debatable point not maintained on both sides by unanswerable arguments ; …"

"[From Mr Morland]: ... the young man who acts in early life contrary to his feelings, will, in after years, act contrary to his principles of right."

"[From Edward Lorraine]: Nothing is so fortunate for mankind as its diversity of opinion: if we all thought alike — with you, for example — there would at once be an end to all mutual assistance and improvement."

"[From Mr Morland]: The subject on which we centre our whole attention acquires an undue importance. Devotion to one single object necessarily narrows the mind. The indifference of others is matter of angry surprise ; and the benefactor of mankind would often fain become its tyrant. We are violent in proportion to our self-exaggeration."

"[From Edward Lorraine]: At present we avoid warfare — ‘the good swords rust ;' but we are not more peaceably disposed than our ancestors — look at the gauntlet to be run by a successful author. Ingenuity is racked for abuse, and language for its expression : every body takes his success as a personal affront. I think the late invention of steel pens quite characteristic of the age."

"[From Edward Lorraine]: But in literature people ought not to be allowed to follow a fashion. A new idea is no sooner started, now-a-days, than it is run even to death. I think the good old Elizabethan plan of monopolies should be revived in favour of literature. An eminent author, in our time, is a species of mental Alexander; he erects a vast empire, out of which fifty small powers parcel little kingdoms and minor principalities."

"[From Edward Lorraine]: Imagination is to love what gas is to the balloon — that which raises it from earth."

"[From Mr Morland]: Love is followed by disappointment, admiration by mortification, and obligation by ingratitude."

"[From Mr Morland]: … every man has his motive. One man wants money, the next power, the third title; a fourth desires place for its distinction, a fifth for its influence; a sixth desires popular applause ; a seventh piques himself upon his eloquence, and will display it; an eighth upon his judgment, to which he will have you defer ; a ninth is governed by his wife ; a tenth adopts the opinions of his club ; the eleventh those of a favourite author; the twelfth acts upon some old prejudice which he calls a principle. There are a round dozen of motives for you."

"The first records of our young world were those of tears and blood ; its last records will be those of tears and blood also."

"What is Genius but an altar richly wrought in fine gold, and placed in the most sacred and glorious part of the marble temple ? but there the living victim is offered in sacrifice, and the wreath of flowers left to wither."

"There is something sublime in being out of humour with the whole world."

"It is a curious fact, how violent people get upon political questions, particularly if they are such as do not concern them."

"We talk of vanity, discontent, patriotism ; but the real first cause of the passion for politics is the love of talking, inherent in masculine nature."

"It is curious how much of its romantic character a country owes to strangers ; perhaps because they know least about it."

"We do not seem sufficiently aware of the beauty of uniformity, or else it is interfered with by our personal vanity. The truth is, that general taste is always good ; because, before it becomes general, it has been compared and corrected : but as for individual taste, the less we have of it the better."

"People take a traveller's understanding their language as a personal compliment."

"Hospitality is the virtue of an uncivilised state, because it is then a useful one. It is a wise moral dispensation, that those virtues are most prevalent which are most wanted."

"It is worth while to travel, if it be only to enjoy the excitement of some entirely new species of natural beauty."

"Courtesy and curiosity are very often at variance."

"The destruction wrought by time never oppresses the spirits as does that wrought by man."

"Inclination never wants an excuse — and, if one won't do, there are a dozen others soon found."

"Like the cards which form a child's plaything palace, our pleasures are nicely balanced one upon the other."

"The pleasure of change is opposed by that of habit ; and if we love best that to which we are accustomed, we like best that which is new."

"The time which passes pleasantly passes lightly ; days are remembered by their cares more than by their content; …"

"A little praise is good for a very shy temper — it teaches it to rely on the kindness of others."

"Much of the trouble we give ourselves is quite unnecessary — it matters very little where a good appetite finds its dinner. However, trouble is, like virtue, its own reward."

"I do not think childhood the happiest period of our life ; but its sense of happiness is peculiarly keen. Other days have more means and appliances of pleasure ; but then their relish is not so exquisite. It all, however, comes to the same in the long-run. The child has to learn the multiplication-table — the man has to practise it."

"Decision is easy where there is no choice."

"Small evils make the worst part of great ones : it is so much easier to endure misfortune than to bear an inconvenience."

"Genius has many misfortunes to encounter; but the worst that can befall it, is when it happens to be universal. When a whole world is before it from which to choose, it is rather difficult to decide."

"It is curious how little we speculate on what may be the impression we produce on others — unless, indeed, vanity comes into play, and then there is no bound to the speculation. Still, the general feeling is utter indifference."

"If not the most unreasonable — that would be saying too much — a girl in love is certainly the most unreasoning of human beings."

"The difference between good and bad intentions is this : — that good intentions are so very satisfactory in themselves, that it really seems a work of supererogation to carry them into execution ; whereas evil ones have a restlessness that can only be satisfied by action — and, to the shame of fate be it said, very many facilities always offer for their being effected."

"It is worth while to have an adventure, were it only for the sake of talking about it afterwards."

"He had been used to that greatest of mental pleasures — to have his thoughts often divined — always entered into."

"The bitterest cup has its one drop of honey."

"An old servant dearly loves a little authority — and as for the matter of that, who does not ?"

"Believing, as I do, that falling in love goes by destiny, and that, of all affairs, those of the heart are those for which there is the least accounting, I have always thought, that to give reasons for its happening, is throwing the said reasons away — a waste much to be deprecated in an age where reasons are in such great request. It is not beauty that inspires love — still less is it mind. It is not situation — people who were indifferent in a moonlight walk, have taken a fit of sentiment in Piccadilly. It is not early association — indeed, the chances are rather against the Paul and Virginia style. It is not dress —conquests have been made in curl-papers. In short — to be mythological in my conclusion — the quiver of Cupid hangs at the girdle of Fate together with her spindle and scissors."

"Not one person in a thousand is capable of a real passion — that intense and overwhelming feeling, before which all others sink into nothingness. It asks for head and heart — now many are deficient in both. Idleness and vanity cause, in nine cases out of ten, that state of excitement which is called being in love. I have heard some even talk of their disappointments, as if such a word could be used in the plural. To be crossed in love, forsooth — why, such a heart could bear as many crosses as a raspberry tart."

"Love is the Columbus of our moral world, and opens, at some period or other, a new hemisphere to our view."

"Yet there is a period in the lives of most, when the heart open its leaves, like a flower, to all the gentle influences ; — when one beloved step is sweet in its fall beyond all music, and the light of one beloved face is dear as that of heaven ; — when the thoughts are turned to poetry, and a fairy charm is thrown over life's most ordinary occurrences ; Hope, that gentlest astrologer, foretelling a future she herself has created; — when the present is coloured by glad yet softened spirits, buoyant, though too tender for mirth."

"Every fable has its moral ; and that of love is disappointment, weariness, or disgust. Young people would avoid falling in love, if — as some story-book observes — young people would but consider."

"What he said of heads may also be said of experience —there is a large stock on hand: but somehow or other, nobody's experience ever suits us except our own."

"Like many orators, he did not take into consideration, that a good argument is not always a good reason ; and that, unfortunately for the peace of society, and fortunately for debaters, there never was yet a contested point without excellent arguments on both sides of the question."

"The philosophy of atoms has some truth in it. What exceedingly small motives make the great whole of a fine action !"

"We always bear a dignified misfortune best."

"It is so very hard to exchange certainty for hope — to renounce to-day, in expectation of to-morrow."

"In partings those who go know not half the suffering of those who stay. In the one case, occupation strengthens, and novelty engages the mind."

"[From Lady Mandeville]: The ancients referred melancholy to the mind, the moderns make it matter of digestion—"

"How very unpleasant a few words can contrive to be !"

"Constancy is made up of a series of small inconstancies, which never come to any thing; and the heart takes credit for its loyalty, because in the long-run it ends where it began."

"… when a mind is once made up, it is very tiresome to have to unmake it."

"— one of those exquisite conceptions to which an artist has given the beauty of genius developed by the labour of a life — one of those forms, which the modeller may frame, and then die."

"Sculpture never seems to me like the representation of human life: its forms — pale, pure, and cold — have the shape, not the likeness of our nature. I always personify a spirit as a statue. Paintings, however idealised as to beauty, still give the bright eye, the rosy cheek, the glossy hair, we see daily. Portraits are but the mirrors of lovely countenances. Sculpture is the incarnation of beings whose state seems higher, because calmer, than our own. The divinities of Greece owed half their divinity to the noble repose with which their sculptors invested them. The characteristic of the picture is passion — that of the statue power."

"Strange it is that people (unless in the way of ostentation) never value the blessings they possess. But if life has a happiness over which the primeval curse has passed and harmed not, it is the early and long enduring affection of blood and habit."

"Domestic dissension is the sacrilege of the heart."

"[From Mrs Higgs {of Italy}]: Dear, dear, we shall have no dinners worth eating till we get to England. I quite long for our good Sunday smell of a piece of roast-beef and a Yorkshire pudding."

"Weak creatures that we are, for the body to overcome the mind as it does ! Beatrice slept that night long and soundly — the bitterness of sorrow, affection, and anxiety sank beneath fatigue. The awakening after such sleep is one of the most dreadful moments in life. A consciousness of something terrible is upon even the first sensation — a vague idea of the truth comes like the remembrance of a dream ; involuntarily the eyes close, as if to shut it out — the head sinks back on the pillow, as if to see whether another dream would not be a happier one. A gleam of light, a waving curtain, rouses the sleeper; the truth, the whole terrible truth, flashes out — and we start up as if we never could dream again."

"We waste a great deal of thought."

"Time, which we have no means of reckoning, is so dreadfully long."

"Strange, the affection which clings to inanimate objects — objects which cannot even know our love ! But it is not return that constitutes the strength of an attachment."

"Anticipation is a bad sleeping draught."

"Even in the very worst of situations, no woman is quite insensible to her personal attractions, or would willingly look worse than she can help."

"How odd it is, that any secret or anxiety of which we are ourselves aware, we immediately think every one else suspects !"

"If it were not for romance, reality would be unbearable : nevertheless, they are very different things."

"Jealousy ought to be tragic, to save it from being ridiculous."

"[From Lord Mandeville]: Wisdom is only knowledge well applied."

"There is a most characteristic difference in the way a man and a woman take to introduce a desired topic : the one, like a knight, claps spurs to his steed, and rides straight into the field ; the other, like an Indian, fights behind cover, and watches her opportunity ; the knight often misses the enemy, the Indian never."

"How very satisfactory those discussions must be, where each party retains their own opinion !"

"There are a great many false things in this world, but none are so false as appearances."

"[From Lord Mandeville]: Travelling is as much a passion as love, poetry, or ambition."

"[From Edward Lorraine]: The imagination makes the delight of the exertion which itself supports."

"[From Edward Lorraine]: I thank you for reinforcing my favourite theory, which maintains that a love of talking is the great feature of the present time. Steam is not half so much its characteristic as speechifying.""

"[From Madame de Ligne]: Who but an Englishman would have thought of telling a woman she would not be listened to ?"

"[From Edward Lorraine]: I do not go quite the length of the modern philosopher, who asserts that our nature is not wholly sophisticated so long as we retain our juvenile predilection in favour of apple-dumpling; but I do think that the affection which clings to the home of our childhood — the early love which lingers round the flowers we have sown, the shrubs we have planted — is, though a simple, a sweet and purifying influence on the character. I cannot help thinking, that the drooping bough, the fairy-like rose, lend something of their own grace to one who has loved them and made them her companions."

"[From Lady Mandeville]: In order to give an idea of beauty unspoiled by art, the heroine's hat falls off, and her hair falls down, while she looks lovely in dishevelled ringlets. Now, they quite forget two things : first, that though the hat may come off, it is by no means a necessary consequence that the hair should come down too ; and, secondly, if it did, the damsel would only look an untidy fright."

"The difference that there is between a woman's love and a man's ! His passion may lead him, in the first instance, to act in opposition to opinion — but its influence is only suspended ; and soon a sneer or a censure wounds his pride and weakens his love. A woman's heart, on the contrary, reposes more on itself ; and a fault found in the object of her attachment is resented as an injury : she is angered, not altered."

"How little do even our most intimate friends know of us ! There is an excitement about intense misery which is its support : light sufferings spring to the lips in words, and to the eyes in tears; but there is a pride in deep passion which guards its feelings from even the shadow of a surmise."

"The proof that keen feelings are incompatible with happiness is shown in the fact, that the young commit suicide, the old never."

"The great happiness-secret, after all, is division. How dare we, in this vain, fleeting world, concentrate our whole freight of interest in one frail bark ?"

"Perhaps, from an innate desire of justification, sorrow always exaggerates itself. Memory is quite one of Job's friends; and the past is ever ready to throw its added darkness on the present."

"But Life's great circumstances turn on its small ones. Could we see into the causes of all important events, we should often find that some small and insignificant trifle has been, as it were, their fate."

"Experience teaches, it is true ; but she never teaches in time. Each event brings its lesson, and the lesson is remembered ; but the same event never occurs again."

"But she forgot that when the very gentle do nerve themselves for action, it is under some strong and sudden impulse, and they then act usually in opposition to the whole of their previous bearing. Opposition is too new not to be carried into obstinacy. It has cost them so much to form a resolution, that they adhere to it with all the pertinacity felt for an uncommon and valuable acquisition."

"There are two motives to every action, and two versions of every story."

"[A gastronome ought to fast sometimes on principle]; We appreciate no pleasures unless we are occasionally debarred from them. Restraint is the golden rule of enjoyment."

"Our first love-letter — it is an epoch in our life — a task equally delightful and difficult. No lover ever yet addressed his mistress, and no mistress ever yet addressed her lover, without beginning the gentle epistle some dozen times at least. There is so much to be said, and which no words seem exactly to say — the dread of saying too much is so nicely balanced by the fear of saying too little. Hope borders on presumption, and fear on reproach. One epithet is too cold — another we are scarcely entitled to use. Timidity and tenderness get in each other's way. The letter is sent, and immediately a thousand things are recollected — those, too, we were most anxious to write — and every sentence that occurs is precisely the one we wish we had omitted. The epistle is opened and read — with a little wonder, most probably not a little vexation, at its constrained style. True it is that no first love-letter ever yet gave satisfaction to either writer or reader. Its delight is another question."

"How easy it is to be generous about the inconstancy which in our secret self we hold to be impossible !"

"We have no right to expect more from others than we ourselves are inclined to give. If we were to love every one we meet, the very nature of love would be destroyed. Convenience, not affection, is the bond of society. The world is often taxed with falsehood, when, in reality, we should blame our own expectations. Courtesy from our acquaintance, kindness from our friends, attachment from those who make the small circle we love, is all we have a right to expect — and in nine cases out of ten it is what we really experience."

"Only those who have lived weeks and months in, as it were, a moral desert, among beings with whom they had not a feeling or a thought in common, with only a cold and comfortless knowledge of superiority to console them for being utterly unappreciated — who have felt words rise to the lip, and then checked them from a conviction that they would not be comprehended — they, and they alone, can enter into the pleasure of speaking and being understood, and making conversation a medium not only to express wants, but ideas."

"It is the unhappy love — the betrayed, or the unrequited — that shrouds itself in silence. But in the girl, young and affectionate, out of the fulness of the heart the mouth speaketh."

"It is a common thing to jest at the rapid growth and exaggeration of girlish friendships. Strange, how soon we forget our youth ! True, they do not last. What very simple, serene, and sincere sentiment in this world ever did ? We have soon scarcely affection enough for even our nearest and dearest. Instead of laughing at such early attachment, we might rather grieve over the loss of the unsuspicious kindliness that gushed forth in feelings now gone from us for ever."

"A patriot might take his best lesson of disinterestedness from feminine affection."

"True it is, that we judge of others' actions by our own — but then we do not make the same allowances."

"We ask for miracles : is not our own blindness a perpetual miracle ? We live amid the blessings that Christianity has diffused through the smallest occurrences of our daily life ; — we feel hourly within us that pining for some higher state, whose promise is in the Gospel; — our weakness daily forces us to look around for support ; — we admit the perfection of the Saviour's moral code; — we see the mighty voice of prophecy, that spoke aloud of old upon the mountains, working year by year their wonderful fulfilment, — and yet we believe not, or, if we believe, we delay acting upon that belief."

"The principal events in life are generally unexpected."

"Advice generally does require some very powerful argument to be taken."

"Many were the disguises he assumed. At one time he even meditated cutting off his mustaches ; — that would have been "the unkindest cut of all.”"

"The truth is, the inhabitants of that languid and luxurious city wanted some little variety ; and the minister (your great men have each their weak point) supported a favourite actress in the range of first-rate characters in the Opera — supported her against the united musical opinion of Naples. One night she sang worse than ever ; and the next morning half the city rose up, demanding liberty and a new prima donna. A body of the lazzaroni also insisted on a lower price for lemonade, for the revolutionary movement was not serious enough for macaroni."

"Confidence is its own security."

"Essays are written on causes — they might be more pithily turned on consequences."

"… she could not but perceive the absurdity of the small vanities which wore a giant's armour till they fancied they had a giant's power."

"By-the-by, what an ugly phrase "making love" is — as if love were a dress or a pudding."

"— for nothing is so electric as the kindness of sympathy —"

"Who dare look into the secret recesses of their soul, and number their crimes of thought ?"

"[… watching the hands move round the face of Beatrice's watch.]: God of heaven ! to think what every segment of that small space involves! — how much of human happiness and misery — of breath entering into our frail tenement of mortality, and making life — or departing from it, and making death — are in such brief portions of eternity! How much is there in one minute, when we reflect that that one minute extends over the world !"

"Time destroys not half so ruthlessly as man."

"Strange that people should use so many more words than their intelligence needs !"

"… no lady's constancy is the worse for being tried."

"We hold not now the belief of old : we know that in their mystic characters nought of our destiny is written. Philosophy has taught a lowly lesson to our pride ; and no longer do we single out some bright and lovely planet, and ask of it our fate ; till, from asking, we almost hope that Night will send on her winds some answer, whose words are from the mystic scroll of our destiny. Foolishness of mortality ! to deem that the glorious and the lofty star, which looked not on us who watch its beauty, should have been placed in that mighty firmament to shed its radiance on our birth, and chronicle in its bright page our sin, our suffering, and our sorrow ! — and when have not these three words told the story of our life ? And yet this linking that vain life to the lofty and the lovely, — what is it but one of the many signs of the spirit within us — that which day crushes, but kills not — that spirit which looks into space with the eyes of longing, which spurns the course it treads, and says to earth, "Thou art my dwelling, but not my home ? ""

"Night is beautiful in itself, but still more beautiful in its associations : it is not linked, as day is, with our cares and our toils, the business and the littleness of life. The sunshine brings with it its action : we rise in the morning, and our task is before us ; but night comes, and with it rest. If we leave sleep, and ask not of dreams forgetfulness, our waking is in solitude, and our employment is thought. Imagination has thrown her glory around the midnight — the orbs of heaven, the silence, the shadows, are steeped in poetry. Even in the heart of a crowded city, where the moonlight fell but upon pavement and roof, the heart would be softened, and the mind elevated, amid the loneliness of night's deepest and stillest hours ; — in the country the effect is still more impressive. We accustom ourselves to look upon the country as more pure, more free, more happy, than the town ; and it is from the wood and the field, the hill and the valley, that poetry takes that imagery which so imperceptibly mingles with all our excited moods."

"There is something melancholy in most natural sounds — the murmur of the sea — the dropping of water — the many voices of the wind, from that which only scatters a rose, to that which levels mast and flag with the wave ; but Nature has no sound more melancholy than that rainy tone among the leaves : you listen, and then look, as if the shower were descending; but your extended hand catches not the drops, and the bough which is blown against your face leaves no trace of moisture behind. We live in an age of fact, not fiction ; — for every effect is assigned some simple and natural cause; — we dream no dreams of spiritual visitings ; and omens are fast sinking into the disbelief of oracles : else what a mystical language is that of the leaves!"

"The great reason why the pleasures of childhood are so much more felt in their satisfaction, is, that they suffice unto themselves."

"Hope destroys pleasure; …"

"Affections are as passing as the worthless life they redeem ; and the attempt to give them memory, when their existence is no more, has often more of laughter in it than of tears."

"The winding-up of a novel is like winding up a skein of silk, or casting up a sum — all the ends must be made neat, all the numbers accounted for, at last. Luckily, in the closing chapter a little explanation goes a great way ; and a character, like a rule of morality, may be dismissed in a sentence."

"Toil is the portion of day, as sleep is that of night; but if there be one hour of the twenty-four which has the life of day without its labour, and the rest of night without its slumber, it is the lovely and languid hour of twilight."

"Strange mystery of our nature, that those in whom genius developes itself in imagination, thus taking its most ethereal form, should yet be the most dependent on the opinions of others !"

"[Guido] 'I do believe there is no existence so content as that whose present is engrossed by employment, and whose future is filled by some strong hope, the truth of which is never proved.'"

"There are some moments, the hues of which are like those on the wing of a butterfly — a touch brushes them away."

"There are words to paint the misery of love, but none to paint its happiness ; that childish, glad, and confiding time, to which youth gave its buoyancy and hope its colours. Its language repeated, ever seems exaggerated or foolish ; albeit there are none who have not thought such sounds "honey-sweet" in their time. The truth is, we never make for others the allowance we make for ourselves ; and we should deny even our own words, could we hear them spoken by another."

"THE history of a minute — why, it would give a bird's-eye view of every possible variety in human existence. Wonderful the many events that are happening together — life and death — joy and sorrow— the great and the mean — the common and the rare — good and evil — are all in the record of that brief segment of time."

"... — for nothing is more mournful than man's work and man's skill going to ruin for want of man's care — ..."

"[From Sir Robert Evelyn]: Opinion should guide in public affairs, not feeling. Opinion is grounded on circumstance, on observation, and on reflection. Feeling acts from impulse, which sees but half. Excitement leads to enthusiasm, that moral intoxication, whose effects seem incredible to the sober, while the influence which produces the extravagance appears more extraordinary than the act itself."

"Perhaps there is no moment when beloved objects are so much beloved, as on the return from a long absence. … Assuredly meeting after absence is one of — ah, no ! — it is life's most delicious feeling."

"It is wonderful how some words ever were invented, for they express what does not exist—confidence is among the number; confidence is what no human being ever really had in another."

"We talk of the influence of education — in what does it consist ? Here were two with the same blood flowing in their veins, born under the same roof, nursed by the same mother, playmates in the same nursery, surrounded by the same scenes, pursuing the same studies, subject to the same rules, rewarded by the same indulgences — never till the age of eighteen having been parted for a day; and yet were these two as opposite as if they had never known one circumstance in common."

"That certain sign of intense selfishness — he never gave any one credit for a good motive, for he believed no one better than himself."

"Who has not observed in the daily intercourse of domestic life, that the very subject we have been striving to avoid, or planning to disclose, is sure to defeat our best-laid scheme, and start up before us when least expected?"

"[Of Sir Robert Evelyn]: [He might have said, that] if there be one habit more than another the dry-rot of all that is high and generous in youth, it is the habit of ridicule."

"I cannot love evergreens — they are the misanthropes of nature. To them the spring brings no promise, the autumn no decline ; they are cut off from the sweetest of all ties with their kind—sympathy. They have no hopes in common, but stand apart—very emblems for the fortunate and worldly man, whose harsh temper has been unsoftened by participating in general suffering, existing alone in his unshared and sullen prosperity. I will have no evergreens in my garden ; when the inevitable winter comes, every beloved plant and favourite tree shall droop together — no solitary fir left to triumph over the companionship of decay."

"[Robert Evelyn to his brother]: {Of Italy} What is the result of the exclusive privilege of one class, and the hereditary bondage of another, and the ignorance of both — what but cruelty, indolence, and debasing superstition ? … the slightest encroachment of the powerful, are not matters to be neglected — such are the first steps of tyranny. Woe betide the people who allow such invasion on their freedom to gain courage from endurance, or strength from time !"

"Frankness and confidence belong to youth ; and where experience comes too soon, it brings but half knowledge. The conviction of much evil in the heart should be learned at a later period, when we shall be aware also of much good."

"Time, of which so little has been measured, seems so very long — we soon learn the worldly lesson, that friends are easily replaced, and still more easily forgotten."

"[From Francisco di Carrara]: … gold is the earthly deity, to whom is intrusted the destinies of humanity. It is power, it is pleasure, it is love ; for even affection may be bought by gratitude. What can a king give to his bravest but wealth ? How can the lover surround the loved with the lovely but with wealth ? Nay, will it not,[“ added he, with a scarce perceptible sneer, “]buy even salvation from our holy church ? There is only one thing on earth more glorious, and that is science ; …"

"But, alas ! those who are heirs of the future, destined to fill the earth with the immortal and the beautiful, what is their share in the present? the sad and the weary path — the bowed down and broken heart ! … But the young look to the goal, not to the road ; and well it is for them so to do ; they would never reach it but for such onward gaze."

"The results of this feminine interference were inevitable — vacillation, absurdity, and profligacy. The northern and southern hemispheres are not more divided than those allotted to man and woman — public and private life. There is no period of history which records the authority of the gentler sex without also recording its injurious effects. Leaving out the darker shades of the picture, are not impulse and sentiment the two mainsprings of all female action ?"

"Consistency is a human word, but it certainly expresses nothing human."

"[From D'Argenteuil]: … a man's circumstances must be desperate before he attempt to mend them by marriage."

"Ah ! hope fulfilled is but a gentler word for disappointment."

"[From Francis Evelyn]: ... who can have a miser's treasure, and not guard it with a miser's care ?"

"Ay, love teaches many lessons to a woman ; but its last and worst must be when she learns to know that it is not eternal— that it can depart, and leave a scar never to be effaced, and a void never to be filled."

"Nothing at first frames such false estimates as an imaginative temperament. It finds the power of creation so easy, the path it fashions so actual, that no marvel for a time hope is its own security, and the fancied world appears the true copy of the real. How much of disappointment — what a bitter draining of the cup of mortification to the dregs — does it take, to sober down the ardour, and chain the winged thoughts of a mind so constituted! Let any, now perhaps staid with care, and grave with many sorrows, but who once indulged in the romance born of enthusiasm and ignorance — let them recall the visions in which their youth delighted, while they smile at their folly, or sigh over their sweetness."

"... love cares not for distinctions ; but friendship cannot exist without equality."

"Good heavens ! the isolation of a crowd — that bitter blending of solitude and shame, when you fancy every one that passes casts on you an invidious or scornful glance, and yet are perfectly aware that they do not care — scarcely know— whether you are a human being like themselves ! It is in vain to say this is over-sensitiveness ; weakness though it be, it is very universal."

"Now, if there be one thing in the world more provokingly insolent than another, it is a personal compliment from a stranger, whom you consider to have not even the right of speaking to you."

"But a thoroughly unselfish temper is singularly alive to the feelings of others."

"But ill-nature is inevitable in those who "season their discourse with personal talk"."

"[From Marie Mancini]: I believe the pleasures of childhood, being translated, means the comfits and confections with which we were regaled."

"[From Marie Mancini]: I think that great science, the science of grace, which I consider one of the fine arts, may be displayed in eating a bunch of grapes. First, there is the stalk to be poised in one hand, then the small fingers are to be put in motion while picking the berries of the purple fruit one by one ; then a pretty eagerness may be evinced, and a half smile shows at once your teeth and your dimples ; and all this without that constant suspicion of display which attends your bending over a lute."

"There was some curiosity, too, in it ; for those who depend much on others for their amusement are always curious, especially when conversation is a great staple of entertainment. People are apt to mistake this, and fancy the attention given to their details is a proof of the interest taken in themselves ; it is merely that their auditors are attracted by novelty."

"We dread the future, unless it comes upon us imperceptibly;— whenever we anticipate, unless under some strong excitement of joy, we always fear. There are so many dangers, so many disappointments, and so many sorrows, ready to beset the human path, that we cannot but expect some at least to fall to our lot."

"Generally speaking, we are incredulous of the good fortune of our friends, and, even though loving them, undervalue their qualities ; the success of our greatest intimates takes us by surprise."

"Well, memory is a very comfortable thing, usually adapting itself to the prejudices of the present."

"It is singular the charm that youth flings over both its exaggeration and its selfishness — perhaps they are pardoned for their very unconsciousness. Its expectations are unreasonable; but they are entertained in such good faith, that we first envy and then excuse the state of mind which admits them, and forgive their present folly, from our conviction of their coming disappointment. It is our own sense of superiority — the conscious superiority of knowledge, dear bought by experience, that makes us thus charitable. In youth, too, selfishness is divested of its most obnoxious part — its calculation ; it seems thoughtlessness— again we pity, pardon, and fancy that amendment which never comes."

"[From Madame de Mercœur (Henriette)]: The truth is, ma mignonne, we have nothing else to do — talking is the business of the idle. We do not talk out of the careless gaiety of the heart, which indulges its hopes, or expresses its feelings — we talk for amusement ; we are not interested in the doings of others, but we are entertained — always supposing, as the narrator may very well contrive, there is something a little absurd in them. We live together in society — strangers, rivals, and enemies, hiding the envy and hate which it would be impolitic to exhibit. We care nothing for each other; society could not exist a day now, did the dislike or the indifference rise to the surface. Talking is an ingenious contrivance for hiding all this. An agreeable compliment conceals carelessness ; a pointed phrase gives vent to many a suppressed emotion ; and we can veil our perfect disregard to what people feel, by a most studied attention to what they say. I can assure you, talking is more than an amusement — it is a necessity."

"… ; but there is no mind, however worldly, without some ideal enjoyment ; …"

"There is an inexpressible charm to politic and care-worn age in the hopes which can never more be its own, and the illusions which can never again lend a grace to the beaten path of existence. It is memory that makes the old indulgent to the young."

"It is the man who is feared — not the man who is loved — that succeeds in the world. Refuse a favour, and all your gracious smiles, your kind words, aye, and even your really kind feelings, are utterly forgotten. But be necessary ; let men have aught to hope from you ; forward in any way their interests — and it matters not how you do it ; be harsh, abrupt, insolent, and it will only be "your way." People would, to be sure, rather obtain their object by trampling upon you ; but sooner than not obtain it, they will let you trample upon them. Civility is not only troublesome, but it is waste. To vary the old simile, people in general are like sweet herbs — they require crushing, not for their sakes, but for your own."

"The day passed away in that hurry which makes it seem so short, and in the many little cares, so few of which ever answer their purpose, and which yet appear so indispensable to the feminine affection from which they generally emanate."

"Absence, like every other pang, weakens by repetition ; the friend who has once returned in safety may return so again ; we soon draw precedents from the past. She had to say farewell for the first time, and whatever we do not know, we always exaggerate."

"The bustle of a departure suspends everything but itself;"

"The great popularity of the Stuarts — certainly more allied to personal causes than we can at present calculate — is a curious fact. It was not one of those feelings drawn from hoar antiquity, when habit has become religion. No — their ascension to the throne was of recent occurrence. Neither were they grafted into the heart by that enthusiasm which, more than all others, dazzles and delights, viz., military renown. No victories, no conquests, excited the imagination, and confounded theirs and the glory of England together. Their reigns had been most pacific, and their few warlike attempts unsuccessful ; and yet what devotion and attachment they inspired ! — fortune, liberty, and life, were yielded, and joyfully, in their cause. Wrongs were forgiven ; violated privileges and outraged laws forgotten ; and nothing but the still mightier spirit of fanaticism could have been opposed with any success to the spirit of loyalty. It was Charles's bigotry that cost him his crown. If he had given up the bishops, uncurled his hair, and spoken through his nose, he might have been an absolute monarch in all but name. As it was, he contrived to die a martyr, and to be mourned with a degree of personal affection which one, now-a-days, scarcely expects from the nearest and dearest friends."

"The appearance of your lover — known to be such — among your intimate friends, is embarrassing enough to any girl, who anticipates their remarks and foresees their railleries."

"Now, one may be very well content to renounce a lover, but it a very disagreeable to have him taken away."

"Their faults grew suddenly perceptible, and their absurdities an unfailing subject of mimicry. All these, in his hands, became singularly amusing. Francesca, who had little knowledge, and no envy, of the individuals so relentlessly caricatured, could not help being entertained. While their more intimate friends, whose competitors they were, who had a thousand small jealousies to be gratified, and divers little grudges almost unconsciously treasured up, placed no bounds to their encouragement. Still, it was a mirth that left, as sarcasm always does, its doubt and its depression. Human nature avenges itself by suspicion. First, there comes the internal and unerring whisper, As others have been used, so shall we ; and, secondly, we are in our hearts a little ashamed of our own enjoyment; we feel how contemptible it is, thus to revel in and exult over our neighbour's faults, follies, and misfortunes. Our very selfishness rebukes us."

"The superstition which once taught us to believe that prayer and penance brought down their blessing on some beloved one, was at least a kindly one. The affections of earth grew at once more tender and more spiritual, thus elevated and purified by an intercourse with heaven. The court was dissipated, worldly, false, — even as human nature has ever been from the beginning, and will be even unto the end; but there, also, human nature asserted its better part, and its deeper feelings and had its higher hopes. Many a young and lovely woman, whose feet knew but the pleasant paths of prosperity, and whose ear was familiar but with the voice of the flatterer, would voluntarily offer up a portion of her time, as her holiest sacrifice ; and on the straw pallet, and in the serge robe, take a profound lesson of the vanities which made up ordinary existence. To these vanities, it is true, they returned ; but surely not without a stronger humility, and some thoughts which even in the world, were God's own."

"Perhaps there is not a situation in the world so confidential as pacing up and down some shady walk, arm in arm. The freedom of that freest element, the air, communicates itself to the thoughts ; the green obscurity of the closing branches over head reassures timidity ; the motion gives its own activity, and dissipates the nervous restlessness ever attendant on excitement. Your face is necessarily a little averted from your companion's, though not enough to prevent your marking the attention given. Then the chance which led to your choice of subject was so accidental, the discourse has proceeded so gradually, that restraint has melted away from the lip, and reserve from the heart, almost before the speaker is aware that the secret soul has found its way in words."

"Only those who have looked hopelessly upon life, and turned again to the restless and gloomy depths of their own heart with a despair which is as the shadow of the valley of death, — only they can know the peace that is of heaven, and the faith that looks beyond the portals of the grave."

"Nothing more truly proves that life is but a trial — than the pleasures which depart, the sense of enjoyment which deadens, and the disappointments which spring up at every step in our pilgrimage. Could life preserve its illusions, who would be fit to die ? Vanity of vanities is written on this side of the grave, but that we may more clearly discern that on the other shines the hope of immortality."

"We talk of youth as our happiest season, because, perhaps, we do not begin to moralise upon it till it has been long past. The present sorrow always exceeds its predecessors — not so the present joy ; comparison exaggerates the one, while it diminishes the other ; and people talk of their youth as if it had not been a period of feverish sensitiveness, awkward embarrassments, many heart burnings, and an utter want of that self-reliance which alone can ensure content. It is folly to dwell on any season's peculiar happiness ; each might in turn be weighed in the balance, and found wanting."

"… ; for in truth gaiety must make some small appeal to our vanity before it is enjoyed."

"One would think that, in society, beauty, instead of lying on the surface, was in the mine, and required discovery ; the majority would never discover the loveliness of the Venus de Medici, unless it were pointed out to them."

"… ; however, like most proofs of faith, it was to be put off as long as possible."

"She had all the faults peculiar to very weak people — faults which are of the meanest order ; violent, for it requires strength of mind to curb emotion; obstinate, for with the obstinate opinion is made up of habit and conceit ; and cunning for cunning is the genius of the fool."

"[From the ex-Queen Christina of Sweden]: I am persuaded that war was always meant to be the one great luxury of the human race. War calls out all our good qualities ; courage teaches a man to respect himself — and self-respect is at once the beginning and the guarantee of excellence. Besides, a campaign teaches patience, generosity, and exertion. So much for the morale; and as to the enjoyment, pardieu ! I can imagine nothing beyond the excitement of leading a charge of cavalry."

"Well — audacity, oddity, and flattery, are the three graces which wake their way in modern society."

"Even in our time, when they are so many in number — things of morning, noon, and night occurrence — a letter is a delight. We never hear the postman's knock without a vague sort of hope that it is for us. A letter, too, is one of the few mysteries that yet remain — a small and a transitory one, but still a mystery, though but of a moment. We have to open it. If these are a pleasure even now, what must they have been when an epistle was an event in a life, and when rarely any but a beloved hand traced the characters ?"

"Francesca's was a grievance of which most of her sex have to complain ; a man's letter is always the most unsatisfactory thing in the world. There are none of those minute details which are such a solace to feminine anxiety ; the mere fact of writing always seems sufficient to content a masculine conscience."

"The imagination shuns to reveal its workings, unless it can clothe them in some lovely and palpable shape, and create into existence the high romance, the mournful song, the animated canvas, or the carved marble ; …"

"[From the ex-Queen Christina of Sweden]: Certainly it is pleasant to appreciate one's own perfections ; it puts one on good terms with others, by first being on such with ourselves."

"A lover owes his mistress a little jealousy. Indifference to the homage she receives may show reliance, but it is a bad compliment."

"None but worldly people appreciate simplicity."

"There is a story somewhere of an eastern king, whose delight it was to assemble his subjects in a glittering hall, where they were crowned with roses, and drank the purple wine from cups of gold ; but beneath them were caverns and chains. Suddenly, the floor gave way, and the guests were precipitated into the darkness below, there to meditate at leisure over their former blind enjoyment. Human life is just such a tyrant — the pleasure hides the pain ; but not long — soon, very soon, are we precipitated into the depths of experience and regret !"

"Voiture belonged to a race of poets essentially French, who sacrificed to the Graces instead of the Muses ; to whom Cupid, with his wings and arrows, was the ideal of love, and whose art of poetry consisted in epigram, tournure, readiness, and facility."

"But the passion which gives its deep and melancholy tone to our English imaginative literature was unknown across the channel. Feeling never got beyond sentiment; and that bien arrangé. The heart's faith was but la galanterie — a term, by the bye, which our word gallantry does not translate."

"[From the ex-Queen Christina of Sweden]: Ah ! women like to have desperate things done on their account ; besides, people in love never calculate on probabilities."

"Like most persons utterly unused to deception, she could not imagine how it was to be managed ; and her thoughts conjured up every probable and improbable embarrassment that might occur."

"Ah ! misfortune ought to have sufficient self-respect for solitude."

"It was curious to observe the many indications of character called forth by the spirit of gambling so unexpectedly evoked. Some pressed forward ; others hung back, as if they feared to tempt their fate without some effort at propitiation, in the way of "muttered vow and inward prayer." While one would take up a sealed billet with affected carelessness — belied, however, by the anxious eye — another could not conceal the flushed cheek and the trembling hand."

"[From the ex-Queen Christina of Sweden]: {of Rome} Yet, you must admit, that the past, with its gathered glories of many ages, exceeds the past which has only to-day?"

"Her education, it is true, had preserved her from much of the ignorant belief of her country ; but, whatever the head may be, the heart is always superstitious."

"… ; she had already learned that leading lesson of society, namely, that of curbing your first impulses."

"There is something peculiarly attractive to a woman in any display of strong emotion, though she has herself no part in it."

"No person is much in any particular room without having a favourite seat in it;"

"— nothing is more painful than to have a kindly anxiety treated as curiosity."

"'Tis pity for those whose standard of love is high and ideal ; for them are prepared the downfall and the disappointment. The heart is the true sensitive plant — revolting at a touch."

"The ear long accustomed to, and therefore on its guard against, dissimulation, often catches the fact from slight indications which would pass unnoticed by the common observer."

"… ; a first lover was welcome rather as an omen of future triumph than for his own sake. The sentiment of such a heart is dew, that exhales with the earliest sunbeam."

"An idol must be picked to pieces before it is discovered to be but wood and stone."

"Injustice is so revolting to the young — they hear of it, they think of it, they believe in its existence, but always as of that which cannot affect themselves. It is a bitter lesson that which first brings it home."

"No marvel that we regret our youth. Let its bloom, let its health, let its pleasures depart, could they but leave behind the singleness and the innocence of the happy and the trusting heart. The lessons of experience may open the eyes; but, as in the northern superstition, they only open to see dust and clay, where they once beheld the beauty of palaces."

"The first appreciation of one's own face and figure is a very delightful feeling ; and as the youth outgrows the boy, it seems as if so much lost time had to be made up."

"Memory has many conveniences, and, among others, that of foreseeing things as they have afterwards happened."

"Truly, society is like a large piece of frozen water ; there are the rough places to be shunned, the very slippery ones all ready for a fall, and the holes which seem made expressly to drown you. All that can be done is to glide lightly over them. Skaiting well is the great art of social life."

"No entertainment, however brilliant, to which you merely go, can at all equal the delights of one where you have assisted from the original idea of the giving to the actual accomplishment of its being given. Your taste has been consulted, and your self-love enlisted in its cause; your advice has been asked, and, consequently, you have a personal interest in its success. Your time has been taken up by a thousand details — and occupation is the life of time."

"Enjoyment is the least descriptive of all feelings ; …"

"I believe there are few who have not, even in their gladdest hours, felt how nearly gaiety and sadness are allied ; a shadow steals over the spirits, like a cloud over the moon, soft and subduing, perhaps transitory, but not the less dark for the moment."

"We take some most favourable portion of another's existence, and compare it with one of the darkest in our own, and then exclaim against the difference."

"Evelyn — for falsehood brings its own cowardice — was speechless."

"— shame can never be the first feeling of the innocent; but even the falsest accusation brings the burning and bitter blush, to think that such can even have been imagined."

"I say, deeply is that woman to be pitied whose first attachment has been ill requited. The qualities most natural to youth are at once destroyed ; suspicion takes the place of confidence, reserve of reliance, distrust instead of that ready belief in all that was good and beautiful. Knowledge has come to her too soon — knowledge of evil, unqualified by the general charities which longer experience infallibly brings; but her age has lent its own freshness to this first great emotion ; it becomes unconsciously a criterion, and the judgment is harsh, because the remembrance is bitter. Another affection may, and in nine cases out of ten does, supersede the first ; and it is well that it should; the daily contentment of life, the household happiness of hourly duty and hourly love, are not to be offered up in vain sacrifice to the unpitying past. But not the less at the time did the disappointment appear too heavy, not the less cruel was its influence over the mind ; the ideal of love is gone for ever — its poetry a dream, its fairy-land a departed vision."

"There are few but must recollect the first awakening after any event ; the unconscious rousing, the gradual remembrance that something unusual has occurred, the half reluctance to recall it, till suddenly it flashes full upon your mind, and you start up in astonishment at even your momentary oblivion."

"No man likes to hear that any woman is in love with his friend — it seems a sort of personal affront to himself; … … And here we cannot but note the less selfish nature of woman. In nine cases out of ten, a girl is delighted in her companions' conquests — to be the confidante is almost equal to having the lover her own. This, we grant, is confined to the very young, and perhaps they may consider it as an augury ; still, this mere satisfaction in confidence is a purely feminine feeling."

"[From Marie Mancini]: Ah ! beauty without vanity is but a sort of barbaric gold, unfit for any of the purposes of civilised life. I can only supply its place by the delusions of self-love — by deceiving people into the belief that they are thinking of me, when they are in reality thinking of themselves."

"[From Marie Mancini]: Yes, it is ; for amusement destroys interest. There is nothing for which people are less grateful than for being entertained; in their hearts they are ashamed of not being able to entertain themselves, and therefore seek consolation in despising, or at least undervaluing, those to whom they owe that very entertainment."

"[From Marie Mancini]: … ; my features do not express superb disdain with any effect. That is the reason, I firmly believe, why Cleopatra poisoned herself, while Zenobia walked in the triumph of the Roman conqueror. The one knew she would not look well — the other knew she would.""

"Let a fortunate man do what he will for his own fate, he nevertheless works the most for the benefit of others."

"One proof of a great man is fitness for the circumstances in which he is placed. That talent may reasonably be doubted which is never exercised; …"

"We cannot understand what we have never experienced ; and we need pain, were it only to teach us sympathy."

"Now it is not in human nature — at least in feminine nature — to see pretty things, yet not wish for them ; …"

"[From De Joinville]: Now, I hold that, in most matrimonial instances, it is as well to provide for repentance ; and wealth has its advantages and its alleviations in affairs of the heart, as in all other affairs. It was by means of a golden bough that Æneas passed the evil spirits of Tartarus, and gained Elysium in safety."

"[From De Joinville]: But I consider that all individuals have but a certain portion of love in their composition, and it is a pity to exhaust it at once. Who are the persons with whom we remain on good terms to our old age? Why, those whom we never cared much about."

"[From De Joinville]: … the causes of inconstancy are much misunderstood. It is commonly said that love never lasts. Now, that is not so much from change, or that it exhausts itself, as that it is mixed up with the paltry cares and daily interests of life ; thus losing its ideality, which constitutes its great charm. Two lovers begin by reading poetry, and end by casting up bills together. The real reason why an unfortunate attachment outlasts the one more happy is, that it is less confounded with the commonplace of existence."

"[From De Joinville]: Ah! the truth is, that nobody knows anything about anybody. Our nearest and dearest friends have a thousand thoughts and feelings which we have never even suspected. We look in them only for what reflects our own. Our very sympathy is egotism."

"[From Francesca]: Nay, there is nothing which appears to me so much exaggerated as the common exclamations about the selfishness of human nature. We are a great deal better than we make ourselves out to be."

"[From Francesca]: Kind and generous impulses are rife in our nature. Look at the pity which springs spontaneously at the sight of affliction — witness the admiration so ready to welcome any great action ; and call to mind the thousand slight acts of kindness, almost unmarked, because of such daily occurrence."

"True enough was the Chevalier's assertion, that we know but little of even our most intimate friends — and yet this does not originate from want of sympathy ; it is rather owing to the extreme sensitiveness of all our more imaginative feelings. How many emotions rise in every heart which we never dream of communicating! They are too fine, too fragile, for expression, like those delicate hues of the atmosphere, which never yet could painter embody. Moreover, there is an odd sort of satisfaction which we all take in making ourselves other than we are. This is a species of deception which defies analysis, and is yet universally practised. Some make themselves out better, some worse, than they really are; but none give themselves their exact likeness. Perhaps it is that the ideal faculty is so strongly developed in us, that we cannot help exercising it even upon the reality of ourselves."

"But fortune takes a strange pleasure in mocking herself, and sometimes bestows all her gifts only to show how unavailing she can make them."

"Generally speaking, ambition grows upon the ruins of disappointed love; and we ask from honours and interests that delusion which we can no longer find in affection."

"— and quarrels are the common resource of the unoccupied —"

"It is a great error for the heart to hoard up that romance which is only graceful in youth — and it is dangerous, too ; for the feeling is as real and as keen, though no longer likely to meet return or sympathy."

"… ; but I never, for the life of me, could discover what consolation there is in knowing that we are suffering from our own folly. To my taste, it rather aggravates the ill ; for there is always a sort of comfort in being able to lay the blame on others."

"It is curious, in any great festival, to note the various motives that animate its crowd. Some — and these are the very young — are joyful in the mere delight of being dressed, and of going out ; some — and these are the very happy — look forward to meeting the individual at once their dream and their destiny. … … Others go as a matter of course; society is the business of their life, and attendance on a fête is a moral duty. Some go to see — more, to be seen ; some to be flattered — others, to flatter. Some go for the sake of their jewels — others, for themselves ; and at the close of the festival, how few come away but worn out with lassitude and discontent !"

"Climax of feminine indifference, she did not care how she looked !"

"I have heard a great deal said of the cheerfulness of music, lighted rooms, and a gay crowd. I only know, that the most melancholy moments of one's life are passed in such scenes. There is such a feeling of solitude — so much conversation going on in which you can take no interest — so many persons who care not whether you are living or dead — so many forced words and smiles — so much fatigue — such a mockery of gaiety — such a dragging together of strangers, who can have nothing in common —and so much neglect, impertinence, and indifference. A large festival always appears to me a funeral on a grand scale of all human graces, affections, and kindlinesses. Like dancing, it is a remnant of ancient barbarism — fit for the days of the Chaldeans or the Babylonians, when people were only amused through their eyes — the sole entertainment of which savage nations are susceptible."

"The actions on which we calculate and decide never bring the important consequences which we expected from them. It is the thoughtless, the careless, the unmarked of the minute, that set their seal upon our fate — that are the final and the fatal in their results."

"I do believe, that the rule of love at first sight, like all other rules, admits of exceptions — while so many characters and temperaments exist, no one law can extend to all ; but this I also believe, that love at first sight belongs to the highest and most imaginative order of passion — it stamps it at once with the seeming of destiny."

"Now, when you have acted upon impulse, there is something exceedingly provoking in being suspected of acting from some interested motive ;"

"They say many a heart is caught in the rebound ... Pride may be soothed by the ready devotion of another; vanity may be excited the more keenly by recent mortification. But the great characteristic of deep and true love is its entire indifference to all feelings and opinions except its own ;"

"We daily hear of crimes of all kinds, we are perfectly aware of their existence ; but we never think of their being perpetrated by those whom we actually know. We always deem our own circle secure."

"Well, custom is a surprising thing : and when we think how, from earliest infancy, we are surrounded by false impressions, undue rights, privileges, and prejudices, we may well marvel that there is such a thing as truth in the world. That it should be concealed, is far less wonderful than that it should ever be discovered. After all, the great error in human judgment is not so much wilful perversion, as that we judge according to situation, and always make that situation our own ; while the chances are, that we really have not one thought, feeling, or habit, in common with those on whom we yet think ourselves qualified to decide."

"[From de Joinville]: All profound truths startle you in their first announcement."

"[From de Joinville]: Singularity is never forgiven ; it is taken as a personal affront by all from whom we differ; it is an assumption of superiority ; and why should the general taste not be good enough for the generality ?"

"[From de Joinville]: My own vanity, which is great, makes me sensitive to that of others. And here I would observe, that love of admiration seems scarcely to be properly appreciated; it is the only bond of society; we could not otherwise endure each other. It is the true source of the sublime, and, my conscience obliges me to add, of the ridiculous. Still, it is the strong necessity of admiring each other, and the being admired in our turn, that has built cities, congregated multitudes, and organized what we call our present state of civilisation."

"[From de Joinville]: I own my memory is not good ; the fact is, that life is too short to be occupied by aught but the present — hope and remembrance are equally a waste of time."

"[From de Joinville]: Anybody's applause is better than nobody’s."

"[From de Joinville]: ... ; for most individuals, resembling short stories, are soon read to the end."

"[From de Joinville]: Half the character of wit must rely upon what is forgotten."

"... but death is the expected of old age — we anticipate its approach even before we know what it is ; the full of years seems but to have fulfilled his destiny. Sorrow is subdued by strong necessity ; there is no cause why life should be lengthened for our love ; and we feel that the worn and the decrepit do but go down into that grave which had received youth, health, beauty, — all that made existence precious — long before. But when the blow comes down in the fulness of expectation ; when the bough is smitten while green, and the flower cut down in its spring; when the young and lovely perish, while the eyes, full of light, were fixed on the future, — then, indeed, is the visitation heavy to bear."

"Unexpected kindness, though it be but a word or a glance, goes direct to the heart ;"

"One woman instantly penetrates the drift of another ; ..."

"It is a singular sensation the first time that we see the portrait of a friend after death. There is something of mockery in the very pleasure that it brings. The face, which we know to be mouldering in the dust, looks upon us, fresh with hues of health; there are the jewels, and the robe round the graceful form, now decaying in its shroud. Why should the work of man's hand outlast that of his Maker's ? — why should we have the semblance of life, whose breathing reality is no more ? We are not half thankful enough for the forgetfulness inherent even in our affections : did the first agony continue in all its keenness, who could endure to live ?"

"One useful lesson then sowed its first seeds within her mind — that, even more than pleasure, or sentiment, or reflection, life requires to be filled with active duties."

"It is a mortifying conviction to arrive at, that of being utterly forgotten even by those to whom we are indifferent."

"Spiritual pride came in support of spiritual exaltation. Louise felt raised above her species ; a voice had spoken within her inmost soul, whose revealings were vouchsafed but to the chosen few; and what had been indifference, was now disdain. This species of mystical misanthropy is, of all states of mind, the least accessible to the affections. It distrusts them as human, dreads them as perishable, and despises them as degrading ; and their renouncement, at first so bitter, soon becomes a triumph."

"Hopes and regrets are the sweetest links of existence — we pine to attach and be attached; …"

"It is a solace to confide our hopes, our feelings, and our thoughts ; but none to impart our mortifications, — their shame is heightened, not subdued, by sympathy."

"[From Richard Arden]: There are whole races marked out as the victims of a blind and terrible fatality; and circumstances, over which they themselves have no control, work out, unshunned and unsought, the wrong whereof they perish."

"[From Richard Arden]: The mule knows the hidden pitfalls of the morass ; the swallow feels the storm ere it comes upon the air, and wings to the quiet shelter of its nest — they foresee their dangers, and avoid them ; while we blindly rush forward into the depths of the pit and the fury of the tempest ; for we know not what evils await us. No kind foreknowledge gives us even the choice of avoidance."

"How often have I had my ideal destroyed, my pleasant imaginings checked and debased, by the ill-timed remark that changed their whole bearing ! Heaven knows, the observation was true enough ; still there are two ways of putting a fact, and one prefers that which lends a little enchantment to the view."

"… ; but absence, like charity, covers a multitude of sins ; …"

"Did we not daily observe them, we could not believe the instances of hard-heartedness evinced in social life — the neglect, the forgetfulness, and the ingratitude."

"Nothing is so soon lost in a crowd as affection ; we are in too great a hurry to attach ourselves to anything or anybody. What bitter knowledge is brought us by experience ! How do we grow cold, indifferent, and unbelieving — we, who were so affectionate, so eager, so confiding ! Perhaps we expect too much from others. Because an individual likes you, from some sudden impulse, from the effect of circumstances which drew both out agreeably, you have no right to rely on the continuance of that feeling ; a fresher impulse may counteract it — a newer situation lead it to some one else ; and you ought rather to be thankful for even the temporary warmth, than feel disappointed at its cessation. But though this is what it would be wise to do, it is not what we can do. Mutable as is our nature, it delights in the immutable: and we expect as much constancy as if all time had not shown that ever "the fashion of this world passeth away." And this alone would be to me the convincing proof of the immortality of the soul, or mind, or whatever is the animating principle of life. Whether it be the shadow cast from a previous existence, or an intuition of one to come, the love of that which lasts is an inherent impulse in our nature. Hence that constancy which is the ideal of love and friendship. Hence, too, that readiness of belief in the rewards and punishments of a future state held out by religion. From the commonest flower treasured, because its perfume out lives its beauty, to our noblest achievements where the mind puts forth all its power, we are prompted by that future which absorbs the present. The more we feel that we are finite, the more do we cling to the infinite."

"We grow attached unconsciously to the objects we see every day. We may not think so at the time — we may he discontented, and used to talk of their faults ; but let us be on the eve of quitting them for ever, and we find that they are dearer than we dreamed. The love of the inanimate is a general feeling. True, it makes no return of affection, neither does it disappoint it ; its associations are from our thoughts and emotions. We connect the hearth with the confidence which has poured forth the full soul in its dim twilight ; on the wall we have watched the shadows, less fantastic than the creations in which we have indulged. Over each and all is flung the strong link of habit — it is not to be broken without a pang."

"[From Francesca]: Even the very robbers, of whose ferocity we were wont to hear such tales in our own land, have usually possessed some redeeming trait which arose out of a yearning towards their kind."

"[From Guido]: From the beginning of the show to the end, vanity is the sole stimulus and reward of action."

"[From Francesca]: The truth is, we begin life with too exalted ideas — our wishes and our expectations go together. We are soon forced to lower our standard ; and this depreciation brings at first coldness, distress, and distrust, but also wisdom. We learn not to anticipate so much, and to cling with firmer faith to those whose truth has been proved. Courtesy from the many, kindness from the few, and affection from the individual, become the limit of our hopes; and. even that moderate limit must prepare for exceptions."

"[From De Joinville]: {of Madame de Savoie} She uses a whole language to herself. Her discourse is an avalanche of words, beneath which the hearers are overwhelmed."

"When I have marked, as all must do, the disappointment that rewards the noblest efforts, the agony that attends the most generous affections, I have asked, is it not better to waste life than to use it ? The vain question of a mood of profitless dejection— the most unprofitable state in which we can indulge !"

"He was roused from his brief rest by a violent fit of coughing, which seemed to shake the whole system. It was one which in England is so simply, yet so emphatically, denominated a churchyard cough. It was hollow, like the echo of the grave."

"The radiance now began to mellow ; a large cloud, which had been slowly floating up, crossed the burning centre ; it melted, but into a rich crimson ; the reddening tints spread rapidly, softening as they receded from the round orb that now seemed to rest on the waters ; many small white clouds rose flitting from afar, and each as they approached caught a tinge of pink. The sun sunk below the waters, which glowed with his descent ; but, almost unperceived, a purple shadow fell on the atmosphere— Nature's royal mourning over her king. Far as the eye could reach, the waves had a faint lilac dye, reflected from deeper-dyed heavens above, whose magnificence at last faded into a broad and clear amber line, with an eddy of pale crimson on its extremest verge. The long shadows now heralded the coming darkness ; …"

"The host himself was one of those very quiet men whom we usually see linked to the most active helpmates. Whether Nature, in the first instance, pointed out the necessity of a supply from another of that quality in which each was most deficient, and thus the match originated — or whether the state of quietude comes on after marriage, exertion on both sides being discovered to be a superfluity, — is really too profound an investigation ; but the fact is certain, that the keen-tongued, quick-witted, bustling wife is always united to the slow, silent, and quiet husband."

"... reasons are proofs given as much for our own satisfaction as for that of others."

"Be as philosophical as we can on the subject, fortify the mind with as many old proverbs as we will, — how that beauty is a flower of the field that perisheth, and that "handsome is that handsome does," — yet there will always be something in beauty that attracts and interests us — we know not how. Such homage is a sort of natural religion of the heart, or rather superstition, that the good must be inherent in the lovely."

"A sweet smile and a soft word have usually their desired effect ; …"

"But now, the first fog of the morning had cleared away, and the round red sun looked cheerfully as it shed its crimson hues amid the topmost branches. The light snow lay on the narrow and winding path before them, pure as if just fresh winnowed by the wind. The outline of every tree was marked with the utmost distinctness by the frost which covered it; but every spray drooped beneath the weight of the fairy and fragile tracery that gemmed them ; while the gossamer threads, like strung and worked pearls, seemed to catch every stray sunbeam, and glitter with the bright and passing hues of crystal. Every tree was as distinguishable as in summer."

"A woman never can wholly shake off the influence of him whom she first loved. The love itself may be past, — gone like a sweet vain dream which it is useless to remember, or dismissed as an unworthy delusion ; still its memory remains. A thousand slight things recall some of its many emotions — it has become a standard of comparison ; and the "once we felt otherwise," occurs oftener than many would allow, but all must confess."

"With shame — for resentment was a justice she owed to herself. There are some offences which it is an unworthy weakness to forget."

"… there is a readiness of attachment in youth — the fresh and unused heart is so alive to the kindlier impressions. Pass but a few, a very few years, and we shall marvel how we ever could have found love enough for the many objects which were once so dear! … … Ah! that exaggeration of liking — that readiness to like — that taking for granted all imaginable good qualities — to what a joyous time, to what a buoyant and happy state of feeling, does it belong !"

"In all things there is one period more lovely than aught that has gone before — than aught that can ever come again. That delicate green of the young leaves, when the boughs are putting forth the promise of a shadowy summer — the tender crimson of the opening bud, whose fragrant depths are unconscious of the sun, — these are the fittest emblems for that transitory epoch in the history of a girl's heart, when her love, felt for the first time, is as simple, as guileless, as unworldly as herself. It is the purest, the most ideal poetry in nature. It does not, and it cannot last. It is only too likely that the innocent and trusting heart will be ground down to the very dust. Falsehood, disappointment, and neglect, form the majority of chances ; and even if fortunate— fortunate in requited faithfulness and a sheltered home — still the visionary hour of youth is gone by. There are duties instead of dreams, romance exhausts itself — and the imaginative is merged in the commonplace. The pale green returns not to the leaf, the delicate red to the flower, and, still less, its early poetry to the heart."

"There is something in a deep conviction that forces, for the time, its own belief on others."

"… they felt as if the evil influence were indeed upon them, and shrunk before that nameless dread of the future, which for the moment subdues the energies, and in whose presence reason trembles. Surely all the more imaginative know this sensation; it is not omen — sound, light, even a cheerful word, have power to destroy its dark dominion ; and, unlike most other human emotions, it has no consequence. But who has not shuddered before the indefinite and unknown ?"

"In the ordinary course of daily life, it is wonderful how little we think of the morrow. That sufficient for the day is the evil thereof, is a truth unconsciously, but universally acknowledged. Instinct clings to the immediate ; but when we do think of the future, uninfluenced by any present hope — by any strong tide of anticipation carrying us along its darkening depths — how terrible does that future ever appear ! — what may it not have in store for us! Sickness, sorrow, poverty, age, and even crime — all that we should now indignantly disclaim, but that to which we may yield under some strong and subtle temptation. The guiltiest have had their guileless and innocent hour. Who knows what may await them of degradation and despair ? Death, too ! — that awful spectre, which stalks over the morrow as his own domain, opens before us his many graves — our own the last ! — no rest till we are worn with weeping for the loved and lost ! At such times, how we marvel at our usual recklessness, and pause, as it were, shrinking from the busy and inevitable current which is hurrying us on to eternity !"

"Strange the unconscious comfort which it is to exaggerate our self-importance, and that crime and sorrow are redeemed from the commonplace by stamping them with the character of fate !"

"Never tell me of the sterner beauties of winter. Winter may have a mighty beauty of its own, where the mountain rises, white with the snow of a thousand years, hemmed in by black pine forests, eternal in their gloom ; where the overhanging avalanche makes terrible even the slightest sound of the human voice ; and where waters that never flowed spread the glittering valleys with the frost-work of the measureless past. But the characteristic of English scenery is loveliness. We look for the verdant green of her fields, for the colours of her wild and garden flowers, for daisies universal as hope, and for the cheerful hedges, so various in leaf and bud. Winter comes to us with gray mists and drizzling rains : now and then, for a day, the frost creates its own fragile and fairy world of gossamer ; but not often. We see the desolate trees, bleak and bare ; the dreary meadows, the withered gardens, and close door and window, to exclude the fog and the east wind."

"But while the common run of ordinary circumstances were going their little round of influence, — small pebbles flung in the great stream of time, whose motion extends not beyond their own narrow eddy, — one of those mighty events was on the wheel of fate which shake the nations with the sound thereof. The generality of individuals perish and are forgotten before the wild flowers have sprung up in the grass sods that cover them. Their home is desolate for a time, and, perchance, missing their care may force their children to grieve for their loss ; perhaps, too, some faithful heart may feel that its life of life has gone from it for ever. But, take the majority of deaths — how little are they felt — how little do they matter ! Strange mystery of human existence, that its most awful occurrence is often its least important ! Death is ever around us, and yet we think not of it; its terrible presence is made manifest, and then forgotten. The most passing interests of life occupy more of our thoughts than its end."

"One after another the parti-coloured fragments of each fragile fabric were strewed over the table, till gradually his hand became accustomed and steady — wall and roofs were properly balanced, and the mimic Babels mounted high in air, — fittest symbols of all the graver plans and trials that agitate human existence. Scarcely is one scheme overthrown ere another is raised out of its ruins, but destined, like its predecessor, to destruction ; and yet, it would seem, the more we know the chances against our efforts — how a breath may demolish, nay, what our own weariness will soon destroy, — the more earnestly do we pursue them to the end."

"The truth is, that people in general are stupified by any great event."

"It is curious to mark the many shapes taken by mental suffering. With some it at once assumes the mask and the manner, puts on smiles, and forces the gay and brilliant word. These are they who are sensitively alive to the opinions of others, who, having once been called animated, deem that they have a character to sustain. Such shrink with morbid susceptibility from its being supposed how much they really feel ; and vanity — vanity, by the bye, in its most graceful and engaging form, usually native to such characters — aids them to support the seeming. They cannot endure being thoughtless agreeable; and only in solitude give way to the regret which oppresses them — then exaggerated to the utmost."

"The general aspect of midnight is calm and solemn ; the lulled spirits unconsciously are subdued by the deep repose."

"Half inclined! — that little phrase contains the secrets of all failures : it is the strong will, which knows nothing of hesitation, that masters the world."

"[From Robert Evelyn]: Suspicion never obtains more than the mockery of security."

"The ideal of liberty — now the excitement of the day — had arisen from three sources. First, from the religious discussions, which led to an extent and to conclusions of which the original agitators of such discussions little dreamed. To claim a right of thinking for yourself in one instance, ends by claiming that right in many ; and when the habit of examination is once introduced, the folly of any exclusive privilege is soon manifest; for most privileges have commenced in some necessity of the time, and a positive benefit has accrued from their exercise to the many as well as to the individual."

"Wealth acquired by commerce must always bring with it its portion of intelligence, and a desire of security. We would not lightly lose what we have hardly earned. Security can be obtained but by defined rights, and these can be ensured only by equitable laws. … Liberty has been called the daughter of the mountains — she ought rather to be styled the daughter of commerce ; for her best and most useful rights have been founded and defended by states embarked in trade."

"History, it is said, is the past teaching by example. How many false principles have been laid down, how much delusion supported, by reference to the glories of Athens and of Rome !"

"They forget that tyranny and caprice are the attributes of the many as well as of the one, — that the ingratitude of the mob is as proverbial as that of the court; and that an equal subserviency is required by either."

"We turn from no object, even the most common and the most trivial, for the last time, knowing it to be the last, without a touch of sad thoughtfulness. What then must be the feeling with which we look on this glorious and beautiful world, and know that such looks are our last ? — when we know that, in a few fleeting weeks, of the green leaves we now see putting forth, such as are doomed to perish early, like ourselves, will fall upon the earth, in whose dark bosom we are laid in our long rest ? — that the flowers, colouring branches which droop beneath their luxury of bloom, will only expand in time to form our funeral garland? It is even more solemn than mournful to gaze upon the far blue sky, and feel, in the dimness of the soon-wearied sight, how, pass but a little while, and the whole will have faded from our view — its beauty never more to be heightened by the tender associations of earth, and its rain and shine shedding vain fertility on our grave."

"The mysteries of this wonderful universe rise more palpable upon the departing spirit, so soon to mingle with their marvels. A voice is on the air, and a music on the wind, inaudible to other ears, but full of strange prophecies to the ear of the dying ! — he stands on the threshold of existence, and already looks beyond it; his thoughts are on things not of this life ; his affections are now the only links that bind him to the earth, but never was their power so infinite, — all other feelings have passed away. Ambition has gone down to the dust, from which it so vainly rose; wealth is known to be the veriest dross of which chains were ever formed to glitter and to gall ; hope has resigned the thousand rainbows which once gave beauty and promise to the gloomiest hour ; — all desires, expectations, and emotions are vanished — excepting love, which grows the stronger as it approaches the source whence it came, and becomes more heavenly as it draws nigh to its birth-place — heaven."

"Death leaves behind its own solemnity; and, even with the sunshine checkering the grass, the place had a peculiar gloom."

"[From Francesca]: … judgment is an awful word for mortal lips to utter ! Who dares pronounce that a doom is deserved ? If the sudden and early death be a judgment on one, must it not be so on all ?"

"There is nothing more delicious than one of these summer and sudden showers. There is something so inexpressibly lulling in the sound of the falling drops — like remembered poetry, inwardly murmured, rather than spoken. The leaves and flowers seem as if they were conscious of the reviving moisture, and wear fresher verdure and livelier hues ; the perfume which they exhale makes the very breathing a delight — so sweet is the cool and fragrant air : while the birds flutter to and fro, as if they, too, shared the general enjoyment."

"… smoke is the very type of that vapour of the human heart, hope. So does hope spring from the burning passions, which consume their home and themselves — so does it wander through the future, making its own charmed path — and so does it evanish away: lost in the horizon, it grows at last too faint for outline."

"… love delights in hearing its own name, and has a childish pleasure in making excuses for the enjoyment it takes in aught that links its future to that of the beloved."

"I know nothing more pleasant than the half kitchen, half flower-garden ; — the few trees that extend a light shade — either the apple, with its spring shower of fair blossoms, and its summer show of fruit, reddening every day ; or the cherry, with its scarlet multitude — berries more numerous than leaves. Below, long rows of peas put forth their white-winged flowers, tempting the small butterflies to flutter round their inanimate likenesses ; or else of beans, whose fresh, sweet odour, when in bloom, might challenge competition with the sea gales of the spice islands. Then the deep glossy green of the gooseberry is so well relieved by the paler shade of the currant-bush ; and alongside, spreading the verdant length of the strawberry-bed, so beautiful in its first wealth of white blossoms — pale omens of the blushing fruit, which so soon hides beneath its large and graceful leaves. The strawberry is among fruits what the violet is among flowers. Then, I do so like the one or two principal walks, neatly edged with box, cut with most precise regularity, keeping guard over favourite plants : — columbines, bending on their slender stems ; rose-bushes, covered with buds enough to furnish roses for months ; pinks, with their dark eyes ; and the orient glow of the marigold. And there are the neat plots planted with thyme, so sweet in its crushed fragrance ; the sage, with that touch of hoar-frost on its leaves, which, perhaps, has gained for it its popular name of wisdom ; the sprig of lavender, so lastingly sweet ; and the emerald patches of the rapidly springing mustard and cress. I would not give a common garden like this, with the free air tossing its boughs, and the sun laughing upon its flowers, for all that glass and gardener ever brought from a hot-house."

"Alas ! in this our valley of the shadow of death, how many such vigils have been kept, and are keeping ! — it is a common scene : — the still and darkened room — darkened, for the eyes are too weak to bear that light which is departing from them for ever ; where, if a sunbeam enters, it is like an unwelcome visitor; where one sweet and watchful nurse glides like a shadow ; — so subdued is every movement, the loudest noise in that still chamber is the beating of the sufferer's heart, or the low music of a whispered question, fainter than even the failing voice which answers."

"How many dreary nights are passed in feverish wakefulness on one side, and dreadful solicitude on the other ! It seems worst to die at night; the blackness throws its own gloom, and the damp on the ever cold midnight hour is as if disembodied spirits brought with them the chill of the grave, which only then they are permitted to quit. How long the minutes seem when sleep is banished by pain and anxiety! The single pale and shaded light, flinging round its fantastic shapes — that "visible darkness," enough to try the strongest nerves ; and how much more so, when the bodily strength is worn down, and the imagination, excited by one ever-present dread, is wound up to admit all forms of fearful fantasy !"

"To many, the visionary hope which is born of the imagination may seem the very mockery of nothing. The imagination, the highest, the noblest, the most ethereal portion of our nature, lies in some almost dormant ; and to such, how strange must the influence which it exercises appear !"

"[From Guido]: What a vain dream it is, which we call life ! First comes the fever, and then the exhaustion. We wear ourselves out with hopes that, night after night, haunt a sleepless pillow — with daily exertions whereof we reap not the fruit. We love, and are unrequited — we believe, and are deceived ; and from first to last, our existence is a mockery — the fulfilled hope and the realised desire the worst of all ; for then we find how utterly worthless is that for which we craved, and for which we have toiled even unto weariness. We talk of our energies and of our will — we are the mere playthings of subtle and malignant chances."

"Think of a young, beautiful, and delicately nurtured female, giving up not only the world, with its vanities and its pleasures, but all comfort, all companionship, all feminine employment, not denied to the nun of the strictest order. She renounced them all to live in seclusion, silence, and perpetual dread ; for what but a cruel death could have awaited her had her secret been discovered save when dying. And this melancholy, this isolated existence, was dragged on, unsupported by any hope, for no change of circumstance could affect her position; and unsoothed by the thought that her great devotion was held precious by him for whom it was exercised. Not one of the ordinary motives — the vanity or the selfishness which people call by the name of love — actuated her through this long trial ; she had everything to fear, and nothing to expect. What creation of the poet ever exceeded this terrible reality of love sepulchred in this living tomb ?"

"And youth it was that gave its own value to that early pledge of vows never to be redeemed — of faith plighted but to be broken. The fragile chain, the braided hair, are the graceful tokens of love's childhood — precious for the sake of the many illusions in which we then held such devout evidence. We grow too stern and too cold for such trifles in after-life."

"— ridicule, that blight of all that is warm and true, …"

"This is a pleasant hour in human existence — the hour after some unusually agreeable fête — agreeable from its homage to yourself; just enough fatigued for languor, but not for weariness — enough to make you enjoy the loosened hair, the careless robe, and the indolent armchair ; while the spirits are still in a state of excitement, the tones of the music, or yet more musical words, still floating in your ear ; your own light replies yet living on the memory, and the fancy animated by their vivid recollection."

"[From Marie, now Comtesse de Soissons]: Praise should be given unguardedly and eagerly — rather as it were a relief to express one's feeling —"

"The lasting works of philosophy and poetry, the long-enduring efforts that have been wrought in marble, the pyramids whose age we know not, the statue still a vision of beauty, the influence that individual minds have exercised over their kind, — all these are types of that immortality which gives life to our present, and will give eternity to our future."

"We talk of the happiness of childhood ! — in what does it consist ? — in the denied delight, and in the enforced task ! Think how the child must turn from the wearisome page, whose future value it is impossible then to appreciate. Think, too, with what unkindness and what injustice they are often treated ! How often must the infant heart swell with the quick sense of oppression, when the caprice of an angry moment punishes the fault which has been often passed over, till impunity had appeared a right! And yet restraint is a necessity. Every indulgence from the first exacts some bitter penalty ; and we dread and curb the present, for the sake of the retribution which ever lies amid the shadows of the future."

"Or, to pass on to youth, with its warm feelings, so sensitive to the return which they will not meet, so sure in a few passing years to be crushed and withered ; but at what expense of misery, let each ask of the records from his own remembrance! True, its hopes are sweet, and its spirits buoyant ; but how soon are those hopes disappointed, and those spirits broken down for ever ! How often during that period of fervour and of heart burning, must we be forced to shrink within ourselves with all the mortifying consciousness of unreturned affection, of ill-placed confidence, of too kind, and hence erroneous, judgment. The time while such ordeals are being passed, and such lessons being learned, cannot be one of much happiness."

"Look at the arduous exertion required of middle life; the thronging anxieties that spring up for others more than for ourselves ; the constant downfall of our best-laid projects; the disappointment attending on the result of those which had mocked us with success; the weariness which gradually steals over the mind; the daily increasing sense of the worthlessness of ever}'thing ; the mournful looking back on the many friends who have parted from our side, some gone down to the grave, but more parted from us by the estrangement of cooled attachments and jarring interest. We have lost, too, all those fresh and beautiful emotions which, if they could not make a world of their own, at least flung their glory over the actual one. These are departed, to return no more; and in their places have come discontent, suspicion, in difference, and, worst of all, worldliness."

"Through such rough paths do we travel on to old age ; and has life there garnered up its treasures to the last ? Ah, no ! The dust, to which we are so soon to return, lies thick upon the heart ; the affections are grown cold ; and all vivid emotions have ceased. But the calm is that of monotony, not of content, and is ruffled by the thousand small pettishnesses of temper, — temper which grows stronger as all other faculties weaken and decay. And yet, throughout this busy and excited pilgrimage, whose present would seem so engrossing, man is ever looking beyond it ; he never loses the internal consciousness of something undeveloped in his nature. That which is good within us seems to claim a requital not of this world ; that which is bad trembles before some vague and awful anticipation of judgment."

"The future is written in the past ; and if we prophesy, it is with eyes that look behind."

"Who knows how many links we may have to ascend in the vast cycle of worlds around, ere we arrive at the one which is knowledge — where we may look before, and after, and judge of the whole ? How many stages of probation may we yet have to pass !"

"We ask of that which answers not. But when we recall how feverish, how wretched, how incomplete has been the life of mortality, we feel that the present owes us a future."

"The vanity of weeping, which in time works out its own consolation, is at first but the aggravation of sorrow."

"It is wonderful how, for the day or two after death, all that was lovely in life comes back to the face ; the pure marble whiteness of the skin, the closed eyes, the features in such deep stillness, like those of a statue wrought in the highest ideal of art, but with that impressed upon them which was never yet the work of mortal hand."

"Many have a horror of looking upon the dead — they are wrong ; futurity and peace are written on the composed and beautiful countenance; it suggests the idea of an intellectual slumber."

"Good God ! how dreadful a penalty exacted of mortality, to think that we must turn with unconquerable disgust from all that was once so dear, and with that affection strong in our hearts as ever! And yet the revolting triumphs over the spiritual and the tender feeling."

"It is a strange refinement in our modern times, that we should leave it to the hired mourner to pay that last tender office, the last sign of care for their remains that can be given on earth, to those whom we have loved dearer than ourselves. Few but have known the wretchedness of such a morning — but have listened to the noise of strangers in a chamber so long silent as the grave. The moving of the coffin, the carrying it downstairs, the heavy steps, the creaking stairs, the opening doors, are a terrible contrast to the deep stillness that had before reigned throughout the house."

"All who have long been shut up in-doors know the almost intoxication of their first walk in the free wind and glad sunshine — the common expression of "you do not feel your feet," or "you seem to tread on air," so completely express the sensation."

"Who has not paused upon some portion of their existence, and felt its burden greater than they could bear ? — who has not looked back to the past with that passion of hopelessness, which deems that life can never more be what it has been, — with a consciousness that the dearer emotions are exhausted, while in their place have arisen but vacancy and weariness ? You feel as if you could never be interested in anything again — nay you do not even desire it ; — your heart is divided between bitterness and indifference."

"Some few have fallen in pleasant places ; it is folly to say that we share and share alike."

"We need to suffer ere we understand the language of suffering ; but, Heaven above knows ! it is very generally understood. And hence the charm of the sad, sweet page, which idealises our anguish, and makes sorrow musical : if it does not come home to all, it does to the mass."

"I have often been told that my writings are too melancholy. How can that be a reproach if they are true ? and that they are true, I attest the sympathy of others and my own experience."

"Good Heaven! even to myself how strange appears the faculty, or rather the passion, of composition ! how the inmost soul developes its inmost nature on the written page! I, who lack sufficient confidence in my most intimate friends to lay bare even an ordinary emotion — who never dream of speaking of what occupies the larger portion of my time to even my most familiar companions — yet rely on the sympathy of the stranger, the comprehension of those to whom I am utterly unknown. But I neither ordered my own mind, nor made my own fate. My world is in the afar-off and the hereafter, — to them I leave it."

"There are some moods which are singularly profitless; and such is that of allowing the thoughts to wander into combinations of past events with creations never likely to occur."

"Ah ! the weight of actual existence forces us to dream an unreal one."

"No one can feel gay by moonlight ; the influence is as overpowering as it is solemn. There are a thousand mysterious sympathies, which act upon our nature, and for which we can render up no account ; and the power of this mournful and subduing beauty may be more easily acknowledged than analysed. But the young, the buoyant, and the glad, feel it. They wander alone, and the thoughts unconsciously take a tone of tender melancholy. Alas ! it is some dim prophecy of the future, with all its cares and its sorrows, that floats upon the atmosphere; and we are penetrated by the effect, though the cause be unrevealed."

"No woman can see with indifference the man whom she once loved devoted to another."

"— and disdain is sorrow's most certain consolation."

"Distrust is an acquired feeling — we never doubt till we have been deceived ;"

"That transient but most lovely hour which follows the sunset was now melting away in the far recesses of the forest. A few gleams of richer hues still lingered in some of the crimson clouds which yet treasured up a sunbeam ; but the great expanse was filled with that pure and pale purple, so soon to merge in deeper gloom, or to tremble into silvery light beneath the radiant and rising moon. The glorious dyes of autumn— autumn, that comes in like a conqueror, but departs like a mourner — were upon the boughs, but lost in that undistinguishing light which subdued all things with its own gentle tinting."

"Conspiracies, like all other exercises of human ingenuity, are of very different kinds."

"… there are many follies in this world, but none so foolish as regret."

"And, truly, strong nerves are required to steal at midnight through a lonely suite of rooms, haunted by vague imaginings, and all the terrible superstitions and records accumulated on the past."

"The first struggle between light and darkness is a dreary hour, — the air is so raw, so cold; the want of rest is then most severely felt ; sleep avenges itself for its dismissal by sending stupor in its place ; and the relaxed nerves and worn-out spirits presage the misfortunes which they yet lack strength to meet."

"[From Francesca]: … and life is more easily parted with than happiness."

"Winter softens into spring, spring blushes into summer, and summer ripens into autumn, — all going on into increased good. But autumn darkens into winter, and is the only quarter that ends as the destroyed and the desolate. There is in autumn no hope, that prophetic beautifier of the foregone year."

"There is something peculiarly mournful in the sound of the autumn wind. It has none of the fierce mirth which belongs to that of March, calling aloud, as with the voice of a trumpet, on all earth to rejoice ; neither has it the mild rainy melody of summer, when the lily has given its softness and the rose its sweetness to the gentle tones. Still less has it the dreary moan, the cry as of one in pain, which is borne on a November blast ; but it has a music of its own — sad, low, and plaintive, like the last echoes of a forsaken lute — a voice of weeping, but tender and subdued, like the pleasant tears shed over some woful romance of the olden time, telling some mournful chance of the young knight falling in his first battle, or of a maiden pale and perishing with ill-requited love. Onward passes that complaining wind through the quiet glades, like the angel of death mourning over the beauty it is commissioned to destroy. At every sweep down falls a shower of sapless leaves — ghosts of the spring — with a dry, sorrowful rustle ; and every day the eye misses some bright colour of yesterday, or marks some bough left entirely bare and sear; and ever and anon, on some topmost branch, as the foliage is quite swept off, a deserted nest is visible — love, spring, and music, passed away together."

"But the heart is its own world, and the outward influence takes its tone from that within."

"A high and generous nature is always trustful."

"There is nothing more dreary than a new-made grave — so bare, so desolate, so comfortless, with the cold stones, and damp gravel scattered all carelessly round. After a little while the long grass and the sweet wild flowers sanctify the place — even as, in the human heart, gentle memories and subduing time throw a kindly soothing over the first bitter and rigid suffering."

"The customary scaffold has its own awe — justice and obedience and usage surround the place ; but to die a violent death, and by the hand of man, amid life's daily scenes, all associations so domestic and so ordinary, aggravates the ghastly spectacle, and makes the doom seem at once cruel and undeserved."

"... and most old sayings are singularly true — we are not so very much wiser than our ancestors, after all."

"Despair is unnatural ; and the powers of Time, the comforter, can scarcely be exaggerated ; but the agency by which he works is exhaustion."

"There is a grief which may darken a whole life, shut up the heart from every influence but its own, remain unchanged through every change of various fortune, flinging its own shadow over all that is fair, its own bitterness into all that is sweet; but that grief is the silent and the secret — it goes abroad with a smooth brow and a smiling lip — it knows not the relief of tears, and words it disdains. None have fathomed its depths, for its existence is denied; pride is mingled with its strength, for the hidden soul knows there is that within which parts it from its kind, and perhaps triumphs even in such agonising consciousness. With such the spirits often seem buoyant without a cause — often too guy for the occasion. The truth is, that society is to them as a theatre; and what actor is there who does not occasionally over act his part ? Few ever penetrate their dark and weary seclusion, for few ever look beyond the surface, unless actuated by some hope, fear, or love of their own, and then their feelings blind their judgment. Such motives turn all objects into mirrors, which reflect some likeness, even if distorted, of themselves. We conjecture, question, desire, anticipate — do everything but observe. And slight, indeed, are the tokens by which the seared heart betrays itself. But it has its signs ; there is that real disregard of the pleasures in which it shares, half as a disguise, half to avoid the trouble of importunity. But the eye, however trained to attention, will wander; the set smile becomes absent — weariness is pleaded as an excuse — and lassitude serves as the cloak to indifference. Moreover, though almost unconsciously, the words have a biting and shrewd turn — the opinions are either harsh or given with undue levity — contradiction is almost habitual — and the feelings, denied the resource of sympathy, take refuge in sarcasm."

"— for it is a wearisome task to teach where there is little inclination and less understanding."

"The reason why so many fallacious opinions have passed into proverbs is owing to that carelessness which makes the individual instance the general rule. Of all feelings, love is the most modified by character; like the chameleon, it is indeed coloured by the air which it breathes. To half the world its depth is unknown, and its intensity unfelt. To such the expression of its wild passion, its fateful influence, its unalterable faith, are but mysteries, or even mockeries ; while, again, to those who hold such true and fervent creed, the heartless change, the utter forgetfulness, the sudden transfer of life's deepest and dearest emotion, is equally absurd and incomprehensible."

"Time passed as time ever does when passed monotonously, that is, with a degree of rapidity which only astonishes us when it is recalled to mind by some chance circumstance. Time should he reckoned by events, not hours ; the heart is its truest time-piece, at least as concerns ourselves."

"But England at the period of the Restoration was, like a child escaped from school, weary of restraint, impatient for amusement, and little inclined to balance the future against the present."

"The gay peal of the bells came upon the air, mingled with music, which owed much of its melody to being afar off."

"The sunshine glittered through the diamond shower, which came like a flight of radiant arrows ; while, outlined on a dim purple cloud, a magnificent rainbow spanned the mighty forest; instantly a second, but fainter, spread beneath the first; but even while she looked, the vast cloud dispersed, broken fragments of delicious hues coloured the atmosphere, a soft violet faded into pale primrose, and touches of rose deepened into red. Gradually the sky cleared into one deep blue, over which a mass of white clouds, broken into a thousand fantastic shapes, went sailing slowly by."

"It is curious to note how few people ever contrive to give you any idea of what they have seen ; they seize upon some little personal fact, and there the memory halts. While others, who allow their observation to travel out of their own sphere, contrive to bring the scene vividly before you, and without the aid of invention, but with a dramatic power many a writer might envy, give the most lively and graphic description, simply because they have attended to what passed around them."

"There is something in human nature that shrinks from any great change, even though that change be for the better. Alas ! all experience shows us how little we dare trust our fate."

"— I believe there is nothing more genuine or delightful than one woman's admiration of another's beauty. There is a pure and delicate taste about their nature which gives a keen sense of enjoyment to such appreciation : and loveliness is to them a religion of the heart, associated with a thousand fine and tender emotions."

"People who have not strong feelings themselves dislike their display in others. Wanting in that sympathy which intuitively teaches how to console, agitation always embarrasses them ; they are puzzled, and know not what to say, and feel that they are in an awkward and disagreeable position."

"No self-complacency can equal that of the selfish. Not content with its indulgence, they actually idolise it into being praiseworthy."

"[Thoughts from Francesca]: How much responsibility is in those few and scarcely audible words which give away your very life to the keeping of another ! What a sudden change is wrought in existence ! — a change whose consequences none may foresee. It is standing on the threshold of youth, and flinging its flowers behind you. The ideal merges at once in the real, and the dream, at least, of love is over. Well if the substance, depart not with the shadow !"

"It is a painful thing to think how the purest and dearest tie that can exist — that which binds the parent to the child, and the child to the parent — is doomed to sever by the very course of nature : that a new and vivid emotion will inevitably enter the heart of youth, and before that emotion, how cold and faint seems all that was held precious before ! And yet, so inextricably blended are happiness and sorrow on our earth, that fortunate, thrice fortunate, are they who have such ties to sever."

"Is there aught more provoking than the misinterpretation of our saddest thoughts ?"

"What an extraordinary mental delusion jesting is ; that sort of laboured vivacity which fancies it is pointed when it is only personal; and more extraordinary still, it is always the resource of stupid people. "Take any shape but that !" is what I always feel tempted to exclaim when dulness attempts a joke; striving to pervert some poor innocent and ill-used word from its lawful meaning till it ceases to have any at all — worrying some unfortunate idea till, like the hunted hare, it is worried to death — dealing in witticisms whose edge has long since been worn off by constant use ; and truly to the many, witticisms not only require to be explained, like riddles, but are also like new shoes, which people require to wear many times before they get accustomed to them. … … It is said that the name of Love is often taken in vain, compelled to stand godfather to feelings with which he has nothing to do, and made answerable for all the faults and follies which interest, vanity, and idleness commit while masquerading under such semblance. Wit is just as much put upon — blamed for a thousand impertinences over which it would not have held for a moment its glittering shield ; it is like the radiant fairy doomed to wander over earth, concealed and transformed, and only allowed on rare occasions to shine forth in its true and sparkling form. It is well that wit is an impalpable and ethereal substance, or it must long since have evaporated in indignation at that peculiarly wretched and mistaken race, its imitators."

"And terrible indeed was that awakening : it was the desperate grief of the prosperous who have not dreamed that the arrows of calamity can be pointed at them, whose sky has been sunshine, and whose pathway over flowers, till the ordinary lot of mankind seems to them an injustice. They look not to drink of that cup which is measured unto all, to others they apply the rule, and to themselves the exception."

"Let the young perish in their hour of promise — how much will they be spared ! — passion, that kindles but to consume the heart, and leaves either vacancy or regret, a ruin or a desert; ambition, that only reaches its goal to find it worthless when gained, or but the starting-place for another feverish race, doomed again to end in disappointment; enemies that cross us at every step ; friends that deceive — and what friends do not ? — the blighted hope, the embittered feeling, the wasted powers, the remorse, and the despair, all these are spared by the merciful, the early grave."

"The living console themselves by the honours which they pay to the dead : and yet this self-deceit is not all in vain. Every feeling that looks to the future elevates human nature ; for life is never so low or so little as when it concentrates itself on the present. The miserable wants, the small desires, and the petty pleasures of daily existence have nothing in common with those mighty dreams which, looking forward for action and action's reward, redeem the earth over which they walk with steps like those of an angel, beneath which spring up glorious and immortal flowers. The imagination is man's noblest and most spiritual faculty ; and that ever dwells on the to-come."

"How little does what we wished fulfil, when realised, what we expected."

"Common minds always blame some one or other for every misfortune that happens; complaint relieves them, and their style of complaint is always personal."

"Ah, that talking at ! — only those who have suffered from it can understand its wearing and petty misery, especially when placed in circumstances which forbid reply."

"We are eloquent about oppression on a large scale, — we deprecate the tyranny of government, which, after all, extends but to few; and yet how little pity is bestowed upon those who suffer from that worst of tyranny in daily practice in daily life. What grievances would not most family histories disclose ! — how much comfort is put aside — how much kindly feeling wasted, by the arbitrary cruelties of temper ! I say cruelties ; for what torture of rack or wheel can equal that of words ? Take the annals of the majority of hearths for a twelvemonth, and we should be amazed at the quantity of wretchedness that would be writ in them, if writ truly."

"Well, nature makes some wise provisions, it must be confessed. We should be envious of others' happiness if, in nine cases out of ten, we did not despise it."

"Ah ! the past is the true source of confidence. We must recollect together before we can confide."

"[From Marie, Madame de Soissons]: It is a great mistake, cultivating what are called feelings. Encourage your vanities, your follies, your wishes, and you lay up perpetual sources of delight in their gratification. But feeling ! why cherish the serpent that will sting, and the fire that will consume — dreaming of a return which is never made, and of some impossible happiness which never comes ?"

"It is wonderful what a talent some people have for extracting information, and combining it when extracted — how one fact is made to elucidate another, and the conclusion inferred from evidence fine as the spider's thread ! It is a pity that this genius should be wasted on the events of ordinary life. Half the ingenuity lavished on news — by news we mean the topics of the day as connected with their own circle — half this ingenuity would set up a whole Society of Antiquaries, and immortalise at least a dozen of them."

"Ah ! what would life be without its perspective."

"[From de Joinville, on the young queen of France]: Why, she is one of those persons whom negatives seem invented to describe — I doubt whether she is worth one single bad quality."

"[From de Joinville, in continuation]: A few faults are indispensable in those with whom we are to live — they are needed to excuse our own. This sort of dull perfection is a perpetual reproach to ourselves ; besides, light cannot exist without shadow. Choose what fault you please ; but, for pity's sake, have one, if you ever mean to be liked or loved.""

"[From Francesca]: Good Heavens! how many cross purposes there are in this intricate game of human life! We only mock ourselves by laying down plans for the future — at least if those plans embrace others."

"[From Marie, Comtesse de Soissons]: Business before pleasure, I am ready to grant; but when there is none, il faut s’amuser."

"[From Marie, Comtesse de Soissons]: Marriage in real life is the very reverse of what it is in romances; we begin where they finish. I felt that a brilliant marriage was but the very commencement of my career. To assist my friends (because, if they hope nothing from you, what have you to hope from them ?) — to injure my enemies, for fear is the best preventive — to make a failure useful, if only in its experience, have been my rules. I can recommend them by the best test, success."

"[From Marie, Comtesse de Soissons]: For once we agree — words alike make the destiny of empires and of individuals. Ambition, love, hate, interest, vanity, have words for their engines, and need none more powerful. Language is a fifth element — the one by which all the others are swayed. The king addresses his people, and the heaviest impost is levied with acclamations — the general harangues his troops, and thousands rush upon the smoking cannon and the gleaming bayonets — the lover whispers his mistress, and she forgets even herself for his sake. A word will part friends, and for ever — a word floats down the stream of time when all else has perished : in short, how do we persuade, invent, create, and live, but by words ? — they are at once our subjects and our masters. Judicious those who devote at least half their life to their study."

"[From Marie, Comtesse de Soissons, to Francesca]: You will find that, at the very best, marriage is a state which requires all sorts of resources to make it even endurable; but to marry for love aggravates the evil; it adds contrast to its other disappointments. Far better to make up your mind to the worst, and say at once, I know that weariness is the regular matrimonial feeling ; but that may be alleviated by a splendid house, magnificent fetes; by influence in society, jewels, laces, a lap-dog, and half-a-dozen lovers."

"[From Marie, Comtesse de Soissons, to Francesca]: Marrying for love is like putting from shore to dwell in the morning palace the fay Morgana builds at daybreak on the coast of Naples. Fair and far the glistening halls extend, and the shining gardens seem filled with fruit and flowers ; but the wind gets up, the glittering pinnacles melt into the cloudy sky, the haunted terraces vanish, and the golden chimera, born of sunshine and vapour, is no more. Suddenly you find yourself in a little wretched boat, rocked by the waves into sea-sickness, scorched by the hot noon, tossed about by a rough breeze, and left to weep or curse your fate as may best suit your peculiar disposition."

"Ah! no questions are so difficult to ask as those which the heart deeply and dearly treasures ! When alone, we shape them into a thousand forms — imagine every possible occasion for asking them — say them over to our selves, as if there were a charm in the sound ; but the time comes, and they die unheard upon the lip, — we have not resolution to ask them."

"[From Francesca]: As far as my experience has gone, I infinitely prefer the country to the town. There is something to me at once desolate, and yet confined, in a city. The multitude of faces continually passing and repassing, all strangers, overwhelm you with a sense of your own nothingness. The brick walls are so dreary, the streets so dirty — all the associations belonging to whatever is most commonplace in our existence — that whenever I gaze from the window, I always feel lowered and dispirited. But, in the country, the green fields are so joyous, the pure air so fresh, the fine old trees, redolent of earth's loveliest mythology, the fair flowers, at the unfolding of whose leaves some line of delicious poetry springs to mind ; the singing of the wind, like a natural lute, plaining amid the leaves, all combine to carry me out of myself. I feel a thousand vague and sweet emotions, and am both better and happier. Yes, I do love the country."

"[Marie, Madame de Soissons, in reply]: Well, the fate of our sex and of the country seems to be much the same ; we are doomed to have a thousand fine things said of us which nobody means or ever acts upon. Your philosopher talks of the virtue only to be found in rural life, and remains quietly in his armchair,, and his town lodgings; your lover raves of your cruelty, which he vows he cannot survive, leaves your presence, and orders a good supper. Considering how much we say that we do not mean, how fortunate it is that we are not taken at our word ! We should then be cautious how we talked of rustic and innocent pleasures, of dying for love, and eternal constancy."

"[From the Duke of Buckingham]: I could not love a woman whose image was for ever accompanied in my memory by brick and mortar."

"[From Francesca, in reply]: All our poetical feelings, delight to link themselves with natural objects. The leaf, the flower, the star, the dew, are the inexhaustible sources of imagery."

"[From the Duke]: And one feeling, loveliest of all, delights in such connexion. The poet bears love with him to his own haunted solitude."

"[From Francesca]: Ah ! all the finer mysteries of the spirit vanish in the crowd. Vanity is to the many the stimulus that affection is to the few."

"Interest is your only true cosmetic for smoothing the brow."

"— confidence is a feminine necessity."

"A woman only can understand a woman; and it is pleasant to be understood sometimes."

"— the genius for intrigue needs a few obstacles to stimulate its powers."

"[From Marie, Comtesse de Soissons, to Francesca] We all know the worth of a lady's negative. The more forcible the resolution, the more chance there is of its being broken."

"[From Francesca of the Duke of Buckingham]: Life is to him a scène de comédie : he aims at acting his many parts brilliantly ; but, in our admiration for the actor, we lose all interest in the individual."

"[From Lord Avonleigh]: Marriage should always take young ladies by surprise."

"— a standing subject of laughter is invaluable, especially to the young, who like what they laugh at. As they advance in life, laughter, in common with all things else; grows bitter — it expresses scorn rather than mirth."

"But happiness is like that fairy flower whose home and birthplace are the air, the most unstable of elements, tossed by every wind, destroyed by every shower, — the frailest, and yet most exposed, of created things."

"Was ever music at once so sweet and so sad as the echo of his receding steps ?"

"[From The Duke of Buckingham]: Confusion is love's first symptom."

"Good Heaven ! when we observe what egregious nonsense other people talk, what woful follies other people commit, sure we must be tempted to turn upon ourselves and ask — "What do I do that is equally silly ?” … … Human egotism is very much exaggerated. No one in reality occupies less of our thoughts than we do ourselves. We seriously consider the qualities of others, we dilate on their folly, question curiously on the motives of their actions, and investigate all the recesses of their minds into which we can penetrate. We never do so by ourselves. Who ever sits down to think over himself? Self is the only individual we take for granted. Were the character of any one of our friends to be sketched with tolerable accuracy, we should recognise the likeness at once ; but let our own, drawn to the very life, be brought before us, we should not know it, and even when told, we should in all probability deny the acquaintance."

"… And herein lies the difference between the love of man and that of woman. In his active and hurried career, it is impossible that love should hold the lonely and undivided empire it does over an existence of which it is at once the occupation and the resource. It is in solitude that the imagination exercises its gigantic power ; and where are a woman's feelings nurtured but in solitude ? The one passes so few hours alone, the other passes so many. What impassioned thoughts, how much of that poetry which first creates and then colours the future, haunt the lonely mornings and the long evenings, when the tapestry grows almost mechanically beneath the hand, but when the mind is wholly given up to the heart ! A young girl has rarely anything to call forth that romance inherent in every nature but the idea of her lover; and what a world of deep and beautiful feeling is lavished there ! Every reverie in which she indulges is a poem, filled with the fanciful, the true, and yet the unreal."

"But, however deeply and entirely a man may love, he can only yield to its influence the hurried moment, the occasional thought. Every day brings its toil and its struggle ; and to meet these demands his mind must give its utmost energies. He cannot pass weeks, months — ay, and years — the eye fixed upon its daily task, but the fancies wandering far, far away. His soul must be in its labour : all the active paths in life are his own, and he must bring to their mastery, hope, thought, patience, and strength ; he may turn sometimes to the flowers on the way-side, but the great business of life must be for ever before him. The heart which a woman could utterly fill were unworthy to be her shrine. His rule over her is despotic and unmodified ; but her power over him must be shared with a thousand other influences."

"Ah ! if the doctrine of amelioration be true, what a mighty debt does the future owe to the past ! And alas for those who have gone before ! Methinks the struggle has been but ill repaid."

"The body and the soul are not friends, but enemies. The one curbs and confines, the other wears and shatters. Perpetual is the terrible struggle, till death parts the mortal and the immortal ; and life, the riddle, is lost in the deeper secrets of eternity."

"Some one says, keep your secret yourself, for how can you expect others to do that which you cannot ? Still, I am persuaded more secrets are revealed by being kept than by being told. You enlist a person's honour, and, still dearer, their vanity, on your side by confidence. We all desire to deserve the good opinion which we believe we have inspired ; but distrust awakens all that is little and mean within us. Why should we be better than we are held to be ? We are mortified by not being thought worthy of trust ; and there is also a feeling of small triumph in circumventing those who doubt either our inclination or our power of service. We like to show that we are not the nonentities for which we were taken."

"[From de Joinville]: No path appears so short as that which is well known."

"[From de Joinville]: Ah ! change is a great error — the variety of existence only reminds us of its weight. Who are the happiest individuals of our acquaintance ? Those whose existence revolves in the smallest possible circle — men whose daily horizon is bounded by their dinner — women whose hope extends not beyond their knitting needles."

"[From Marie, Comtesse de Soissons]: We love to talk of ourselves, but we are obliged to manœuvre for listeners. … …"

"The truth is, we like to talk over our disasters, because they are ours ; and others like to listen, because they are not theirs."

"Child of the Earth's old age, America is the favourite on whom a double portion has been lavished. The glorious sky, the fertile soil, the mine rich beneath, and, more than all, a brave, free, and intelligent race, who but must feel that the world's great destinies are yet unaccomplished, when the mind dwells on the glorious promise which kindles the far shores of the broad Atlantic ? The most creative imagination avails not to picture the noon of that mighty hemisphere now in its infancy."

"Considering what a useful thing deception is — the first and last lesson taught by what is called knowledge of the world — it is woful to observe how much of it is wasted. In nine cases out of ten, the most ingenious invention not only does not answer, but even defeats its own purpose. How much attention is thrown away, how often is flattery mistaken, and how many of our devices, like ostriches, blind their own eyes, and fancy others are blinded too !"

"… self-possession is the most provoking thing in the world."

"But there is a love that is stronger than death, and deeper than life ; for whose sake the sacrifice is light — ay, even unfelt. It is a love which, born of the pure and fresh feelings of youth, grows with your growth and strengthens with your strength — a love which would give sweetness to a palace and glory to a cottage — a love prepared to suffer, to endure, and yet suffice unto its own happiness — tried by time, by doubt, even by despair, and yet living on — the heart's deepest hope, and life's dearest tie."

"Terror dwells amid the works of man, not amid the works of nature. We tremble beside the tomb — we shrink from the icy vapour of the charnel-house — the foot walks unsteadily over the stones placed above the dead ; but the green grass and dewy flowers create no fear."

"There is something in the shadowless sky and the unbroken moonshine which mocks us with repose. We have no part in it ; our own unrest has no sympathy with the blue and spiritual horizon, whose hope is not with this life. The calm and quiet light is not of our busy and careful world; it belongs to sleep, to silence, and to dreams ; and, alas we gaze on it with the beating heart and the fevered pulse, while the thousand vain delusions of past and future cast their various shadows before our eyes. Who stands watching in the sleepless midnight, but one from whose pillow repose is banished by one all-present thought? Ambition, hate, love, alike have their vigils; and what have they in common with the cloudless sky, where the moon wanders, placid as the spirit of the good when resigned to die, and confident and filled with another and holier sphere ?"

"Besides, there is a strong current of romance in every feminine nature, that delights in the hazardous and the mysterious, especially in love affairs."

"Between the future and the soul there is some mysterious sympathy — imperfect and broken in our present state of existence."

"How unutterably do the wretched feel the least expression of kindness !"

"It is a curious fact, but a fact it is, that your witty people are the most hard-hearted in the world. The truth is, fancy destroys feeling. The quick eye to the ridiculous turns every thing to the absurd side ; and the neat sentence, the lively allusion, and the odd simile, invest what they touch with something of their own buoyant nature. Humour is of the heart, and has its tears ; but wit is of the head, and has only smiles — and the majority of those are bitter."

"How odd it is to think how differently people are employed at the same time, and how sad to think how heavily the burden falls on most ! The contrast of the lot of the few with that of the many rather aggravates the misery : — why should they be thus favoured ?"

"[From King Charles (II)]: Let a miracle have happened only once, and we always expect it to happen again, in our own case. Fidelity is very good as a precedent, — one true lover helps on the vows of a thousand false ones."

"No torture, though the human race are most ingenious in their devices of hate, can equal the low fever, the wearing depression of suspense."

"The wretched catch at hope, however improbable."

"… she had delicate health, — only those who have this perpetual interest in themselves can understand its enjoyment, — and what with complaints, symptoms, remedies, and ground-ivy tea, it was quite wonderful how time passed unobserved away. It is on such as these that life lavishes its favours ; these are they of the light heart, and yet lighter mind, for whose sake the earth, to whose base clay they are so near allied, puts forth her best; these are they who have the corn and wine of existence. What know they of the sensitive temper which makes its own misery ? — of the deep feeling that cannot change ? — of the hope that looks too high, whose bright wings melt in the glorious flight, and is dashed to pieces in its rude collision with the common and the actual ? What know they of that feverish impatience of the littleness of society, which takes refuge amid the dreams of a haunted solitude, from which it only ventures forth to have those dreams destroyed ? What know they of these ? Nothing, nothing ; and in their ignorance are they happy !"

"Yes, Evelyn !" said Francesca, in a voice of touching sweetness, but calm — not one accent changed. "Yes : and here I am happy. Whatever be the world of which yonder dark sea is the portal, we shall seek it together. It has been upon me from my earliest childhood, a longing for another sphere. I knew that this earth was not my home — that here hopes and affections were to be blighted and to die. Heaven has restored us to each other; it wills that our future be eternal. A deep and a sweet repose is in my heart at this moment, and I wait, as at an altar, that fate which is not of this life."

"There are some whose sojourn on this earth is brief as it is bitter. For such the world keeps the wasted affection, the hope destroyed, the energy that preys upon itself, the kindly feeling unrequited, and the love that asks for happiness and finds despair or death. The lots in this existence are unequal. Some pass along a path predestined to weariness and tears. Such a destiny have I here recorded ; and ere its truth be denied, I pray those who may turn these pages to think of those they have known, and their memory will witness for me. The kindest, the loveliest, the best, whom they can remember — has not life for them poured forth from its darkest cup ? — have not they known the broken heart and the early grave ? Such natures belong not to our soil — they are of another sphere ; and it is mercy when Heaven recalls its own."

"... what is life. A gulf of troubled waters—where the soul, Like a vexed bark, is tossed upon the waves, Of pain and pleasure, by the wavering breath Of passions."

"Methinks that we have known some former state More glorious than our present; and the heart Is haunted by dim memories—shadows left By past felicity."

"[From Sir Jasper Meredith]: Human enjoyment is all too dearly atoned."

"There are in existence two periods when we shrink from any great vicissitude—early youth and old age. In the middle of life, we are indifferent to change ; for we have discovered that nothing is, in the end, so good or so bad as it at first appeared. We know, moreover, how to accommodate ourselves to circumstances ; and enough of exertion is still left in us to cope with the event. But age is heart-wearied and tempest-torn : it is the crumbling cenotaph of fear and hope ! Wherefore should there be turmoil for the few, and evening hours, when all they covet is repose ? They see their shadow fall upon the grave ; and need but to be at rest beneath! Youth is not less averse from change ; but that is from exaggeration of its consequences, for all seems to the young so important, and so fatal. They are timid, because they know not what they fear; hopeful, because they know not what they expect. Despite their gayety of confidence, they yet dread the first plunge into life's unfathomed deep."

"Who, in after life, can help smiling at the fancies in which early anticipation revelled ; how absurd, how impossible, do they not now appear! Yet, in such mockery lurks much of bitterness : the laugh rings hollow from many a disappointment, and many a mortification."

"Who shall place a bound to human folly, when both the inflicter and the endurer of torture have deemed that pain is acceptable in the sight of God ?"

"[From Sir Jasper]: I like a cat because it does not disguise its selfishness with any flattering hypocrisies. Its attachment is not to yourself, but to your house. Let it but have food, and a warm lair among the embers, and it heeds not at whose expense. Then it has the spirit to resent aggression. You shall beat your dog, and he will fawn upon you; but a cat never forgives : it has no tender mercies, and it torments before it destroys its prey."

"There was an evil in Pandora's box Beyond all other ones, yet it came forth In guise so lovely, that men crowded round And sought it as the dearest of all treasure. ... The evil's name was Love."

"We do not know how much we love, Until we come to leave ; An aged tree, a common flower, Are things o'er which we grieve."

"Farewell's a bitter word to say."

"He was of those whose sensitive organisation, and inborn talent, constitute that genius which holds ordinary maxims at defiance. No education can confer—no circumstances check it; and even to account for it, we need, with the ancients, to believe in inspiration."

"O ! never another dream can be Like that early dream of ours, When the fairy, Hope, lay down like a child, And slept amid opening flowers."

"[From Henrietta]: A man in love is a nonentity for the time—he is nothing ; and nature, that is, my nature, abhors a vacuum."

"But there is something in parting that softens the heart;—it is as if we had never felt how unutterably dear a beloved object could be, till we are about to lose it for ever."

"Is not the lark companion of the spring? And should not Hope — that sky-lark of the heart— Bear, with her sunny song, youth company ?"

"[From Walter Maynard]: Poetry is the immortality of earth : where shall we look for our noblest thoughts, and our tenderest feelings, but in its eternal pages ?"

"[Of poets]: They gather from sorrow its sweetest emotions ; they repeat of hope but its noblest visions; they look on nature with an earnest love, which wins the power of making her hidden beauty visible; and they reproduce the passionate, the true, and the beautiful. Alas ! they themselves are not what they paint; the low want subdues the lofty will ; the small and present vanity interferes with the far and glorious aim : but still it is something to have looked beyond the common sphere where they were fated to struggle. They paid in themselves the bitter penalty of not realising their own ideal ; but mankind have to be thankful for the generous legacy of thought and harmony bequeathed by those who were among earth's proscribed and miserable. Fame is bought by happiness."

"Fear dwells around the absent—and our love For such grows all too anxious, too much filled With vain regrets, and fond inquietudes : We know not love till those we love depart."

"There is to age something so enlivening in the company of youth, unconsciously it shares the cheerfulness it witnesses, and hopes with the hopes around, in that sympathy which is the kindliest part of our nature."

"Vanity ! guiding power, 'tis thine to rule Statesman and vestryman—the knave or fool. The Macedonian crossed Hydaspes' wave, Fierce as the storm, and gloomy as the grave. Urged by the thought, what would Athenians say, When next they gathered on a market-day ? And the same spirit that induced his toil, Leads on the cook, to stew, and roast, and boil : Whether the spice be mixed—the flag unfurled— Each deems their task the glory of the world."

"[From Lady Marchmont’s Letters to Sir Jasper]: What a duty to one's self it is to be young, vain, and pretty ! but the middle quality is the most important. Vanity is a cloak that wraps us up comfortably, and a drapery which sets us off to the best advantage ; and its great merit is, that it suits itself to every sort of circumstance."

"[From Lady Marchmont’s Letters to Sir Jasper]: Chloe believed that he had immortalised himself by a representation of the war of the Titans against the gods. Unfortunately, they were higher than even the room ; and Lord Marchmont refused to comply with the wishes of the artiste, and to take down his splendidly painted ceiling to admit of the dessert."

"Which was the true philosopher ?—the sage Who to the sorrows and the crimes of life Gave tears—or he who laughed at all he saw ?"

"It (London) is the most real place in the world ; you will inevitably be brought to your level."

"The first step towards establishing pretensions of any kind, is to believe firmly in them yourself: faith is very catching, and half the beauty-reputations of which I hear have originated with the possessors."

"[From Lady Mary Wortley Montague within Lady Marchmont’s letters]: Friendship is just an innocent delusion, to round a period in a moral essay."

"[From Lady Mary Wortley Montague within Lady Marchmont’s letters]: All men are rascals to women, and all women rascals to each other."

"[PS to a Lady Marchmont letter]: Lord Marchmont, whenever he sees me writing, sends you a message of equal length and civility. Once named, it will do for always. You can keep it by you like a stock of frozen provision."

"Hard are life's early steps; and but that youth Is buoyant, confident, and strong in hope, Men would behold its threshold, and despair."

"A great sorrow forgets every thing but itself; but little sorrows exaggerate themselves and each other."

"... I have a respect for family pride. If it be a prejudice, it is prejudice in its most picturesque shape ; but I hold that it is connected with some of the noblest feelings in our nature."

"Green trees and blue skies are very well in their way ; I believe indispensable to painters, and useful to poets :"

"[From Lord Norbourne]: Statesmen and philosophers too, often talk a great deal of nonsense. Half of what are called our finest sentiments originate in the necessity of rounding a sentence."

"[From Lord Norbourne]: Youth is prone to admire ; but it is odd how, in a few years, we discover the defects of our demigods."

"[From Lord Norbourne]: I do not often give advice ; first, because it is a bad habit that of giving any thing ; and, secondly, because I always think of the ambassador’s answer to Oliver's declaration, 'that if the court of Spain cut off his head, he would send them the heads of every Spaniard in his dominions.’ 'Yes, please your highness,' returned the diplomatist, 'but among them all there may not be one to fit my shoulders.' In like manner, with all our choice of other people’s experience, there is never any that suits us but our own."

"But dreams, which fill the waking eye With deeper spells than sleep, When hours unnumbered pass us by ; From such we wake and weep. We wake, but not to sleep again, The heart has lost its youth ; The morning light that wakes us then, Cold, calm, and stern, is truth."

"[From Lord Norbourne]: Talents of this high and imaginative order, seem to me rather given to benefit others than their possessor. Their harvest is in the future, not the present. Their brains produce the golden ore, which commoner hands mould to the daily purposes of life.""

"[From Lord Norbourne]: As little do I think that your country pursuits deserve to engross your time. Life was given for something better than sitting after fish, walking after birds, and riding after hares.”"

"[From Lord Norbourne]: Wit only gains you the reputation of being hardhearted, which it is very well to be in reality, but not to have the reputation of being. It shocks people's little innocent prejudices, and these I always respect when I can. Indeed, the only character I ever found of any use to man, was that of having no character at all."

"No two people are more different in outward seeming, than a man sometimes grows to differ from himself."

"… there are no weaknesses which we so thoroughly despise as those to which ourselves have yielded; and no faults strike us so forcibly as our own, when they are past."

"Moreover, the habits of business are the most enduring of any; …"

"To me there is no season so lovely as the autumn. There is a gayety about the spring with which I have no anything for its perpetual revival of leaf and bloom is too great a contrast to the inner world, where so many feelings lie barren, and so many hopes withered. There is an activity about it, from which the wearied spirits shrink; and a joyousness, which but makes you turn more sadly upon yourself; but about autumn there is a tender melancholy inexpressibly soothing ; decay is around, but such is in your own heart. There is a languor in the air which encourages your own, and the poetry of memory is in every drooping flower and falling leaf. The very magnificence of its Assyrian array is touched with the light of imagination : even while you watch it, it passes away as your brightest hopes have done before."

"I do not ask to offer thee A timid love like mine ; I lay it, as the rose is laid, On some immortal shrine."

"Love is a new intelligence entered into the being ; it is the softest, but the most subtle light ; in all experience it deceives itself; but how many truths does it teach,—how much knowledge does it impart ! It makes us alive to a thousand feelings, of whose very existence, till then, we had not dreamed. The poet's page has a new magic : we comprehend all that had before seemed graceful exaggeration ; we now find that poetry falls short of what it seeks to express ; and we take a new delight in the musical language that seems made for tenderness."

"Even into philosophy is carried the deeper truth of the heart—and how many inconsistencies are at once understood ! We grow more indulgent, more pitying ; and one sweet weakness of our own leads to so much indulgence for others. We doubt, however, whether the term weakness be not misapplied in this case. If there be one emotion that redeems our humanity by stirring all that is generous and unselfish within us, that awakens all the poetry of our nature, and that makes us believe in that heaven of which it bears the likeness, it is love : love, spiritual, devoted, and eternal ; love, that softens the shadow of the valley of death, to welcome us after to its own and immortal home."

"Nothing can compensate to a woman for the want of exterior attraction. There is a nameless fascination about beauty, which seems, like all fairy gifts, crowded into one. It wins without an effort, and obtains credit for possessing every thing else. How many mortifications, from its very cradle, has the unpleasing exterior to endure !"

"What mockeries are our most firm resolves ! To will is ours, but not to execute. We map our future like some unknown coast, And say, " Here is an harbour, here a rock — The one we will attain, the other shun :" And we do neither."

"There is nothing to which you so soon become accustomed as to the presence of the beloved one ; the gentle chain of habit easily becomes a sweet necessity."

"[From Lord Norbourne]: If a young man has his way to make in the world, a wife is a dead weight upon his hands. Indeed, I have looked upon the fable of Sisyphus as an allegory, and that his wife was the stone which so perpetually rolled back upon his hands, effectually retarding his weary progress up-hill."

"[From Lord Norbourne]: The next thing that a young man loses, after his heart, is his hearing."

"I believe all the good that is sometimes said of human nature when I remember the feelings of youth; and it is this principle explains why men whose "hearts are dry as summer's dust," often delight in the society of the very young. The sympathy is awakened by memory."

"Life has dark secrets ; and the hearts are few That treasure not some sorrow from the world— A sorrow silent, gloomy, and unknown, Yet colouring the future from the past. … for time is terrible, Avenging, and betraying."

"The future has a more subtle sympathy with the present than our imperfect nature can analyse. Who has not felt that nameless shadow upon the spirit, which indicates the coming trouble as surely as the over-hanging cloud foretells the thunderstorm ? The external world is full of signs ; and so is the internal, if we knew but how to trace them. There is the weight on the air before the tempest; there is the weight on the heart as the coming evil approaches."

"The wind, amid the green leaves and the breathing flowers, goes its way in music ; it is the sweet and mystic song of universal nature. But it enters into our dwellings, and it learns there the accent of pain ; it breathes what it bears away—the sigh that tells, even in the midnight hours, of unrest, and the voice of lamentation that speaks but in solitude. These echoes accumulate, and the house that has stood for years retains within its walls complaints long since lost in air: but the wind, that heard, recalls them ; and there is a strange likeness to humanity in its murmurs, as it howls mournfully along the vaulted ceiling, or shrieks through the winding passages."

"Alas ! why should our lot in life be made, Before we know that life ? Experience comes, But comes too late. If I could now recall All that I now regret, how different Would be my choice !"

"Existence is full of strange contrasts. The wheel of life whirls round, and leaves us scarcely time to know where we are before we find ourselves in a totally different position. The material is always much the same,—pride, vanity, deceit, and selfishness ; but it is worked up into very different shapes."

"There has always been to me something inexpressibly touching in the single taper burning through the long and lonely hours of silence and sleep. It must mark some weary vigil ; one, perhaps, by the sick couch, where rests the pale face on which we dread every moment to look our last. How the very heart suspends its beating in the hushed stillness of the sick chamber ! what a history of hopes fears, and cares, are in its hours! How does love then feel its utter fondness and its helplessness! How is the more active business of the outward world forgotten in the deep interest of the hushed world in those darkened walls !—a look, a tone, a breath, is there of vital importance. With what tender care the cup is raised to the feverish lip ; with what intense anxiety the colour is watched on the wasted cheek ! How are the pulses counted on the thin hand, and sometimes in vain !"

"In the country, an open window lets in at once the fair face of heaven : the sunshine has its own cheerfulness ; the green bough flings on the floor its pleasant shade; and the spirit sees, at a glance, the field and the hedge where the hawthorn is in bloom. Not so in a town : there smoke enters at the casement ; and we look out upon the darkened wall, and the narrow street, where the very atmosphere is dull and coarse. Its gloomy influence is on all."

"A history of how and where works of imagination have been produced, would be more extraordinary than even the works themselves."

"The life of the most successful writer has rarely been other than of toil and privation; and here I cannot but notice a singularly absurd "popular fancy," that genius and industry are incompatible. The one is inherent in the other. A mind so constituted has a restlessness in its powers, which forces them into activity."

"The poet's life is one of want and suffering, and often of mortification—mortification, too, that comes terribly home ; but far be it from me to say, that it has not its own exceeding great reward."

"A pretty, rainbow sort of life enough ; Filled up with vanities and gay caprice : Such life is like the garden at Versailles, Where all is artificial ; and the stream Is held in marble basins, or sent up Amid the fretted air, in waterfalls ; Fantastic, sparkling ; and the element, The mighty element, a moment's toy ; And, like all toys, ephemeral."

"Pleasure lasts forever, but enjoyment does not : the reason is, that the one lies around, and perpetually renews itself; but the other lies within, and exhausts itself."

"Friends began to drop in. One came with intelligence of a sale, where the most divine things in the world were to be had for nothing, or next to it—that next to it, by-the-by, is usually a very sufficient difference."

"It was a lovely day ; for, say what they will, England does see the sunshine sometimes. Indeed, I think that our climate is an injured angel : has it not the charm of change, and what charm can be greater ?"

"[From the Duke of Wharton]: For my part, I hold that the connubial system of this country is a complete mistake. The only happy marriages I ever heard of are those in some Eastern story I once read, where the king marries a new wife every night, and cuts off her head in the morning."

"After all, wit is something like sunshine in a frost—very sharp, very bright, but very cold and uncomfortable."

"[From the Duke of Wharton]: I am not sure that I like to be reminded of any thing. Let me exist intensely in the present—the past and future should be omitted from my life by express desire."

"[From Lord Hervey]: I do not dislike the past, present, nor future. Like woman, they have all behaved very well to me. The past has given me a great deal of pleasure; the present is with you ; and as to the future, such is the force of example, that I doubt not it will do by me as its predecessors have done."

"[From the Duke of Wharton]: I hope that you have heard the proposed alteration in the commandments at the last political meeting at Houghton ? Hanbury suggested that the 'not' should, in future, be omitted; but Doddington objected, as people might leave off doing wrong if it became a duty. At all events, they would not steal, covet, and bear false witness against their neighbour, with half the relish that they do at present."

"[From Lady Mary Wortley Montague]: Ah, we make laws, and we follow customs. By the first we cut off our own pleasures; and by the second, make ourselves answerable for the follies of others."

"Love is aspiring, yet is humble, too: It doth exalt another o'er itself, With sweet heart homage, which delights to raise That which it worships ; yet is fain to win The idol to its lone and lowly home Of deep affection."

"[From Lady Mary Wortley Montague]: I see no great good in being remembered : I would fain concentrate existence in the present. I would forget in order to enjoy. As to memory, it only reminds me that I am growing older every day ; and as to hope, it only puts one out of conceit with possession."

"Yet wherefore pause upon our way ? Tis best to hurry on ; For half the dangers that we fear, We face them, and they're gone."

"In the little, as in the great things of life, are to be found the type and sign of our immortality. Every hope that looks forward is pledge of the hereafter to which it refers. Who rests content with the present ? None. We have all deep within us a craving for the future. In childhood we anticipate youth ; in youth manhood ; in manhood old age ; and to what does that turn, but to a world beyond our own ? From the very first, the strong belief is nursed within us ; we look forward and forward, till that which was desire grows faith. The to come is the universal heritage of mankind ; and he claims but a small part of his portion who looks not beyond the grave."

"[From Lord Norbourne, to himself]: Youth would be a delightful time, if it were not so singularly absurd; and if the consequences of its vain hopes, and foolish beliefs, did not remain long after themselves had passed away."

"[From Lord Norbourne, to himself]: This is worse than foolish, of all follies that we can commit, the greatest is to hesitate."

"Bring from the east, bring from the west, Flowers for the hair, gems for the vest ; Bring the rich silks that are shining with gold, Wrought in rich broidery on every fold, Bring ye the perfumes that breathe on the rose, Such as the summer of Egypt bestows ; Bring the white pearls from the depths of the sea — They are fair like the neck where their lustre will be. Such are the offerings that now will be brought, But can they bring peace to the turmoil of thought ? Can they one moment of quiet bestow To the human heart, feverish and beating, below ?"

"It is wretchedness to kneel by the grave of the departed, who have taken with them the verdure from the earth, and the glory from the sky ; who have left home and heart alike desolate : but then the soul asserts its diviner portion, looks afar off through the valley of the shadow of tears, and is intensely conscious that here is but its trial, and beyond is its triumph. The love that dwells with the dead has a sanctity in its sorrow ; for love, above all things, asserts that we are immortal. But wretchedness takes no form, varied as are its many modes in this our weary existence, like that where the hand is given, and the heart is far away—where the love vowed at the altar is not that which lies crushed, yet not quenched, within the hidden soul. Hope brings no comfort ; for there were cruelty and crime in its promises: memory has no solace ; it can,at best, only crave oblivion—and oblivion of what ? Of all life's sweet dreams, and deepest feelings. Yet, what slight things must, with a sting like that of the adder, bring back the past—too dear, and yet too bitter ! a word, a look, a tone, may be enough to wrong every pulse with the agony of a vain and forbidden regret."

"Deep and bitter is the grief that shrinks from words, even with those the most loved and trusted ;"

"A feather on the wind, a straw on the stream—such are, indeed, the emblems of humanity. We resolve, and our resolutions melt away with a word and a look : we are the toys of an emotion. … We are rarely wrong when we act from impulse. By that I do not mean every rash, and wayward, and selfish fantasy ; but by allowing its natural course to the first warm and generous feeling that springs up in the heart. Second thoughts are more worldly, more cold, and calculate on some advantage."

"Half the misery in the world arises from want of sympathy. We do not assist each other as we might do, because we rarely pause to ask, do they need our assistance ? And this works out the moral of suffering: we need to suffer, that we may learn to pity."

"There is in life no blessing like affection : It soothes, it hallows, elevates, subdues, And bringeth down to earth its native heaven."

"[From Lady Marchmont’s Letters to Sir Jasper]: Well, enthusiasm is the divine particle in our composition : with it we are great, generous, and true ; without it, we are little, false, and mean."

"Mind, dangerous and glorious gift! Too much thy native heaven has left Its nature in thee, for thy light To be content with earthly home. It hath another, and its sight Will too much to that other roam ;"

"[From Lady Marchmont’s Letters to Sir Jasper]: {Of England} Our weather and our government are equally bad—at least every one say that they are."

"Wealth is to luxury what marble is to the palace—it must be there, as the first material ; but taste, and taste only, can direct its after use."

"… with all the appliances of cheerfulness, with all the means of wit, the chief portion of the "table-talk" turned upon individual and general grievances. Each person was the most injured individual under the sun."

"Life's best gifts are bought dearly. Wealth is won By years of toil, and often comes too late: With pleasure comes satiety ; and pomp Is compassed round with vexing vanities : And genius, earth's most glorious gift, that lasts When all beside is perished in the dust— How bitter is the suffering it endures ! How dark the penalty that it exacts !"

"[From Lady Marchmont’s Letters to Sir Jasper]: Alas, for human nature ! even grief must take an attitude before it can hope for sympathy. I now understand on what principles our widows wear weeds, and our judges wigs. The imposing external appearance is every thing in this world."

"Not in a close and bounded atmosphere Does life put forth its noblest and its best; 'Tis from the mountain's top that we look forth, And see how small the world is at our feet. There the free winds sweep with unfettered wing; There the sun rises first, and flings the last, The purple glories of the summer eve; There does the eagle build his mighty nest; And there the snow stains not its purity. When we descend, the vapour gathers round, And the path narrows : small and worthless things Obstruct our way; and, in ourselves, we feel The strong compulsion of their influence. We grow like those with whom we daily blend : To yield is to resemble."

"I believe that, to the young, suspense is the most intolerable suffering. Active misery always brings with it its own power of endurance. What a common expression it is to hear,—"Well, if I had known what I had to go through beforehand, I should never have believed it possible that I could have done it.” But it is a dreadful thing to be left alone with your imagination, to have to fancy the worst, and yet not know what that worst may be; and this, in early youth, has a degree of acute anguish that after years cannot know. As we advance in life, we find all things here too utterly worthless to grieve over them as we once could grieve : we grow cold and careless ; the dust, to which we are hastening, has entered into the heart."

"For nothing like the weary step Betrays the weary heart."

"For Hope say Fear—Hope is a timid thing, Fearful, and weak, and born in suffering; At least, such hope as human life can bring."

"[From Sir Jasper Meredith to Ethel]: {Of love} I look upon it as the greatest calamity to which our nature is subject. What is it but having our happiness taken out of our own hands, and delivered, bound and bartered, into that of another."

"But what is the ordinary history of the heart ? We yield to some strong and sudden impulse. One sweet face sheds its own loveliness over earth. A subtle pleasure, unknown before, enters into the commonest thing. We gaze on the stars, and dream of an existence spiritual and lovely as their own, far removed from all lower cares, from all the meaner and baser portion of our ordinary path. The face of nature has grown fairer than of old ; a thousand graceful phantasies are linked with every leaf and flower. The odour that comes from the violet with the last sobs of a spring shower, is more fragrant from recalling the faint breathing of one beloved mouth. We turn the poet's page, now, to find a thousand hidden meanings, only to be detected by a passionate sympathy; for poetry is the language set apart for love."

"[From Lady Mary Wortley Montague]: Moral essays are only a series of mistakes: our first duty to ourselves, is to enjoy ourselves as much as possible. Now, to accomplish that, we must cultivate all our bad qualities : I can assure you I am quite alarmed when I discover any good symptoms. … I laugh at most things; and that is the reason why people in general do not understand me. A person who wishes to be popular, should never laugh at any thing. A jest startles people from that tranquil dulness in which they love to indulge : they do not like it till age has worn off the joke's edge. … I am persuaded, if all gay badinage were prefaced by an explanation, it would be infinitely better received."

"[Of doubt] I tell thee death were far more merciful Than such a blow. It is death to the heart; Death to its first affections, its sweet hopes; The young religion of its guileless faith."

"I do not think that life has a suspense more sickening than that of expecting a letter which does not come."

"How strangely do the common domestic events, things of constant and hourly recurrence, jar upon the over-excited nerves ! It seems to mock our inward misery to see all but the pulses of our own beating heart, go on so calmly and uniformly. There is an exaggeration in sorrow, which would fain demand universal sympathy : it does not find it, and the sorrow sinks the deeper."

"Terrible, indeed, is such sleep ; but more terrible its awaking. At first we rouse forgetful ; but conscious of something, we know not what. The head is raised with a sudden start, only to drop heavily on the pillow from whence rest is banished in an instant. The eyes close again, but not to sleep ; we seek only to shut out the light from which we sicken. But the inward sorrow rises only the more distinct : all is remembered, not a pang is spared ; and the very rest given to the body only renders its sense of suffering more acute. Misery has many bitter moments ; but, I believe, the first awakening after any great sorrow is the one of its most utter agony. How will it ever be possible to get through the long, the coming day ? I envy those who have never asked the question."

"Life is but like a journey during night. We toil through gloomy paths of the unknown ; Heavy the footsteps are with pitfalls round; And few and faint the stars that guide our way : But, at the last, comes morning ; glorious Shines forth the light of day, and so will shine The heaven which is our future and our home."

"[From Sir Jasper Meredith]: In all this wide world there is nothing but suffering: the child cries in its cradle ; it but begins as it will continue. In all ranks there is the same overpowering misery : the poor man has all the higher faculties of his being absorbed in a perpetual struggle with cold and hunger: a step higher, and pretence comes to aggravate poverty; dig we cannot, and to beg we are ashamed. Go on into what are called the higher classes, and there we find ambition the fever of the soul, and jealousy its canker. There are pleasures ; but there is no relish for them ; and luxuries which have become wearisome as wants. The feelings are either dull in selfish apathy, that excludes enjoyment; or unduly keen, till a look or word is torture."

"We begin life—how buoyant, how hopeful ! difficulties but bring out a healthful exertion, and obstacles stimulate by the resources they call into action. This cannot, and does not last : it is not lassitude so much as discouragement that gains upon us : we feel how little we have done of all we once thought that we could do ; and still more, how little that we have done has answered its intention."

"The very essence of a poetical mind is irritable, passionate, and yet tender, susceptible, and keenly alive to that opinion which is the element of its existence. These may be faults ; but they are faults by which themselves suffer most, and without which they could not produce their creations. Can you bid the leopard leave his spots, and yet be beautiful ?"

"But I, also, gaze beyond, in all the earnest humility of hope. I believe that the mind is imperishable ; and is also the worthiest offering to the Creator. Whatever of thought, of feeling, or of faculties, I may ever have possessed, look to the grave as to an altar, from whence they will arise purified and exalted unto heaven."

"[From Lady Marchmont’s Letters to Sir Jasper]: No person can have a greater respect for words than myself ; they can do every thing but what is impossible : and there is an extraordinary excitement in a crowd, which lives in no description that I ever yet read. It is strange the influence we exercise over each other. What is tame and cold with the few, becomes passion shared with the many."

"It is, after all, full dress that is the test of the gentlewoman. Common people are frightened at an unusual toilette ; they think that finer clothes deserve finer manners, forgetting that any manner, to be good, must be that of every day."

"Life's smallest miseries are, perhaps, its worst: Great sufferings have great strength : there is a pride In the bold energy that braves the worst"

"The lover may tremble while waiting for the mistress on whose lip hangs the heart's doom, but I doubt whether he feels equal anxiety with the young author waiting the fiat of his publisher."

"{Of Curl, a publisher} Reputation, feelings, or even chastisement, were as nothing in the balance weighed against his interest ; life was to him only a long sum ; his ledger was his Bible, and his religion, profit."

"[From Curl]: You reason too much ; all young people are so fond of reasons, as if reasons were of any use. … It is your duty to write what will sell, and I tell you reasons are unmarketable commodities."

"[From Curl]: I don't, myself, dislike a fine phrase now and then ; but fine words, like fine clothes, don't do to wear every day : you would soon find yourself without any to wear."

"[From Curl]: Englishmen like to have a few sentiments ready for after-dinner use, in case of a speech. You must, also, add a dozen or so sarcasms, and say a little more about bribery and corruption. Above all, be sure that your jokes are obvious ones, and I know the thing will be a hit!"

"[From Mr Lintot, another publisher]: Paper and printing are terrible things ; I wish books could do without them …"

"The fanciful fables of fairy land are but allegories of the young poet's mind when the sweet spell is upon him. Some slight thing calls up the visionary world, and all the outward and actual is for the time forgotten. It is a fever ethereal and lovely ; but, like all other fevers, leaving behind weakness and exhaustion. I believe there is nothing that causes so strong a sensation of physical fatigue as the exercise of the imagination. The pulses beat too rapidly ; and how cold, how depressed, is the reaction !"

"Give a strong mind the advantage of habit, and its dominion over the weak one is absolute."

"[From Lady Mary Wortley Montague]: There is candour, at least, in borrowing from the wit of others, it frankly admits that we have none of our own."

"There is nothing in this world so sensitive as affection. It feels its own happiness too much not to tremble for its reality ; and starts, ever and anon, from its own delicious consciousness, to ask, Is it not, indeed, a dream ? A word and a look are enough either to repress or to encourage. Nothing is a trifle in love, for all is seen through an exaggerated medium …"

"Could we but turn upon ourselves the eyes With which we look on others, life would pass In one perpetual blush and smile."

"Ah! there are memories that will not vanish; Thoughts of the past we have no power to banish."

"[From Lord Norbourne]: I have heard much of the beauty of truth ; but it is a beauty no one likes to look upon. To find it out, is only to find that you have been duped in every possible manner; and to hear it, is only to have a friend give way to his temper, and say something disagreeable to you."

"[From Lord Norbourne]: Why, there remain avarice and business. I exceedingly regret that I do not, cannot force myself to love money. It is the most secure source of enjoyment of which our nature is capable. It is tangible and present ; it is subject to no imaginary miseries; it goes on increasing ; it is a joy for ever. It exercises both bodily and mental faculties in its acquisition ; it is satisfaction to the past, and encouragement to the future."

"[From Lord Norbourne]: … the miser, like the poet, must be born. It is not to be acquired without an original vocation."

"[From Lord Norbourne]: A woman always exaggerates to herself as she talks. Silence is the first step to forgetfulness."

"After all, there is nothing like business for enabling us to get through our weary existence. The intellect cannot sustain its sunshine flight long ; the flagging wing drops to the earth. Pleasure palls, and idleness is "Many gathered miseries in one name ; " but business gets over the hours without counting them. It may be very tired at the end, still it has brought the day to a close sooner than any thing else."

"It is a fearful stake the poet casts, When he comes forth from his sweet solitude Of hopes, and songs, and visionary things, To ask the iron verdict of the world. …. For never was there poet but he craved The golden sunshine of secure renown."

"All things are symbols ; and we find, In morning's lovely prime, The actual history of the mind In its own early time:"

"Day belongs to the earthlier deities — the stern, the harsh, and the cold. Gnomes are the spirits of daily hours. Toil, thought, and strife, beset us : we have to work, to quarrel, and to struggle : we have to take our neighbours in ; or, at least, to avoid their doing so by us. We are false, designing, and cautious ; for, after all, the doom of Ishmael is the doom of the whole race of men. His hand against every one, and every one's hand against him. Talk of general benevolence and philanthropy — nonsense! We all in our hearts hate each other; and good cause have we for so doing. But night comes in with a more genial spirit : we have done our worst and our bitterest ; and we need a small space to indulge any little bit of cordiality that may be left in us. A thousand gay phantasms float in on the sunny south, which has left the far-off vineyards of its birth. The taverns of our ancestors would ill bear contrasting with the clubs of to-day ; but many a gay midnight was past in the former : — midnights, whose mirth has descended even to us ; half the jests, whose gaiety is still contagious; half the epigrams, whose point is yet felt, were born of those brief and brilliant hours."

"[From Lavinia Fenton to Norbourne Courtenaye]: At present I have only a soubrette's part, with an apron and pockets, and a ballad ; but, as I said before, luck's all in this world, and I have every requisite for being lucky. I have a handsome face, a good voice, I care for nothing and nobody ; and when I am a duchess, which I have quite set my mind on being, I will be very grateful to you for having patronised my first benefit, which I shall rely upon your doing."

"It is a strange thing, but so it is, that very brilliant spirits are almost always the result of mental suffering, like the fever produced by a wound. I sometimes doubt tears, I oftener doubt lamentations ; but I never yet doubt the existence of that misery which flushes the cheek and kindles the eye, and which makes the lip mock, with sparkling words, the dark and hidden world within."

"There is something in intense suffering that seeks concealment, something that is fain to belie itself. In Cooper's novel of the "Bravo," Jacques conceals himself and his boat, by lying where the moonlight fell dazzling on the water. We do the same with any great despair, we shroud it in a glittering atmosphere of smiles and jests ; but the smiles are sneers, and the jests are sarcasms. There is always a vein of bitterness runs through these feverish spirits, they are the very delirium of sorrow seeking to escape from itself, and which cannot. Suspense and agony are hidden by the moonshine."

"It is curious to note how gradually the flowers warm into the rich colours and aromatic breath of summer. First, comes the snow-drop, formed from the snows, which give it name ; fair, but cold and scentless : then comes the primrose, with its faint soft hues, and its faint soft perfume — an allegory of actual existence, where the tenderest and most fragile natures are often those selected to bear the coldest weather, and the most bleak exposure."

"These are the spiders of society; They weave their petty webs of lies and sneers, And lie themselves in ambush for the spoil, The web seems fair, and glitters in the sun, And the poor victim winds him in the toil Before he dreams of danger or of death."

"A woman's character is developed by the affections : when once they come into action, how rapidly are the latent qualities called forth, and in how brief a time what a wonderful change is wrought !"

"… and, alas ! for human nature, envy will always delight in inflicting mortification."

"What would women do, if headachs were abolished? They are the universal feminine resource."

"She had that charming laugh which, like a song, The song of a spring-bird, wakes suddenly When we least look for it. It lingered long Upon the ear, one of the sweet things we Treasure unconsciously. As steals along A stream in sunshine, stole its melody, As musical as it was light and wild, The buoyant spirit of some fairy child ; Yet mingled with soft sighs, that might express The depth and truth of earnest tenderness."

"[From Lady Marchmont]: I am very vain, for I cultivate my vanity on a principle, and cannot understand why we should neglect such a source of gratification. I take all the admiration I can on the same principle that kings take taxes : I look upon it as my right."

"Why, what a history is on the rose ! A history beyond all other flowers ; But never more, in garden or in grove, Will the white queen reign paramount again. She must content her with remembered things, When her pale leaves were badge for knight and earl ; Pledge of a loyalty which was as pure, As free from stain, as those white depths her leaves Unfolded to the earliest breath of June."

"Mr. Trevanion was one of those talkers, who are too much engrossed with their own subject matter to have much attention to bestow elsewhere ; with them silence is attention. Ethel's wandering eye, and lip, tremulous with its effort to speak, would never have attracted his notice. To his utter astonishment, she interrupted a parenthesis, as brilliant as the rocket which it depicted, by saying, — "Mr. Trevanion, I do not know what you will think of my boldness, but I must speak to you.""

"The altar, 'tis of death ! for there are laid The sacrifice of all youth's sweetest hopes. It is a dreadful thing for woman's lip To swear the heart away ; yet know that heart Annuls the vow while speaking, and shrinks back From the dark future that it dares not face. The service read above the open grave Is far less terrible than that which seals The vow that binds the victim, not the will; For in the grave is rest."

"[From Constance Courtenaye]: I see clearly that society is as much a science as astronomy ; and, also, that, like poetry, one must be born with a genius for it."

"As all of beauty, save her blush, were there; And, like light clouds floating around each room, The censers sent their breathings of perfume; And scented waters mingled with the breath Of flowers that died as they rejoiced in death."

"I confess I have a great disdain for the west end of the town. It belongs to the small, the petty, and the present. From Hyde Park Corner to Charing Cross, all is utterly uninteresting : then history begins."

"... the green solitude of the Temple garden is the very place ... We leave the crowded street behind : we linger for a moment beside the little fountain, … It is, I believe, our only fountain, and all the associations of a fountain are poetical. It carries us to the East, and the stately halls of the caliphs rise on the mind's eye ; and we think over the thousand and one stories which made our childhood so happy, and stored up a world of unconscious poetry for our future years: or else it conjures up the graceful old Italian histories of moonlight festivals, when the red wine was cooled, and the lute echoed by the soft sound of falling waters. We leave the world of reality behind us for that of romance. That little fountain keeps, with its music, the entrance, as if to lull all more busy cares before we enter that quiet garden. Once entered in, how much lies around to subdue the troubled present with the mighty past! The river is below, with its banks haunted by memory."

"The imaginative temperament is full of vivid creations, of fanciful imagery, and sudden thoughts, all of which are impelled by their nature to communication ; and to find that this communication interests or amuses, is a powerful stimulus. The vanity is at once encouraged and gratified ; while the present small triumph is too readily taken as earnest for a greater one. The vanity I speak of, is vanity of the highest and best kind ; it belongs to the class of our most ethereal emotions ; it asks "golden opinions from all ranks of men," because it is keenly susceptible, and has an even feminine craving for sympathy ; it asks not so much praise as appreciation; it is generous and self-devoted : still it is vanity. There is also in mental exertion an absolute necessity for re-action : how often do the thoughts, long confined to one subject, crave, as it were, to spring out of themselves, or to run off in any opposite direction !"

"To see much of mankind sickens the philosopher and the poet; only in solitude can he continue to work for their benefit, or to crave for their sympathy."

"Alas! that ever Praise should have been what praise has been to me— The opiate of the mind !"

"At first, all is poetry with the young poet ; his heart is full of emotions eagerly struggling for utterance ; every thing suggests the exercise of his own sweet art. A leaf, a flower, the star far off in the serene midnight, a look, a word, are enough for a poem. Gradually this profusion exhausts itself, the mind grows less fanciful, and poetry is rather a power than a passion. Feelings have hardened into thoughts, and the sensations of others are no longer almost as if they had been matter of experience. The world has become real, and we have become real along with it. Our own knowledge is now the material where with we work ; and we have gathered a stock of recollections, bitter and pleasant, which now furnish the subjects that we once created : but these do not come at the moment's notice, like our former fantasies : we must be in the mood ; and such mood comes but seldom to our worn and saddened spirits. Still, the "vision and the faculty divine" are never quite extinguished ; the spiritual fire rises when all around is night, and the sad and tender emotion finds its old accustomed resource in music."

"Faint and more faint amid the world of dreams, That which once my all, thy image seems, Pale as a star that in the morning gleams."

"These are the things that fret away the heart Cold, careless trifles ; but not felt the less For mingling with the hourly acts of life."

"How often, in this cold and bitter world, Is the warm heart thrown back upon itself! Cold, careless, are we of another's grief; We wrap ourselves in sullen selfishness."

"[From Lord Marchmont]: Are you aware that I have, for a week past, been in the opposition ? But I own it is too much to expect that women should understand these matters."

"Love is a thing of frail and delicate growth ; Soon checked, soon fostered ; feeble, and yet strong : It will endure much, suffer long, and bear What would weigh down an angel's wing to earth, And yet mount heavenward ; but not the less It dieth of a word, a look, a thought ; And when it dies, it dies without a sign To tell how fair it was in happier hours ; It leaves behind reproaches and regrets. And bitterness within affection's well, For which there is no healing."

"Unbroken worldly prosperity has a natural tendency to harden the sympathies : when life comes so easily to ourselves, it is difficult to fancy it going hardly with others. Without any permanent object for exertion of any kind, we are apt soon to sink into habits of indolent indulgence, and such are inevitably selfish."

"... vanity is like a creeping plant, which begins by turning its lithe foliage round a single window, and ends by covering the whole edifice :"

"There is not a more bitter pang than that which accompanies the desire to befriend, and the inability of so doing."

"This is one of the most unpleasant lessons that experience gives; and one, moreover, that it is perpetually giving; namely, that what we fancied was liking for ourselves, was in reality, the result of , calculation, or of amusement. We fancied we were liked, when we were only useful or entertaining."

"[From Lady Mary Wortley Montague]: A lover's quarrel is made up of jealousies, doubts, hopes, fears, and all sorts of fantastic fancies : a matrimonial dispute, on the contrary, is composed of familiar and ordinary matter, a sort of ventilator to the temper !"

"[From Lady Mary Wortley Montague]: It is very odd that quarrels, which are so pleasant in love, should be so odious in marriage. I believe it is that, in the first instance, they may have consequences ; in the last, they have none : your lover may fear to lose you ; your husband can only hope, and hope in vain : the lover dreads that every quarrel may be the last; the husband knows he may go on quarrelling to eternity !"

"[From Lady Mary Wortley Montague ]: Lawgivers were never more mistaken than when they ordained that the conjugal tie should last through life for better and worse ; the last injunction being strictly complied with. There should be septennial marriages, as well as septennial parliaments! … In life it is the irrevocable that is terrible : while there is change, there is hope. We should keep each other in much better order if, at the end of seven years, there were to be a reckoning of grievances. It would be a good moral lesson to many a husband, to come down on the seventh anniversary and find his tea not made, and his muffin not buttered. These are the things that come home to a man's feelings !"

"How much of change lies in a little space ! How soon the spirits leave their youth behind ! The early green forsakes the bough ; the flowers, Nature's more fairy-like and fragile ones, Droop on the way-side, and the later leaves Have artifice and culture — so the heart : How soon its soft spring hours take darker hues ! And hopes, that were like rainbows, melt in shade ; While the fair future, ah ! how fair it seemed ! Grows dark and actual."

"The room itself was large and dark, and had that peculiar air of discomfort which belongs to "ready furnished apartments :" every thing looks as if it had been bought at a sale, and there is an equal want of harmony both in the proportions and colours. … All the associations are those of poverty ; and of all human evils, poverty is the one whose suffering is the most easily understood : even those who have never known it, can comprehend its wretchedness. Hunger, cold, and mortification, the disunion of families ; the separation of those the most fondly attached ; youth bowed by premature toil ; age wasting the little strength yet remaining : — these are the familiar objects which surround poverty."

"Both had a great deal to say, and yet the conversation languished ; but we have all felt this after a long absence : confidence is a habit, and requires to be renewed. We have lost the custom of telling every thing; and we begin to fear that what we have to tell is scarcely worth being told. We have formed new acquaintances ; we have entered into other amusements; we feel that our tastes are altered; and we require a little while to see if the change be mutual."

"It merely shews, after all, that affection is a habit."

"Ah, tell me not that memory Sheds gladness o'er the past, What is recalled by faded flowers, Save that they did not last? Were it not better to forget, Than but remember and regret ?"

"The serious things of life are its keenest mockeries. The things set apart for laughter are not half so absurd as those marked out for tears."

"Why, life must mock itself to mark how small Are the distinctions of its various pride. ‘Tis strange how we delight in the unreal; The fanciful and the fantastic make One half our triumphs. Not in mighty things — The glorious offerings of our mind to fate — Do we ask homage to our vanities, One half so much as from the false and vain : The petty trifles that the social world Has fancied into grandeur."

"When a woman has once made up her mind to be imprudent, she is very imprudent indeed ; …"

"Still, it must be confessed, that when the sad-coloured satin was arranged in rich folds, and the Mechlin lace (it was a little fortune in itself) hung to her satisfaction, she looked as perfect a specimen of an old lady as England could have produced."

"[From Lady Marchmont]: I am always the most seemingly lively when I am the least so in reality ; and I talk nonsense when I have not courage to talk sense. I make a noise, like children, because I am frightened at finding myself in the dark — that worst of darkness, the darkness of the heart."

"Real feeling is shy of expression;"

"[From Lady Marchmont]: Universal conquest should be the motto of our sex. Every woman should try to make every man she sees in love with her."

"[From Lady Marchmont]: Vanity is the real lever with which Archimedes said he could move the earth ;"

"The presence of perpetual change Is ever on the earth; To-day is only as the soil That gives to-morrow birth."

"England may be deficient in public gardens, but where are there so many private ones, each the delight of their master, and the household that have planted their shrubs, and watered their flowers? What little worlds of affection and comfort are bounded by the neat quickset-hedge, quiet and still as the nest of some singing-bird !"

"Our whole nature must change ; we must be less susceptible, less dependent on "blind accident," before we can shake off hopes and fears, which are almost superstitions."

"For a wonder, two ladies were actually punctual to an appointment : …"

"A woman's first look is at the dress of her friend, and her second word is of jt."

"There is something peculiarly lovely in the almond-blossom ; it brings the warmth of the rose on the last cold airs of winter, a rich and glowing wreath, when all beside is desolate : so frail, too, and so delicate, like a fairy emblem of those sweet and gentle virtues whose existence is first known in an hour of adversity."

"This is the charm of poetry : it comes On sad perturbed moments ; and its thoughts, Like pearls amid the troubled waters, gleam. That which we garnered in our eager youth, Becomes a long delight in after years: The mind is strengthened, and the heart refreshed By some old memory of gifted words, That bring sweet feelings, answering to our own, Or dreams that waken some more lofty mood Than dwelleth with the commonplace of life."

"[From Lady Marchmont]: A swan always gives the idea of a court-lady, — stately in her grace, ruffling in her bravery, and conscious of the floating plumes that mark her pretensions. The peacock is a coquette ; it turns in the sunshine, it looks round as if to ask the conscious air of its purple and gold ; but the swan sails on in majestic tranquillity, it sees the fair image of its perfect grace on the waters below, and is content …"

"Disbelief in excellence is the worst soil in which the mind can work ; we must believe, before we can hope."

"The political creed, of which expediency is the alpha and the omega, can never know the generous purpose, or the high result."

"Power is a debt to the people :"

"Ignorance, far more than idleness, is the mother of all the vices ; and how recent has been the ad mission, that knowledge should be the portion of all ? The destinies of the future lie in judicious education; an education that must be universal, to be beneficial."

"Give the children of the poor that portion of education which will enable them to know their own resources ; which will cultivate in them an onward-looking hope, and give them rational amusement in their leisure hours : this, and this only, will work out that moral revolution, which is the legislator's noblest purpose. One great evil of highly civilised society is, the immense distance between the rich and the poor ; it leads, on either side, to a hardened selfishness. Where we know little, we care little ; but the fact once admitted, that there can be neither politically nor morally a good which is not universal, that we cannot reform for a time, or for a class, but for all and for the whole, and our very interests will draw us together in one wide bond of sympathy."

"Nothing can be permitted to the few ; rights and advantages were sent for all …"

"Only by looking up, can we see heaven."

"The tears started, but pride repressed them ; or, rather, pride is no name for the sensitive and shrinking feeling which trembles even at compassion for its misery."

"Confidence is inseparable from human nature. Never was temper so reserved but it has its moments of unbending — moments when the full heart unlocks its secret fountains, and tells of emotions unsuspected, and thoughts hitherto concealed by the guarded brow and practised lip. Now, of all times and places calculated for confidence, there is no time like evening ; no place like sitting over the fire."

"Much may be said in favour of a long walk on a summer twilight ; the heart opens to the soft influences of the lovely hour; but those very influences distract us from ourselves. The eye is caught by the presence of the beautiful : the violets, half hidden in the long grass ; a branch of hawthorn, heavy with its fragrant load ; a cloud, on which the crimson shadow lingers to the last: — these are too fair to be passed by unnoticed ; they take us from our discourse with a half unconscious delight. Moreover, before the calm and subduing aspect of nature, human cares feel their own vanity. The lulling music of leaves, stirred only by the gentle wind, enters into the soul ; and the sweet, deep drawn, breath brings its own tranquillity."

"A friend is never alarmed for us in the right place."

"I believe The grave exalts, not separates, the ties That hold us in affection to our kind. I will look down from yonder pitying sky, Watching and waiting those I loved on earth Anxious in heaven, until they too are there."

"It is strange the difference between the hair of the living and the dead : the one so soft, so fragrant, and falling ; the other so harsh, so scentless, and so straight. In nothing is the presence of mortality more strongly marked."

"[From Constance’s letter]: Nothing but love can answer to love ; no affection, no kindness, no care, can supply its place : it is its own sweet want."

"Age is a dreary thing when left alone : It needs the sunshine brought by fresher years; It lives its youth again while seeing youth, And childhood brings its childhood back again."

"Mere prettiness needs the becoming, but beauty asks nothing but itself."

"It is well that the body sometimes sinks beneath the mind ; …"

"How awful is the presence of the dead ! The hours rebuked, stand silent at their side Passions are hushed before that stern repose ; Two, and two only, sad exceptions share— Sorrow and love,—and these are paramount."

"Ah ! the tender and solemn farewell beside the bed of death is, indeed, a consolation to the survivor! There is nothing so soothing as to know that the last earthly wish has been confided to your fulfilment, the last expressions of earthly affection have been your own. The eyes closing to their last cold sleep, rested upon you, and were glad to rest; and your prayers were the latest music in the weary ear. It is some comfort to think that you sacrificed even your own sorrow in the beloved presence; and the thousand sad, slight offices, are remembered with such melancholy tenderness."

"Alas ! the worst part of a heavy sorrow, is the despondency which it leaves behind !"

"Tis a fair tree, the almond-tree : there Spring Shews the first promise of her rosy wreath; Or ere the green leaves venture from the bud, Those fragile blossoms light the winter bough With delicate colours, heralding the rose. Whose own Aurora they might seem to be. What lurks beneath their faint and lovely red ? What the dark spirit in those fairy flowers ? Tis death !"

"And yet it is a wasted heart : It is a wasted mind That seeks not in the inner world Its happiness to find ; For happiness is like the bird That broods above its nest, And finds beneath its folded wings, Life's dearest, and its best."

"Youth has one delightful time, when hope walks, like an angel, at its side, and all things have their freshness and their charm. There appears so much to enjoy, that the only question is, what to enjoy first ?"

"It is strange what society will endure from its idols."

"Now, nothing is more provoking to a woman than a lover's infidelity ; it is a wrong which leaves her without even the satisfaction of revenge. His very infidelity shows that she has lost her power ; and without power, where is revenge ?"

"... no woman likes anybody but herself to depreciate a lover; it is personally an ill compliment."

"Life is so little in its vanities, So mean, and looking to such worthless aim, Truly the dust, of which we are a part, Predominates amid mortality. Great crimes have something of nobility; Mighty their warning, vast is their remorse : But these small faults, that make one-half of life Belong to lowest natures and reduce To their own wretched level nobler things."

"Ah, we never know how dearly we loved our friends until the grave has closed over them."

"[From Lady Marchmont]: We contradict each other; still more do we contradict ourselves. It seems to me as if there were a perpetual warfare going on between the outward and the inner world. Nothing is really what it appears to be ; and this is what discourages me more than I can express—the not knowing to what I may trust, and my utter inability to discern between that which is; and that which only seems."

"[From Lord Norbourne in reply]: Half the misery in this life originates in its falsehood. We conceal our thoughts and our feelings, till, even to ourselves, they become confused ; and half our time is spent in fretting and feverish attempts to disentangle the webs we have woven : and the strange thing is, that all this dissimulation is unnecessary ; we should have done far better without it."

"[From Lord Norbourne]: … what have I done for you to presuppose such a want of gallantry, as to imagine that I would attempt to guess a lady's secret before she thought proper to communicate it ?"

"Few, save the poor, feel for the poor; The rich know not, how hard It is to be of needful food And needful rest debarred."

"There is no denying that there are "royal roads" through existence for the upper classes; for them, at least, the highways are macadamized, swept, and watered. They are surrounded not only by luxuries, but by pleasures, which, at all events to the young, must have the zest of novelty. It seems to me the veriest fallacy to say that the lots in life are weighed out in equal balances : the difference is very great—to the examiner, sad ; and to the sufferer, bitter ! Before we talk of equality of pain, which is, in nine cases out often, only a selfish and indolent excuse for neglect, let us contrast a high and a low position together. On one side is protection, instruction, and pleasure ; on the other is neglect, ignorance and hardship. Here, wants are invented to become luxuries ; there, “hunger swallows all in one low want." Among the rich, body and mind are cultivated with equal watchfulness ; among the poor, the body is left to disease and to decrepitude, and the mind to void and destruction. I grant that I speak of the two extremes ; but it is the worst ill of social existence that there should be such extremes."

"The child of the rich man sleeps in the silken cradle, his little cries are hushed by the nurse, whose only duty is to watch the progress of that tiny frame. The least illness, and the physician bestows on the infant heir the knowledge of a life ; for every single patient benefits by all his predecessors. The child becomes a boy : Eton or Westminster, Oxford or Cambridge, have garnered for his sake the wisdom of centuries : he is launched into public life, and there are friends and connexions on either hand, as stepping-stones in his way. He arrives at old age : the armchair is ready, and the old port has been long in the cellars of his country-house to share its strength with its master. He dies ; his very coffin is comfortable ; the very vault of his ancestors is sheltered ; a funeral sermon is preached in his honour ; and escutcheon and marble tablet do their best to preserve his memory."

"Take the reverse of the picture. The infancy of the poor child is one of cries, too often of blows ; natural affection has given way before the iron pressure of want. The old proverb, that, "When poverty comes in at the door, love flies out at the window," is true in a far more general sense than the one in which it is generally applied. They have the floor for a bed ; the scant and mouldering remnant of food for dinner ; the cold hearth, where the wind blows in the snow ;—these physical sufferings react on the moral world, they deaden and embitter the sweetest of our feelings. The parent half loves, half loathes, the child that takes the bread from his own mouth ; and the child looks on that as tyranny, which is only misery. It learns to fear before it learns to love."

"Suppose such a childhood past : it has escaped disease; no chance chill has distorted the youthful limbs, they have, at least, health to begin life. The poor man has nothing more than his strength. God's best gifts lie dormant within him : the chances are that he cannot read even the holy page, that, at least, holds out the hope of a less miserable world. He has not that mental cultivation which alone teaches us what are our resources, and how to husband or to exert them. He knows only how to labour, and that not in the most serviceable manner to himself. He does not, even when he can, which is rare enough, lay by for the future, because he has never been accustomed to reflect. Life has for him no future. Perhaps he takes to drinking ; and it is easy, with half-a-dozen different kinds of French wines on the table, the claret purple beside the golden sherry, to say a thousand true and excellent things on the crime of excess. If the gentleman refrains, it is from a moral restraint the poor man has never been taught to exercise ; and what does the poor man drink to avoid—cold, hunger, perhaps bodily pain—always bodily weariness ?"

"Old age comes on feeble, and often premature, when his place of refuge is a straw pallet, where, if his family keep him, it is an act of Roman virtue, the very devotion of duty and affection ; for even the old man's morsel must be taken from their own. But the workhouse is the ordinary resting-place before the grave ; and there human selfishness takes its most revolting aspect ; there life has not left one illusion, one affection : all is harsh, cold, revolting, and unnatural. The difference that began in the cradle continues to the tomb. The bare coffin, a few boards hastily nailed together, is flung into the earth ; the service is hurried over, the ground trodden down, and the next day the children are playing upon the new grave, whose tenant is already forgotten. So much for the equality of human existence."

"Villas are, I believe, a delightful invention of the Romans, who set very seriously about enjoying the world they had conquered. … The climate and the scenery of England are admirably adapted to the perfection of a villa. The great charm of our landscapes is their colouring—so quiet, yet so refreshing. The fine old trees, and the fine old tree standing by itself, are peculiar to our fields ; the rich sweep of grass so vividly green, the prodigality of garden flowers, and a sky whose intense blue owes the depth of its purple to the white clouds which float above in broken masses,—all these belong to a style of natural beauty which is entirely English."

"Nothing more strongly marks the insufficiency of luxuries than the ease with which people grow accustomed to them; they are rather known by their want than by their presence. The word "blasé" has been coined expressly for the use of the upper classes."

"… the absurdity of your husband comes too close for laughter, it may reflect a little on yourself—at all events on your taste for choosing him."

"It matters not its history—Love has wings, Like lightning, swift and fatal : and it springs, Like a wild flower, where it is least expected; Existing whether cherished or rejected."

"[From Sir George Kingston]: Poets lay it down as a rule, that deities are not to extricate a hero from his embarrassment unless there remain no human method of extricating him."

"Not to the present is our hour confined, The great and shadowy future is assigned To be the glorious empire of the mind. The past was once the future and it wrought In the high presence of on-looking thought; All that we have, was by its efforts brought. To-day creates to-morrow, and the tree Of good or ill grows in past hours, what we Make for the future— certain is to be."

"I never could enter into the passion for china; it is an affection born of ostentation. Those stiff shepherdesses ; those ill-shaped teapots ; those monsters, which take every shape but a graceful one ; those little, round cups make no appeal to my imagination; they suggest nothing but ideas of trade ; they are redolent of the auction-room. Moreover, I detest bargains ; the bargain can only be one, because either the first purchaser is dead, or ruined. He has left either heirs or creditors, each equally greedy, careless, and impatient or, if these toys be disposed of during a lifetime, such sale only tells a common tale of, first extravagance, then want ; fancies indulged thoughtlessly, to end miserably. A bargain is a social evil ; one man's loss, tempting another man's cupidity."

"… of all duties, forgetfulness is the hardest to fulfil. The very effort to forget teaches us to remember."

"Of all habits, that of writing down your thoughts and feelings, is one of the most difficult to abandon."

"[From Lady Marchmont’s journal]: Really, being in love appears a pleasant state of existence ; it is always agreeable to know that there is another thinking of you, whether you think of them or not. I like the idea of there being one individual leaving your room who will bear away every look you have given, every word you have said,—it gives importance to them in your own eyes ; and yet I have often marvelled what people see in each other. Even as a book is read through, people are talked through."

"[From Lady Marchmont’s journal]: There are some people who ought never to dream of commonplacing the ideal with themselves. The world of the heart is essentially ideal : it collects all poetry,—innate and acquired ; it is fastidious, dreaming, and delicate; and is a question of taste as well as of feeling ; and it is to this world that love belongs. It should be kept as far apart from lower life as that mysterious world of stars and clouds on which I am now gazing."

"[From Lady Marchmont’s journal]: … I hate the word "ought"—it always implies something dull, cold, and commonplace. The "ought nots" of life are its pleasantest things."

"Amid the many contrasts produced by our forced unions of nature and art, there is no contrast so strange as that between the exterior and the internal world of society."

"[From Lady Mary Wortley Montague]: We might have had hearts in our cradles ; but, as I don't pretend to remember mine, I cannot say. Perhaps at sixteen, too, there is a sort of imagination of one ; but it is a phantom which flits at the cockcrowing of reality. We soon learn, 'That the worth of any thing is just as much as it will bring :’ and we value a lover by the estimate of others, not by our own. Our own suffrage is nothing."

"[From Lady Mary Wortley Montague]: Love is society’s Alexander the Great, only intent on making conquests ; and we care for no captives but those who follow the track of our triumphs in chains.""

"—one woman—always knows how to plague another;"

"It is said that ridicule is the test of truth : it is never applied, but when we wish to deceive ourselves ; when, if we cannot exclude the light, we are fain to draw a curtain before it. The sneer springs out of the wish to deny ; and wretched must be the state of that mind which desires to take refuge in doubt! But the instinct of right and wrong is immutable ; all other voices may be silenced, but not that in ourselves."

"[From Walter Maynard]: … the epigrams uttered over champagne are like the wreaths the Egyptians flung on the Nile, they float away, the gods alone know whither."

"I have been writing all my life, and even now I do not understand the faculty of composition ; but this I do know, that the history of the circumstances under which most books are written would be a frightful picture of human suffering. How often is the pen taken up when the hand is unsteady with recent sickness, and bodily pain is struggled against, and sometimes in vain ! How often is the page written hurriedly and anxiously,—the mind fevered the while by the consciousness that it is not doing justice to its powers!"

"Sooner or later a woman must inevitably despise the man who takes money from her. Before a man can do this, there must be those radical defects of character to which even kindness cannot always be blind. He must be a moral coward, because he exposes her to those annoyances which he has not courage enough to face himself; he must be mean, because he submits to an obligation from the inferior and the weak; and he must be ungrateful, because ingratitude is the necessary consequence of receiving favours of which we are ashamed. Money is the great breaker-up of love and friendship ;"

"The affection of family ties has the character on it of childhood in which it was formed ; it is free, open, confiding; it has none of the delicacy of friendship, or the romance of sentiment : you know that success ought to be in common, and that you have but one interest."

"But in ourself is Fate's worst minister: There is no wretchedness like self-reproach."

"[From Lady Marchmont’s journal]: What a mistake to build our hopes on the external vanities of life! circumstance is nothing. How worthless, now appears to me, all that once seemed the chief objects of existence! our happiness lies within."

"… nothing can supply the place of strong, undeviating principle. There is but one wrong, and one right ;"

"We may, we ought, to be merciful to others ; to ourselves, we should be only just."

"[From Norbourne Courtenaye]: … all great discoveries have been the result of single endeavour."

"[From Norbourne Courtenaye]: You cannot doubt that influence: from our veriest infancy we feed upon the thoughts of the dead ; even your own strong and original mind has been cultivated by others. I never enter a library without being grateful to those whose moral existence has formed my own. Our sages, our poets, have left a world behind, formed of all that is good, beautiful, and true in our own. Not a life but owes to them some of its happiest hours ; they are our favourites, our old, familiar friends."

"[From Walter Maynard]: What a folly are our own exertions ; every thing depends upon a lucky chance in this world !"

"Walter was wrong ; but I own I tremble at the fatality which sometimes seems to hang over our slightest actions. How often do we find ourselves involved in sudden misery and unhappiness, by circumstances over which we have no control ! and we ask bitterly ; "What have I done to deserve this ?" Not in this world will be the answer!"

"Change is the universal prescription for a wounded spirit. " It will do you so much good," is the constant remark. Perhaps it may; but how reluctant is any one who is suffering mentally, to try it! There is an irritation about secret and subdued sorrow, which peculiarly unfits you for exertion ; you are discontented with all that is around you, and yet you shrink from alteration ; it is too much trouble ; you do not feel in yourself even energy enough for the ordinary demands of life."

"I believe that one great reason why the suffering of the mind is so often followed by suffering of the body is, that we are so indifferent about it, that we do not care to take even those ordinary precautions which are taken almost unconsciously in general. There is nothing in life worth attention, not even ourselves."

"To find that you have been deceived, where you trusted so entirely ; trifled with, where all your deepest and sweetest emotions had been called into life, is the most acute—the most enduring sorrow of which that life is capable."

"We might have been !—these are but common words, And yet they make the sum of life's bewailing;"

"[From Lady Marchmont’s journal]: Will the time ever come, when men will feel that the mind and the heart must work in concert, and that we must look around and afar for our happiness ; that our great mistake has been, the narrow circle to which we are content to limit good ?"

"… if there be one torture which the demons, who delight in human misery, might, rejoice to inflict, it is the anxious suspense of love acting upon an imaginative temperament. It is extraordinary the power of creation with which the mind seems suddenly endowed, and only to suppose the worst. Death, sickness, crime, misfortune,—these are the images which start upon the solitude made fearful with their presence."

"Life is made up of vanities — so small, So mean, the common history of the day, — That mockery seems the sole philosophy. Then some stern truth starts up — cold, sudden, strange; And we are taught what life is by despair : — The toys, the trifles, and the petty cares, Melt into nothingness — we know their worth ; The heart avenges every careless thought, And makes us feel that fate is terrible."

"Who ever said one-half of all that seemed in absence so easy to say ?"

"But there always is in my mind something at once ludicrous and mournful in a crowd congregated for the purpose of amusement. What discontent, what vanity, move the complicated wheels of the social machine! There are many pleasures that one can comprehend, and even go the length of admitting, that they are worth some trouble in endeavouring to obtain; but the mania of filling your house with guests of whom you know little, and for whom you care nothing, is only less incomprehensible than why they should be at the trouble of coming to you."

"It is a weary and a bitter hour When first the real disturbs the poet's world, And he distrusts the future. Not for that Should cold despondency weigh down the soul It is a glorious gift, bright poetry, And should be thankfully and nobly used. Let it look up to heaven !"

"Few know the demands made by the imagination on those who are once its masters and its victims. Its exercise is so feverish, and so exciting ; the cheek burns, the pulse beats aloud, the whole frame trembles with eagerness during the progress of composition. For the time you are what you create. The exhaustion of this process is not felt till some other species of exertion makes its demand on the already overwrought frame, the overstrained nerves begin to discover that they have been wound to the utmost. There is no strength left to bear life's other emotions."

"There are times when the poet marvels how he ever wrote, and feels as if he never could write again."

"[From Lavinia Fenton]: The lover and the physician are each popular from the same cause—we talk to them of nothing but ourselves; I dare say that was the origin of confession—egotism, under the fine name of religion."

"[From Lavinia Fenton]: I lay it down as a rule, the truth of which all experience confirms, that every man behaves as ill as he possibly can to every woman, under every possible circumstance ! … What man has the slightest scruple as to gaining the confidence ; making himself not only necessary to her happiness, but that very happiness itself; and then sacrificing her to vanity, caprice, or any slight motive, that would not be held valid for one moment in any other matter !"

"It is a fearful trust, the trust of love. In fear, not hope, should woman's heart receive A guest so terrible."

"Where is the heart that has not bowed A slave, eternal Love, to thee? Look on the cold, the gay, the proud, And is there one among them free !"

"'Tis a strange mystery, the power of words ! Life is in them, and death. A word can send The crimson colour hurrying to the cheek, Hurrying with many meanings; or can turn The current cold and deadly to the heart. Anger and fear are in them ; grief and joy Are on their sound ; yet slight, impalpable:— A word is but a breath of passing air."

"The moonlight falleth lovely over earth ; And strange, indeed, must be the mind of man That can resist its beautiful reproach. How can hate work like fever in the soul With such entire tranquillity around? Evil must be our nature to refuse Such gentle intercession."

"I can understand the feeling of the duellist when really fierce and bitter—there are injuries only to be washed out in blood ; but I have always thought, that the seconds must, or ought, to feel very uncomfortable. They stand by in cold blood to watch the glittering steel, whose shimmer may every moment be quenched in blood. If the eye be dropped for an instant, the next it may look on death, and death in its most fearful shape—one human being dying by the rage, the evil passion, or the unforgivable fault of another."

"God, in thy mercy, keep us with thy hand ! Dark are the thoughts that strive within the heart, When evil passions rise like sudden storms, Fearful and fierce ! Let us not act those thoughts ; Leave not our course to our unguided will. Left to ourselves, all crime is possible, And those who seemed the most removed from guilt, Have sunk the deepest !"

"Ah ! sad it is to see the deck Dismasted of some noble wreck ; And sad to see the marble stone Defaced, and with gray moss o'ergrown; And sad to see the broken lute For ever to its music mute. But what is lute, or fallen tower, Or ship sunk in its proudest hour, To awe and majesty combined In their worst shape — the ruined mind ?"

"It is an awful thing how we forget The sacred ties that bind us each to each. Our pleasures might admonish us, and say, Tremble at that delight which is unshared; Its selfishness must be its punishment. All have their sorrows, and how strange it seems They do not soften more the general heart : Sorrows should be those universal links That draw all life together."

"I believe there is not a woman in the world that would hesitate to part with the most costly toy in her possession, to save but an annoyance from the object she loved …"

"There is something fearfully wrong in what we call our highly civilized state of society, when poverty can be permitted to take the ghastly shapes of suffering that it does. It is enough, if we did but think, to make the heart sick, when we know the misery, the abject misery, which surrounds us in this vast city ; and we might tremble to consider how much might be prevented—prevented both by individual and by general exertion."

"Charity is a calm, severe duty; it must be intellectual, to be advantageous. It is a strange mistake that it should ever be considered a merit; its fulfilment is only what we owe to each other, and is a debt never paid to its full extent."

"It is a most difficult art to give; for if, in giving, we also give the habit of dependence, our gift has been that of an evil spirit, which always proves fatal. What we should seek to give are, habits, not only of industry, but of prudence: to look forward, is the first great lesson of human improvement. In the assistance hitherto offered to those in need, the self-respect of the obliged has been too much forgotten : we have degraded, where we should have encouraged. The remedy lies with time, and with knowledge ; but there must be much to redress in the social system, which has luxury at one extreme, and starvation at the other."

"[Chapter title]:{of death} The Usual Destiny of the Imagination"

"There is an awe about death, even in the face the most familiar to us; it has already taken its likeness from the hereafter, so dreadful and so dark."

"It is a mood whose "profitless dejection” there are few among us but what have known. It is the result of the overstrained nerves, the worn-out frame—something of bodily weakness must mingle with it. We turn away from the future, we are too desponding to look forward. Every sorrow of the past seems to rise up, not only as a recollection of suffering, but as if each were an omen of what is to come. We feel as if even to wish were a folly ; or, worse, a tempting of fate. We have no confidence in our own good fortune; it seems as if the mere fact of wishing were enough to have that wish denied. A fretful discontent gnaws at the heart, the worse for being ashamed to confess it."

"nd this is the dearest privilege of the poet—to soothe the sorrowing, and to excite the languid hour ; to renovate exhausted nature, by awakening it with the spiritual and the elevated ; and bringing around our common hours shadows from those more divine."

"[From Ethel Churchill]: Good heavens ! what a precious thing love is ! what a gift of all hope, all happiness, into the power of another !—and yet, how often is it bestowed in vain ! wasted, utterly and cruelly wasted !"

"If ever we forgive another's celebrity, it is when it fulfils our own prophecy."

"That is love Which chooseth from a thousand only one To be the object of that tenderness Natural to every heart; which can resign Its own best happiness for one dear sake; Can bear with absence ; hath no part in hope, For hope is somewhat selfish : love is not, And doth prefer another to itself."

"How many beautiful creations, how many glorious dreams went with him to the tomb ! but the unfulfilled destiny of genius is a mystery whose solution is not of earth. It is but one of those many voices wandering in this wilderness of ours that tell us, not here is our lot appointed to finish. We are here but for a space and a season ; for a task and a trial, and of the end no man knoweth. The earthly immortality of the mind is but a type of the heavenly immortality of the soul."

"No one dies but some one is glad of it."

"Joy and sorrow are the inseparable companions of death."

"The good and the generous action of which we feel incapable is a reproach when done by another."

"Our own faults are those we are the first to detect, and the last to forgive, in others."

"Nothing more indicates those tastes and habits which go so far towards both making and showing the character — as a person's sitting-room."

"When we trace to their source the most important circumstances of our life, in what trifles have they originated! — a look, a word, are the ministers of fate."

"There is a mania in every class to be mistaken for what it is not. Many things innocent, nay, even graceful in themselves, become injurious and awkward by unseasonable imitation. We follow, we copy; first comfort goes, and then respectability. A false seeming is mistaken for refinement, and half life is thrown away in worthless sacrifices to a set of hollow idols called appearances."

"It is a notable fact that we keep ourselves most in the dark about ourselves."

"Once set a strong mind thinking, and you have done all that it needs for its education."

"Every one considers the world as made especially for their own purposes."

"Nothing deceives its possessor like vanity."

"Modern history might be told by a succession of dinners."

"The first love-letter is an epoch in love's happy season — it makes assurance doubly sure — that which has hitherto, perhaps, only found utterance in sweet and hurried words, now seems to take a more tangible existence. A love-letter is a proof of how dearly, even in absence, you are remembered."

"Every age has its characteristic, and our present one is not behind its predecessors in that respect; it is the age of systems, every system enforced by a treatise."

"Conjugal government requires its treatises. A young woman setting out in life lacks a printed guide. Her cookery-book, however, may afford some useful hints till one be actually directed to the important subject just mentioned. Many well-known receipts are equally available for a batterie de cuisine or du cœur. Your roasted husband is subdued by the fire of fierce words and fiercer looks — your broiled husband, under the pepper and salt of taunt and innuendo — your stewed husband, under the constant application of petty vexations — your boiled husband dissolves under the watery influences — while your confectionized husband goes through a course of the blanc mange of flattery, or the preserves and sweets of caresses and smiles."

"Hope and experience take two different sides of an argument."

"Whether wealth bring the curse of selfishness along with it, or that the leaven was in our nature, only dormant till called forth by circumstances, we are only too apt to misuse it, even as others have done before us."

"Best intentions are not the best things in the world to marry upon."

"While bills are being brought into the House of Commons to regulate every thing, from the sweeps crying "sweep," to "emancipation, vote by ballot, and free trade," is there no county member whose "time and talents" are devoted to "domestic policy," who will bring in a bill "for the better regulation of the marriage ceremony," and put the canonical hours later in the day? at all events, could there not be a special clause in favour of London? A spring morning there is the very reverse of Thomson's description; for "delicious mildness" read "a cutting east wind;" and for "veiled in roses" substitute "smoke and fog." The streets are given up to the necessities of life — to the milkman with his cans, the butcher with his tray, the baker with his basket; all belong to the material portion of existence. Now, marriage is (or ought to be) an affair of affections, sentiments, &c. The legislature ought to give it the full benefit of moonlight and wax-candles."

"Nothing is too unreasonable nor too unkind for selfishness, acted upon by vanity."

"Those who have all their lives been accustomed to a cheerful and happy home, can scarcely understand the extent to which domestic tyranny is sometimes carried."

"Now there is nothing that puts people out of their way more than a change from their usual sitting-room ; it is almost as bad as moving to a new house."

"-- shopping ! one of the pleasant necessities in a young lady's case who is about to change her condition, filled up the morning."

"But Mr. Gooch liked bright colours; and, without going the length of kindling yellow, most gentlemen like them too. I think it is the mere preference of personal vanity, on the principle of contrast, their taste is dictated by self-consideration; a woman in sombre hues does not sufficiently throw out their own dark dress."

"... the horizon of matrimony is only seen through a glass, and that darkly, if the experience of others be the glass by which we make our observations."

"And no ring, if it does wither its circle, withers so utterly as a golden one. With only the false criterion of courtship to judge by, the wedded pair expect too much from each other ; and those who should make the most, make the least allowance. Tastes differ, tempers jar, trifles become important — as the grain of sand, which, nothing in itself, yet, gathered together, sweeps over the fertile plain, leaving no sign that there ever was blossom or fruit. The scar, which would soon pass, did distance or time intervene, can not heal from hourly irritation, One quarrel brings the memory of its predecessor, and grievances and mortifications are treasured up for perpetual reference. Too late, each finds out how utterly unsuited either is to the other ; they have not a feeling, a taste, or an opinion in common."

"The power of young Joy, like that of young Love, does not travel far on the dusty road of life in general."

"Alas! how seldom are any of us quite happy at the passing moment."

"It is a very difficult thing for the most cunning, when they say one thing and mean another, to hide their wishes from one as practised as themselves ; and an awkward thing to commit yourselves in writing at all where a secret or a scheme is concerned."

"The free pen, prone to pour out the suggestions of artless affection, vivid imagination, or domestic anecdote, is as much woman's especial instrument as the needle."

"... a disgust for political and fashionable society (which is, in fact, very generally to be found in those who are engaged in public offices, conscious that they do the work for which others are paid)"

"What a life for a free man, born to the use of dogs and horses, pure air, and wide-spreading moors! — no wonder that, although junior partner, and as modest as he was high-spirited, he trod his counting-house floor with a step vigorous and springy as the young captain of a man-of-war, for he felt that he was an emancipated slave; nay, more, a British merchant. If not "monarch of all he surveyed," he was certainly monarch of all he desired, which is probably more than any one of those mighty personages who rule mankind could have honestly asserted."

"No person of fashion ever laughs out from the impulse of the heart,"

"The possession of beauty leads to an overweening admiration of it, and wealth gives a power of preserving this boon of nature in a manner forbidden to the poor, which will account fully for the extreme and perhaps blameable solicitude a few continue to feel on the subject."

"... everybody was much more pleased than people are in general with any lions, who are also exotics, to whom they condescend to be attentive, but refuse to be friendly; rejoicing when any little conventional informality reduces the genius, whose patent of nobility the Creator himself has bestowed, below the level of fashion, and substituting ridicule for admiration, the smile of the scorner for the approval of veneration."

"... old bachelors are fond of young girls, under the idea that they can manage them the best"

"But now thou wilt fill a weary throne, What with rights of the people, and rights of thy own : An ear-trumpet now thy sceptre should be, Eternal debate is the future for thee. Lord Brougham will make a six-hours’ oration, On the progress of knowledge, the mind of the nation ; Lord Grey one yet longer, to state that his place Is perhaps less dear to himself than his race ; O’Connell will tell Ireland’s griefs and her wrongs, In speech, the mac-adamized prose of Moore’s songs :"

"That feminine fancy, a will of your own, Is a luxury wholly denied to a throne ;"

"Then many a stately castle stood O’er dungeons dark and deep ; Then many a noble robber wont The king’s highway to keep. Ah ! these were not the times to praise, Thank God, we know more peaceful days."

"Where temples stood, the tamarinds grow ; Broken columns are mouldering below. No steps are heard in the ruined hall. Such is man’s pride, and such is its fall."

"He cannot hear the skylark sing, The music of the wild bee’s wing; The murmur of the plaining bough ; A gentle whisper fairy low; The noise of falling waters near— All these have left his mournful ear."

"Our prize is won, our chase is o’er, Turn the vessel to the shore. Place yon rock, so that the wind, Like a prisoner, howl behind ; Which is darkest—wave, or cloud ? One a grave, and one a shroud."

"Good springs alike from penitence and praise, From aught that can the mortal spirit raise:"

"Aye, build it on these banks," the monarch said, "That when the autumn winds have swept the sea, They may come hither with their falling rains, A voice of mighty weeping o'er her grave."

"An ebbing tide of fire, the evil powers In fear and anger here are paramount, Rending the bosom of the fertile earth, And spreading desolation. Black as night, And terrible, as if the grave had sent Its own dark atmosphere to upper air, The heavy vapours rise ; from out the smoke Break the red volumes of the central flame, And lava floods and burning showers descend, Parching the soil to barrenness."

"But this sweet palace was for peace, Built by the water-side, When Zerid sheathed the sword and won The Persian for his bride."

"I'd rather have such stirring life as theirs, Who make their own way, and delight to make, Win wealth and honour by their own bright mind, Whose destiny is in itself—than bear The noblest name that ever belted Earl Left honoured to his son—"

"He comes from Kilas, earth and sky, Bright before the deity; The sun shines, as he shone when first His glory over ocean burst. The vales put forth a thousand flowers, Mingling the spring and summer hours; The Suras fill with songs the air. The Genii and their lutes are there; By gladness stirred, the mighty sea Flings up its waves rejoicingly; And Music wanders o'er its tide, For Siva comes to meet his bride."

"I would that the cloister's quiet were mine; In the silent depths of some holy shrine. I would tell my blessed beads, and would weep away From my inmost soul every stain of clay: My heart's young hopes they have left me now, And I sigh for the days of the veil and the vow."

"City of idol temples, and of shrines, Where folly kneels to falsehood—how the pride Of our humanity is here rebuked !"

"It was a king in Africa, He had an only son ; And none of Europe's crowned kings Could have a dearer one. . . . . . Alas ! it was an evil day, When such a thing could be; When strangers, pale and terrible, Came o'er the distant sea. . . . . . They bound him in a narrow hold, With others of his kind ; For weeks did that accursed ship Sail on before the wind. . . . . . At length a lovely island rose From out the ocean wave, They took him to the market-place, And sold him for a slave."

"Summer, shining summer, Art thou bringing now Colours to the red rose, Green leaves to the bough, Music to the singing birds, And honey to the bee ; Summer, shining summer, Oh, welcome unto thee."

"They met beside the stormy sea, those giant kings of old, And on each awful brow was set, a crown of burning gold. No ray the yet unrisen stars, or the wan moonbeams, gave, But far and bright, the meteor light shone over cloud and wave."

"A strain of music like the rushing wind, But deep and sweet As when the waters meet, In one mysterious harmony combined. So swells the mighty organ, rich and full, As if it were the soul Which raised the glorious whole, Of that fair building vast and wonderful."

"He died, and by his death-bed stood The wife, the child, the friend, And saw pale cheek and anxious eye O’er him in fondness bend. Oh, agony !—how could they, King, Call thine a happy end ?"

"For time is vanquished by discovery, By arts which triumph over common wants, By knowledge, which bequeaths the following age All that its predecessor sought and won."

"It is a mighty thing to teach mankind A new idolatry, to bind the weak In their own fancies, to incite the strong By high imaginations, future hopes, Which fill the craving in all noble hearts For things beyond themselves, beyond their sphere."

"Such men may live, fulfil their destiny, Fill a whole land with temples and with tombs, And yet not leave a record of their fame ; Forgotten utterly; and of their faith, No memory, but fallen monuments, Haunted by dim tradition.—"

"Oh, gloomy quarry! thou dost hide in thee The tower and shrine. The city vast and grand and wonderful, And strong, is thine."

"Alas ! the contrast between us, and what We can create; That man should be so little in himself, His works so great."

"Oh, likeness of humanity, ’Tis thus that life flows on, Till every fabric which we built In early youth is gone. The sacred and the beautiful, The mighty and sublime ; Alas, in vain, the heart would save One single wreck from time."

"Oh ! folly of deeming aught earthly can last, Life never knew sorrow whose reign has not past. Oh ! mockery of mockeries, to trust human heart, Whose grief is a shadow, to come and depart:"

"Could the past be restored to the present, Methinks ’twere a union sublime : The past—dreaming, high and ideal, The present—keen, selfish and wise, ’Twould be like the glorious old Grecian, And again steal the fire from the skies."

"Glittering in the morning beam, Crystal runs our little stream, See the flag-flowers bright and blue, Tinge the small waves with their hue; Azure, like a maiden's eye, Surely there the trout will lie: Shadowy hangs the alder bough Hush! we must be silent now."

"One half of our existence is a blank; A mighty empire hath forgetfulness ! History is but a page in the great past, So few amid Time’s records are unsealed."

"Morning, and flowers; green grass, and aged trees— All that can soothe, and calm, and purify, E’en ’mid a busy wilderness of streets."

"Forbid it, England—by thine own great self, By thine own yet unviolated hearths, . . . . Let not thy minister go forth in vain : The fate of Poland now is at thy will; The Autocrat will hear and heed thy voice ; England, my glorious country, speak, and save!"

"From drooping leaves, and bending flowers, Exhaled the midnight dews ! Like love that from its inmost thoughts Its own sweet life renews,"

"Who may deny that on the soul, The coming hours may cast Their shadow, till the future seem As actual as the past."

"Had life no mystery, and no hope, Oh ! who could bear to live !"

"There’s more for thought in one brief hour In yonder busy street, Than all that ever leaf or flower Taught in their green retreat."

"The country is no more left as it was originally created, than Belgrave Square remains its pristine swamp. The forest has been felled, the marsh drained, the enclosures planted, and the field ploughed. All these, begging Mr. Cowper’s pardon, are the works of man’s hands ; and so is the town—the one is not more artificial than the other."

"Change, change, wondrous change, Mighty is thy power, and strange ; Summer sleeps beneath the snow, Fading follows autumn’s glow : Time, what has its chronicle, But of thee and thine to tell ?"

"I give it up in pure despair; But well the muse may turn refractory, When all her inspiration is— A Chinese Town, and an English Factory."

"Dead !—it was like a thunderbolt To hear that he was dead ; Though for long weeks the words of fear Came from his dying bed ; Yet hope denied, and would deny We did not think that he could die."

"All things are signs in nature, still there are Subtle analogies we dimly trace. Perhaps our moral world has but its day, Of which the great sun is the glorious type; And intellect will run its course, and set. If so, we touch on the extremest verge Of our horizon ; and our arts, our power, Our conquests o’er the many realms of mind. Wealth, painting, sciences, and poetry Are but that rich magnificence of hues Which heralds in the closing of our day."

"Never more, when the day is o’er, Will the lonely vespers sound ; No bells are ringing—no monks are singing, When the moonlight falls around."

"Whene'er a person is a poet, No matter what the pang may be; Does not at once the public know it ? Witness each newspaper we see."

"Rage and revenge, and worldly care, Have all been calmed and purified, By memory of the childish prayer I whispered at my mother's side."

"The grave has its vengeance—the dead have their power In the terrible silence of midnight’s dark hour, When each shade is a spectre—and winds have a tone, To the ear of the innocent sleeper unknown ; When the visions ascend from the depths of the tomb, And strange shadows flit thro’ the spectral room."

"It is a glorious thing for man to war With time, by some great work. Wherefore was skill, And energy, and industry, bestowed, If that he use them not ?"

"Oh, build tombs for the dead, they're mightier there Than in their living palaces !"

"Methinks it is a glorious thing, To sail upon the deep ; A thousand sailors under you, Their watch and ward to keep :"

"He does not know his children’s face, His wife might pass him by, He is so altered—did they meet, With an unconscious eye : He has been many years at sea, He’s worn with wind and wave : He asks a little breathing space, Between it and his grave:"

"Poetry is youth's language; and the scroll Whereon is poured the music of its soul, Is like some long-loved friend, whose image seems To bring back memory's deepest, dearest dreams."

"Of all soils, a literary one is the soonest exhausted, and a change of subjects is as much needed as a change of crops."

"And the cold justice still awarded By time, which makes all lots the same. Slayer or slain, it matters not, We struggle, perish, are forgot!"

"What though our passing day but be A bubble on eternity; Small though the circle is, yet still ’Tis ours to colour at our will."

"Mine be that consciousness of life Which has its energies from strife, Which lives its utmost, knows its power, Claims from the mind its utmost dower—"

"Ah! never is that cherished face Banished from its accustomed place— It shines upon my weariest night It leads me on in thickest fight: All that seems most opposed to be Is yet associate with thee— Together life and thee depart, Dream—idol—treasure of my heart."

"Such was the colour—when her cheek Spoke what the lip might never speak. The crimson flush which could confess All that we hoped—but dared not guess. That blush which through the world is known To love, and to the rose alone—"

"For things it were so hard to say Are murmured easily in song— It is for music to impart The secrets of the burthened heart."

"The heart which on itself hath turned, Worn out with feelings—slighted—spurned— Till scarce one throb remained to show What warm emotions slept below, Never to be renewed again, And known but by remembered pain."

"Ah, only those who rarely know Kind words, can tell how sweet they seem. Great God, that there are those below To whom such words are like a dream."

"How fragrant to these dewy hours, The white magnolia lifts its urn The very Araby of flowers, Wherein all precious odours burn."

"And still more hopeless than when last she on their camp looked down, The foeman’s gathered numbers close round the devoted town: And daily in that fatal trench her chosen soldiers fall, And spread themselves, a rampart vain, around that ruined wall. Her eyes upon her city turn—alas! what can they meet, But famine, and despair, and death, in every lonely street?"

"One word there came from her white lips, one word, she spoke no more; But that word was for life and death, the young queen named—the Jojr."

"But weep for those the human things, so lovely and so young, The panting hearts which still to life so passionately clung; Some bound to this dear earth by hope, and some by love’s strong thrall, And yet dishonour's high disdain was paramount with all."

"There is famine on earth—there is plague in the air, And all for a woman whose face is too fair. There was silence like that from the tomb, for no sound Was heard from the chieftains who darkened around, When the voice of a woman arose in reply, ‘The daughters of Rajahstan know how to die.’"

"Beside is a lake covered over with isles, As the face of a beauty is varied with smiles: Some small, just a nest for the heron that springs From the long grass, and flashes the light from its wings; Some bearing one palm-tree, the stately and fair, Alone like a column aloft in the air; While others have shrubs and sweet plants that extend Their boughs to the stream o’er whose mirror they bend. . . . But the isle in the midst was the fairest of all . . . ."

"She bounds o’er the soft grass, half woman half child, As gay as her antelope, almost as wild. The bloom of her cheek is like that on her years; She has never known pain, she has never known tears, And thought has no grief, and no fear to impart; The shadow of Eden is yet on her heart."

"Proud, beautiful, fierce; while she gazes, the tone Of those high murky features grows almost her own; And the blood of her race rushes dark to her brow, The spirit of heroes has entered her now."

"The haughty eye closes, the white teeth are set, And the dew-damps of pain on the wrung brow are wet: The slight frame is writhing—she sinks to the ground; She yields to no struggle, she utters no sound— The small hands are clenched—they relax—it is past, And her aunt kneels beside her—kneels weeping at last."

"Oh sun, how glad thy rays are shed; How canst thou glory o’er the dead? Ah, folly this of human pride, What are the dead to one like thee, Whose mirror is the mighty tide, Where time flows to eternity? A single race, a single age, What are they in thy pilgrimage?"

"The Ganges’ quiet waves are rolled In one broad sheet of molten gold; And in the tufted brakes beside, The water-fowls and herons hide. And the still earth might also seem The strange creation of a dream."

"The heart it has a weary task Which unrequited love must keep; At once a treasure and a curse, The shadow on its universe. Alas, for young and wasted years, For long nights only spent in tears; For hopes, like lamps in some dim urn, That but for the departed burn."

"Out upon morning, its hours recall, Earth to its trouble, man to his thrall; Out upon morning, it chases the night, With all the sweet dreams that on slumber alight; Out upon morning, which wakes us to life, With its toil, its repining, its sorrow and strife."

"O ! glorious triumph, thus to sway at will All feelings in our nature ; thus to work The springs of sympathy, the mines of thought, And all the deep emotions of the heart."

"I know not how it acts on other minds, But this I know, my most enchanted world Is hidden when the curtain falls, and leaves Remembrance only of its gorgeous dreams And beautiful creations."

"There are very many devices wherewith we delude ourselves — indeed, human life has never seemed to me any thing more than a series of mistakes. It is a mistake to be born — another to live — and a third to die."

"Now, a love match is like that childish toy which consists of various boxes enclosed one within another, and yet contains nothing, after all."

"I wonder where Experience got its reputation ? — it has been very easily obtained — but it does not deserve it : they say, that it teaches fools ; it may teach them, but they do not learn."

"Hope and Love are the passions of the heart; the difference between them is, that Hope does not come to an end, but Love does. Love has two terminations ; it concludes either in profound indifference, or in intense hate. Now, in the general run of human natures, there is not energy enough for hate ; therefore, the usual finale is profound indifference ; the most insipid state of existence that can be devised."

"One goes out visiting for pleasure ; a fallacy belonging to that melancholy mania for change which has recourse to stage-coaches, and steam-boats, as if change of scene were change of self."

"— good news stops to take breath on the road ; bad news never requires it."

"They were more wise in other days; Then turn’d the hermit to his cell, And left a world where all betrays, Apart with his own thoughts to dwell."

"Ah ! if this old charm were sooth, One wish yet might tax its truth I would ask, however vain, Never more to wish again."

"People ought to be grateful : I have done a great deal for the poets ; is there not one among them to do something for me ? I entreat them to recollect that I have read them, which is a great deal ; I have bought them, which is still more ; and I have reduced their theory to practice, which is most of all. They owe me a recompense, and I have a plan in my head. I want one of them to come and commit suicide in my garden, and leave a paper behind requesting to be interred in that very spot. He might assign any reason his imagination suggested, and I would take care that religious attention should be paid to his last wish ; indeed, it is for that I desire his death."

"Alas ! hope is not prophecy,—we dream, But rarely does the glad fulfilment come : We leave our land and we return no more; Or come again, the weary and the worn."

"’Tis the worst curse, on this our social world, Fortune’s perpetual presence—wealth, which now Is like life’s paramount necessity."

"It is a glorious task to seek, Where misery droops the patient head : Where tears are on the widow’s cheek, Where weeps the mourner o’er the dead."

"Thou lone and lovely water, would I were A dweller by thy deepest solitude !"

"I deeply felt that song should make One universal link, Uniting, for each other’s sake, All those who feel and think."

"The poet’s lovely faith creates The beauty it believes The light which on his footstep waits He from himself receives."

"Fair Paris caught the crimson hue — Well may I call it fair. With its pure heaven of softest blue. Its clear and sunny air — Soft fell the morning o’er each dome That rises mid the sky ; And, conscious of the day to come, Demand their place on high."

"Round the Pantheon’s height was wrought A web of royal red ; A glory as if morning brought Its homage to the dead. And Notre Dame’s old gothic towers Were bathed in roseate bloom, As Time himself had scattered flowers Over that mighty tomb."

"How little is the happiness That will content a child— A favourite dog, a sunny fruit, A blossom growing wild. A word will fill the little heart With pleasure and with pride ; It is a harsh, a cruel thing, That such can be denied."

"How much they suffer from our faults ! How much from our mistakes ! How often, too, mistaken zeal An infant’s misery makes ! We overrule, and overteach, We curb and we confine, And put the heart to school too soon, To learn our narrow line."

"For the East is earth’s first-born, And hath a glorious dower As Nature there had lavished Her beauty and her power."

"The morning waked with carols, A young and joyous hand Of small and rosy songsters, Came tripping hand in hand. And sang beneath our windows, Just as the round red sun Began to melt the hoar-frost, And the clear cold day begun."

"History hath but few pages—soon is told Man’s ordinary life, Labour, and care, and strife, Make up the constant chronicle of old."

"Abel the victim—Cain the homicide, Were type and prophecy Of times that were to be, Thus reddened from the first life’s troubled tide."

"Fall, fall, ye mighty temples to the ground ; Not in your sculptured rise In the real exercise Of human nature's highest power found. ’Tis in the lofty hope, the daily toil, ’Tis in the gifted line, In each far thought divine, That brings down heaven to light our common soil. ’Tis in the great, the lovely, and the true, ’Tis in the generous thought, Of all that man has wrought, Of all that yet remains for man to do."

"We have no home—we have no friends, They said our home no more was ours ; Our cottage where the ash tree bends, The garden we had filled with flowers. . . . . Alas, it is a weary thing To sing our ballads o’er and o’er ; The songs we used at home to sing— Alas, we have a home no more !"

"I have a steed, to leave behind The wild bird, and the wilder wind : I have a sword, which does not know How to waste a second blow : I have a matchlock, whose red breath Bears the lightning’s sudden death ; I have a foot of fiery flight, I have an eye that cleaves the night. I win my portion in the land By my high heart and strong right hand."

"—the past, which is Imagination’s own gigantic realm."

"Filled with the sweet good-night of flowers that sigh themselves to sleep,"

"Is there a spot where Pity’s foot, Although unsandalled, fears to tread, A silence where her voice is mute, Where tears, and only tears, are shed? It is the desolated home Where Hope was yet a recent guest, Where Hope again may never come, Or come, and only speak of rest."

"Now, doth not summer’s sunny smile Sink soft o’er that Ionian isle, While round the kindling waters sweep The murmur'd music of the deep, The many melodies that swell From breaking wave and red-lipp’d shell ?"

"Go through that city, and behold What intellect can yield, How it brings forth an hundred-fold From time’s enduring field. Those walls are filled with wealth, the spoil Of industry and thought, The mighty harvest which man’s toil Out of the past has wrought."

"The product of that city, now Far distant lands consume; The Indian wears around his brow The white webs of her loom. Her vessels sweep from East to West ; Her merchants are like kings ; While wonders in her walls attest The power that commerce brings."

"Then sounds arise, the echoes bear along Through the resounding aisles the choral song. The billowy music of the organ sweeps, Like the vast anthem of uplifted deeps ; The bells ring forth—the long dark night is done, The sunshine of the Sabbath is begun."

"Cold and obscure, in vain the king and sage Gave law and learning to the darkened age. There was no present faith, no future hope, Earth bounded then the earth-drawn horoscope ;"

"Now, out upon this smiling, No smile shall meet his sight ; And a word of gay reviling Is all he’ll hear to-night, For he’ll hold my smiles too lightly, If he always sees me smile ; He’ll think they shine more brightly When I have frowned awhile."

"—O, tranquil earth and heaven—but their repose, What influence hath it on the mourner there ! Her eye is fix’d in terrible despair, Her lip is white with pain, and, spectre-like, Her shape is worn with famine—on her arm Rests a dead child—she does not weep for it. Two more are at her side, she’d weep for them, But that she is too desperate to weep :"

"Black and more black the midnight grew, Black and more black was the water’s hue ; Then a ghastly sound on the silence broke, And I thought of the dead beneath the oak."

"Such are the common people of the soul, Of whom the stars write not in their bright scroll. These, when the sunshine at the noontide makes Golden confusion in the forest brakes, See no sweet shadows gliding o’er the grass, Which seems to fill with wild flowers as they pass ; These, from the twilight music of the fount Ask not its secret and its sweet account ; These never seek to read the chronicle Which hides within the hyacinth’s dim-lit bell: They know not of the poetry which lies Upon the summer rose’s languid eyes; They have no spiritual visitings elysian, They dream no dreamings, and they see no vision."

"But decay—the pulses tremble When its livid signs appear : When the once-loved lips resemble All we loathe, and all we fear. Is it not a ghastly ending For the body’s godlike form, Thus to the damp earth descending, Food and triumph to the worm ?"

"What know we of them ? Nothing—there they stand, Gloomy as night, inscrutible as fate."

"Time—tempest—warfare—ordinary decay, Is not for these. The memory of man Has lost their rise—although they are his work. Two senses here are present ; one of Power, And one of Nothingness ; doth it not mock The mighty mind to see the meaner part, The task it taught its hands, outlast itself?"

"Why did she love her mother’s so? It hath wrought her wondrous wo."

"The stately stranger’s head was bound With a bright and golden round; Curiously inlaid, each scale Shone upon his glittering mail;"

"Who has not, when but a child, Treasured up some vision wild: Haunting them with nameless fear, Filling all they see or hear, In the midnight’s lonely hour, With a strange mysterious power?"

"And the thought of what has been, And the thought of what might be, Makes us crave the fancied scene, And despise reality."

"Easy ’tis advice to give, Hard it is advice to take Years that lived—and years to live, Wide and weary difference make."

"Still illusion’s purple light Was upon the morning tide, And there rose before her sight The loveliness of life untried. Three sweet genii, —Youth, Love, Hope, — Drew her future horoscope. Must such lights themselves consume? Must she be her own dark tomb?"

"Willows by that river grow With their leaves half green, half snow, Summer never seems to be Present all with that sad tree. With its bending boughs are wrought Tender and associate thought, Of the wreaths that maidens wear In their long neglected hair. Of the branches that are thrown On the last, the funeral stone."

"By the love that makes thee mine I am deeply, dearly thine. But a spell is on me thrown, Six days may each deed be shown. But the seventh day must be Mine, and only known to me. Never must thy step intrude On its silent solitude."

"Then his jealous fancies rose, (Our Lady keep the mind from those!) Like a fire within the brain, Maddens that consuming pain. Henceforth is no rest by night, Henceforth day has no delight. Life hath agonies that tell Of their late left native hell. But mid their despair is none Like that of the jealous one."

"Come what will, of weal or wo, ’Tis the best the worst to know."

"Downwards from that slender waist, By a golden zone embraced, Do the many folds escape, Of the subtle serpent’s shape.— Bright with many-coloured dyes All the glittering scales arise, With a red and purple glow Colouring the waves below! At the strange and fearful sight, Stands in mute despair the knight,— Soon to feel a worse despair, Melusina sees him there! And to see him is to part With the idol of her heart, Part as just the setting sun Tells the fatal day is done."

"She leaves it to the sacred stream, She leaves it to the tide, Her little child—her darling one, And she has none beside."

"She comes ! So comes the Moon, when has she found A silvery path wherein through heaven to glide ? Fling the white veil—a summer cloud—around ; She is a bride !"

"How wonderful the common street, Its tumult and its throng, The hurrying of the thousand feet That bear life's cares along. How strongly is the present felt, With such a scene beside; All sounds in one vast murmur melt The thunder of the tide."

"Such must have been his history, who first Cut this sad hermitage within the rock: Some spirit-broken and world-weary man, Whose love was in the grave—whose hope in heaven. Yet a fine nature must have been his own ; A sense of beauty—and a strong delight In the brave seeming of the visible world, Whose loveliness is like a sympathy."

"Alas ! for our ancient believings, We have nothing now left to believe ; The oracle, augur, and omen No longer dismay and deceive."

"Thou beautiful new comer, With white and maiden brow ; Thou fairy gift from summer, Why art thou blooming now ? This dim and sheltered alley Is dark with winter green ; Not such as in the valley At sweet spring-time is seen."

"Float on—float on—my haunted bark, Above the midnight tide; Bear softly o’er the waters dark The hopes that with thee glide."

"A stranger to her forest home, That fair young stranger came; They raised for him the funeral song— For him the funeral flame. Love sprang from pity,—and her arms Around his arms she threw; She told her father, “If he dies, Your daughter dieth too.” For her sweet sake they set him free— He lingered at her side; And many a native song yet tells Of that pale stranger’s bride."

"None watched the lonely Indian girl,— She passed unmarked of all, Until they saw her slight canoe Approach the mighty Fall! Upright, within that slender boat They saw the pale girl stand, Her dark hair streaming far behind— Uprais’d her desperate hand. The air is filled with shriek and shout— They call, but call in vain; The boat amid the waters dash'd— ’Twas never seen again!"

"Summer is come, with her leaves and her flowers— Summer is come, with the sun on her hours; The lark in the clouds, and the thrush on the bough, And the dove in the thicket, make melody now. The noon is abroad, but the shadows are cool Where the green rushes grow in the dark forest pool."

"The sledge is yoked, away we go, Amid the firs, o’er the soundless snow."

"None heed the wandering boy who sings, An orphan though so young; None think how far the singer brings The songs which he has sung."

"For years, long years, Years that make centuries—those dimlit aisles, Where rainbows play, from coloured windows flung, Have echoed to the voice of prayer and praise ; With the last lights of evening flitting round, Making a rosy atmosphere of hope."

"Few save the poor feel for the poor, The rich know not how hard It is to be of needful food And needful rest debarred."

"Mournfully they pass away, The dearest and the fairest ; Beauty, thou art common clay, Common doom thou sharest."

"Sympathy is the softener of death, and memory of the loved and the lost is the earthly shadow of their immortality. But who turns aside amid those crowds that hurry through the thronged and noisy streets?—No one can love London better than I do; but never do I wish to be buried there. It is the best place in the world for a house, and the worst for a grave."

"I come from my home in the depth of the sea, I come that thy dreams may be haunted by me ; Not as we parted, the rose on my brow, But shadowy, silent, I visit thee now."

"Alas, alas ! those ancient towers, Where never now the vespers ring, But lonely at the midnight hours, Flits by the bat on dusky wing. No more beneath the moonlight dim, No more beneath the planet ray, Those arches echo with the hymn That bears life’s meaner cares away."

"See, he bears the line away, Round him flies the snowy spray. I have given him length and line, One last struggle, he is mine. Fling the green arbutus bough On the glowing ashes now ; Let the cup with red wine foam,— I have brought the salmon home."

"You must come back, my brother, For Christmas is so near, And Christmas is the crowning time, The purple of the year ;"

"She comes with the midnight—meet not her cold eye, It shines but on those who are fated to die. She comes with the midnight, when spirits have power— She comes with the midnight, and evil the hour."

"Little the present careth for the past, Too little,—’tis not well! For careless ones we dwell Beneath the mighty shadow it has cast."

"For the present doth inherit All the glories of the past ; We retain what was its spirit, While its dust to dust is cast, All good angels guard the sleep Of the ancient warriors, The warriors of olden time"

"Life in its many shapes was there, The busy and the gay; Faces that seemed too young and fair To ever know decay. …. There came a slow and silent band In sad procession by: Reversed the musket in each hand, And downcast every eye. They bore the soldier to his grave; The sympathising crowd Divided like a parted wave By some dark vessel ploughed. …. Again, all filled with light and breath, I passed the crowded street— Oh, great extremes of life and death, How strangely do ye meet!"

"It is the minstrel’s part to fling Around the present’s common cope, The solemn hues on Memory’s wing, The spiritual light of Hope. The scene that to a careless eye Seems nothing but itself to be, Has charmed earth and haunted sky — Seen as the minstrel’s eye can see. Himself is but an instrument Inspired by that diviner hour, When first Imagination lent To earth its passion and its power."

"Thus with some sweet dream’s assistance, Float they down life’s stream; Would to heaven our whole existence Could be such a dream!"

"’Twas the deep forest bodied forth that fane, So rose the arches of the old oak trees, So wreathed the close set branches at their side, So through the open spaces gleamed the sun ; While like an anthem sang the morning birds."

"Hither, famed Ulysses, steer, Pass not, pride of Greece, along To our haven come and hear, Come and hear the Sirens' song."

"Human heart this history Is thy fated lot, Even such thy watching For what cometh not Till with anxious waiting dull Round thee fades the beautiful."

"Again I am beside the lake, The lonely lake which used to be The wide world of the beating heart, When I was, love, with thee."

"A little while hast thou to be a child, Thy lot is all too high ; Thy face is very fair, thine eyes are mild, But duties on thine arduous path are piled— A nation’s hopes and fears blend with thy destiny."

"They were poor, and by their cabin, Pale want sat at the door ; And the summer to their harvest Brought insufficient store."

"How many are the lovely lays That haunt our English tongue, Defrauded of their poet’s praise Forgotten he who sung."

"He cometh from the purple hills, Where the fight has been to-day; He bears the standard in his hand— Shout round the victor’s way. The sun-set of a battle won, Is round his steps from Marathon."

"Low it lieth—earth to earth— And to which that earth gave birth— Palace, market-street, and fane ; Dust that never asks in vain, Hath reclaimed its own again. Dust, the wide world’s king."

"And such a task it is to steer A people in their high career, When old opinions war, and change Is sudden, violent, and strange ; And men recall the past, to say, So shall not be the coming day."

"It shall never be lowered, the black flag we bear ; If the sea be denied us, we sweep through the air."

"The prayer for another, to Heaven addrest, Comes back to the breather thrice blessing and blest."

"Lay her in the gentle earth, Where the summer maketh mirth ; Where young violets have birth ; Where the lily bendeth. Lay her there, the lovely one ! With the rose, her funeral stone ; And for tears, such showers alone As the rain of April lendeth."

"It is pleasant through the city In a sunny day to roam ; And yet my full heart turns to thee, My own, my greenwood home."

"Vainly did the augur seek In its path the will of heaven ; Not to that fierce eye and beak, Was the fated future given. No, the future’s depths were stirred By the white wings of the dove ; When the troubled earth first heard Words of peace and words of love."

"Yet that old chivalric hour Hath upon the present power Changed—and softened and refined It has left its best behind. What may its bequeathings be ? Honour, song, and courtesy. Like the spirit of its clay, Yesterday redeems to-day."

"And such is still the recompense appointed for the mind, That seeketh, with its eyes afar, the glory of its kind. The poet yields the beautiful that in his being lives : Unthankful, cold, and careless, are they to whom he gives."

"Look to the past—if present there Be visible one great despair : Look to the future—if it give Nothing which charmeth thee to live. Then come—the present knows its doom, Thy heart already is a tomb."

"By another light surrounded Than our actual sky; With the purple ocean bounded Does the island lie, Like a dream of the old world."

"Still their silent thread entwining Of our wretched life ; With their cold pale hands combining Hate, and fear, and strife. Hovers the avenging day O’er the glorious island Where Ulysses was the king."

"Heavily rung the old church bells, But no one came to prayer: The weeds were growing in the street, Silence and Fate were there. O’er the first grave by which I stood, Tears fell, and flowers were thrown, The last grave held six hundred lives, And there I stood alone."

"A generous inspiration Is on the outward world ; It waketh thoughts and feelings In careless coldness furled. To love and to admire Seems natural to the heart ; Life’s small and selfish interests From such a scene depart."

"Trouble and discontent, and hours whose dial Is in the feverish heart which knows not rest ; These give the midnight’s sinking sleep denial, These leave the midnight’s dreaming couch unprest."

"Still let love—song—and hope—make thee their mirror, Oh, life and earth, what were ye without dreams!"

"The warrior, sage, and poet fill their story With all the various honours of mankind ; — May thy young reign achieve yet truer glory, The pure, enlightened triumphs of the mind ! Too much in this wide world yet needs redressing ; But with thy reign Hope’s loveliest promise came. May thy sweet youth be sheltered by the blessing A nation breathes upon Victoria’s name !"

"He wears the green robe of the Prophet’s high line, He is sprung from the chieftain of Mecca’s far shrine ; His horse, on whose bridle the white pearls are sown, Has a lineage as distant and pure as his own."

"High in the azure heavens, ye ancient mountains, Do ye uplift your old ancestral snows, Gathering amid the clouds those icy fountains, Whence many a sunny stream through India flows."

"’Tis strange how much of this wide world is lonely, Earth hath its trackless forests dark and green, And its wild deserts of the sand, where only The wind, a weary wanderer, hath been."

"But on the ocean never track remaining Attests the progress of the human race ; The ship will pass without a wave retaining The lovely likeness mirrored on its face. And thus, O Time, that hast our world in keeping, So dost thou roll the current of thy years ; Away, away, in thy dark waters sweeping, All mortal cares and sorrows, hopes and fears."

"Thou hast been round us, like a viewless spirit, Known only by the music on the air; The leaf or flowers which thou hast named inherit A beauty known but from thy breathing there: For thou didst on them fling thy strong emotion, The likeness from itself the fond heart gave; As planets from afar look down on ocean, And give their own sweet image to the wave."

"A general bond of union is the poet, By its immortal verse is language known, And for the sake of song do others know it— One glorious poet makes the world his own."

"Yet what is mind in woman, but revealing In sweet clear light the hidden world below, By quicker fancies and a keener feeling Than those around, the cold and careless, know?"

"The fable of Prometheus and the vulture Reveals the poet’s and the woman’s heart. Unkindly are they judged—unkindly treated— By careless tongues and by ungenerous words; While cruel sneer, and hard reproach, repeated, Jar the fine music of the spirit’s chords."

"Now the monarch must surrender All his golden state, Yet the mockeries of splendour On the pageant wait That attends him to the tomb. Music on the air is swelling, ’Tis the funeral song, As to his ancestral dwelling, Is he borne along. They must share life’s common doom. The kings of fair Golconda, Golconda’s ancient kings."

"What should the fruit of victory be ? What spoil should it command ?— Commerce upon the sweeping sea, And peace upon the land."

"What is the social world thou hast forsaken?— A scene of wrong and sorrow, guilt and guile ; Whence Love a long and last farewell has taken, Where friends can smile, and “murder while they smile.”"

"Within that lonely garden what happy hours went by, While we fancied that around us spread foreign sea and sky. Ah! the dreaming and the distant no longer haunt the mind We leave, in leaving childhood, life’s fairy-land behind."

"Round are the woods of the ancient oak, And pines that scorn at the woodman’s stroke ; And yet the axe is on its way, Those stately trees in the dust to lay."

"They have opened the quarries of lime and stone ; There is nothing that man will leave alone : He buildeth the house—he tilleth the soil ; No place is free from care and toil. …. Wo on our wretched and busy race. That will not leave Nature a resting-place. We roam over earth, we sail o’er the wave, Till there is not a quiet spot but the grave."

"Of Europe's childhood was the feudal age, When the world's sceptre was the sword; and power, Unfit for human weakness, wrong, and rage, Knew not that curb which waits a wiser hour."

"Our moral progress has a glorious scope, Much has the past by thought and labour done; Knowledge and Peace pursue the steps of Hope, Whose noblest victories are yet unwon."

"By the aqueduct, of old, Where the silver river rolled, Long since laid in ruins low— But there still the waters flow. Soon decayeth man's endeavour, Nature's works endure for ever."

"Sadly the captive o'er the flowers is bending, While her soft eye with sudden sorrow fills; They are not those that grew beneath her tending In the green valley of her native hills. …. What are the glittering trifles that surround her— What the rich shawl—and what the golden chain— Would she could break the fetters that have bound her, And see her household and her hills again!"

"Will not your giant columns yet behold The world's old age, enlightened, calm, and free; More glorious than the glories known of old— The spirit's placid rule o'er land and sea. All that the past has taught is not in vain— Wisdom is garnered up from centuries gone: Love, Hope, and Mind prepare a nobler reign Than ye have known—Cedars of Lebanon!"

"His home — our English poet's home — Amid these hills is made ; Here, with the morning, hath he come, There, with the night delayed. On all things is his memory cast, For every place wherein he past, Is with his mind arrayed, That, wandering in a summer hour, Asked wisdom of the leaf and flower."

"Until thy hand unlocked its store, What glorious music slept ! Music that can be hushed no more Was from our knowledge kept."

"The crowded city in its streets, The valley, in its green retreats, Alike thy words retain. What need hast thou of sculptured stone ?— Thy temple, is thy name alone."

"Yet thou art on thy course majestic keeping, Unruffled by the breath Of man's vain life or death, Calm as the heaven upon thy bosom sleeping. Still dost thou keep thy calm and onward motion, Amid the ancient ranks Of forests on thy banks, Till thou hast gained thy home—the mighty ocean."

"Already much for man has been effected; The weak and poor man's cause Is strengthened by the laws, The equal right, born with us all, respected."

"Do you see yon vessel riding, Anchored in our island bay, Like a sleeping sea-bird biding For the morrow’s onward way ? See her white wings folded round her As she rocks upon the deep; Slumber with a spell hath bound her, With a spell of peace and sleep."

"The mother takes her little child— Its face is like her own ; The cradle of her choice is wild— Why is it left alone ? The trampling of the buffalo Is heard among the reeds, And sweeps around the carrion-crow That amid carnage feeds."

"Pause, ere we blame the savage code That such strange horror keeps; Perhaps within her sad abode The mother sits and weeps, And thinks how oft those eyelids smiled, Whose close she may not see, And says, "Oh, would to God, my child, I might have died for thee !""

"Look on the crowded prison-gate— Instructive love and care In early life had saved the fate That waits on many there. Cold, selfish, shunning care and cost, The poor are left unknown ; I say, for every soul thus lost, We answer with our own."

"In the deep silence of the midnight hours, I call upon ye, oh ye viewless powers! Before whose presence mortal daring cowers."

"What of yon stately city, where are shrined The warrior’s and the poet’s wreath combined— All the high honours of the human mind! Her walls are bright with colours, whose fine dyes Embody shapes that seem from yonder skies, And in her scrolls the world’s deep wisdom lies. What of her future?—Through the silvery smoke I see the distant vision I invoke. These glorious walls have bowed to time’s dark yoke. I see a plain of desert sand extend Scattered with ruins, where the wild flowers bend, And the green ivy, like a last sad friend."

"Hence, ye dark Spirits! bear the dream away; To-morrow but repeateth yesterday; First, toil—then, desolation and decay. Life has one vast stern likeness in its gloom, We toil with hopes that must themselves consume— The wide world round us is one mighty tomb."

"I see the bright trout springing, Where the wave is dark yet clear, And a myriad flies are winging, As if to tempt him near. With the lucid waters blending, The willow shade yet floats, From beneath whose quiet bending I used to launch my boats."

"O, Lovely isle ! that, like a child, Art sleeping on the sea, Amid whose hair the wind is wild, And on whose cheek the sun has smiled, As there it loved to be."

"It is his hand—it is his words— Too well I know the scroll, Whose style, whose order, and whose shape Are treasured in my soul."

"A fearful thing, the granted wish— The very shape it takes, By some strange mockery of our hope, Another misery makes."

"Time measures many hours ; for me, He measured long and slow; I thought the night would never end, The day would never go."

"They come from the mountains, in thousands they come— There breatheth no trumpet, there beateth no drum: They march in such silence as suiteth the dead, Their herald the thunder that echoes their tread. The sun is midway in his morning advance, His beams kindle musket, and sabre, and lance; While beneath each white turban flows down the long hair; For the locks of the Druse are, like northern locks, fair."

"The falling of fountains—the slight summer rain— The voice of the dove, were less sweet than thy strain; Till stirred with delight, would her exquisite wings Beat time on the west wind, to echo thy strings."

"So like they are—as roses grow Self-same upon the self-same bough, While just some slight shades intervene, To mark a change more felt than seen— As like they are—as nature loth To make a difference, modelled both To the same shape—it was so fair That not a grace was left to spare."

"It is the past that maketh the ideal, Kindling the future with its onward ray, And o’er a world that else would be too real, Flinging the glory of the moral day."

"On the wind a murmur, Seems to float along, Soft as is the music Of remembered song. Bringing at the moment All that dwelt apart In the lone recesses Of the haunted heart. So upon her twilight wings Memory beareth graceful things, From the tales Arabian, From the old Arabian Nights."

"A thousand nameless years went by, As silent as their birth; The clouds that wandered o’er the sky Beheld no change on earth: With one unbroken chronicle, A thousand years left nought to tell."

"But here no tumult ever past, The wild wind brought no sound, Saving the mighty music cast By the dark pine-trees round; And Nature had one hour’s repose Amid the silence of the snows."

"During a considerable part of the year, the Choor is hoary with snow; and when moonlight falls upon the scene, an effect is produced as if floods of molten silver were poured over the surface. Moonlight in these regions assumes a novel charm. The rugged peaks, stern and chilling as they are, lose their awful character, and become brilliant as polished pearl; the trees, covered with icicles, seem formed of some rich spar; and the face of nature becoming wholly changed, presents the features of a world calm and tranquil, but still and deathlike. (Letitia Landon may have her friend Emma Roberts to thank for details of this description)"

"’Tis strange how often early years Will unexpected rise, And bring back soft and childlike tears To cold and world-worn eyes. Soft voices come upon the wind, Old songs and early prayers, And feel how much of good and kind Our weary life still spares."

"The day is yet rosy with wakening from sleep, The stars have one moment gone down in the deep, The flowers have not opened that hide in the grass, And the hares leave their print in the dew as they pass."

"Hope’s fairy arches cross human life’s dark river; Frail the support—while over it there hastens All the sweet beliefs that make the morning fair."

"Oh ! there are moments when the full heart, turning From this life, insufficient, vexed, and drear, Looks to the skies with an impatient yearning, And asks the morning for another sphere."

"Methinks a pleasant lesson Is given by the scene— That age alike and childhood Delight in what has been. They will make, those happy children, The old man’s heart their own— There never was a pleasure Could be enjoyed alone."

"What makes the poet? — Nothing but to feel More keenly than the common sense of feeling; To have the soul attuned to the appeal Of the dim music through all nature stealing."

"Life is a fable, with its lesson last ; Genius, too, has its fable and its moral: Of all the trees that down their shadows cast, Choose you a wreath from any but the laurel."

"Thy angel-nature was not made For struggle or for care; Thou wert too gentle and too good For Heaven long to spare. Thou wert but sent a little while To soothe and to sustain; The angels missed thee from their band And asked for thee again: But not till thou hadst given birth To many a holy thought on earth."

"Years have grown into centuries grey, The king and his people, where are they? Where are the temples of carved stone? Look in the dust—to dust they are gone. Five or six pillars alone remain Of the thousands that crowded that marble plain. The palm-tree that stood by that building of yore Standeth as green as it did before. But the dust is heaped o’er the works of men— And so it hath been, and will be again."

"There is a lovely English sound Upon the English air, It comes when else had silence found Its quiet empire there."

"How still it is ! the bee — the bird — Float by on noiseless wing. There sounds no step — there comes no word, There seems no living thing. But still upon the soft west wind These bells come sweeping by, Leaving familiar thoughts behind, Familiar, and yet high."

"Men gathered fast upon the sands With eager aid—in vain— What is might of human hands To struggle with the main?"

"Hamooda holds a feast to-night — Fill ye the lamps with fragrant light ; Burn, in the twilight's dewy time, The mastic, rosemary, and thyme; And scatter round the festal chamber Oils from the rose, the musk, the amber."

"It is a fearful thing to live, yet be That which is scarcely life — the spirit fled — Death at the heart — our nobler self is dead — The reasoning and responsible, while we Live, like the birds around, unconsciously. God ! in thy mercy keep us from such doom, Let not our mind precede us to our tomb !"

"Too much this weary world of ours Has fallen since the fall ; And low desires, and care, and crime. Hold empire over all. Yet not the less it is our part To do the best we can : A better faith — a better fate Man yet may work for man."

"Stately rose their city — Many towns are fair, None rose like Granada In the morning air. There the Moorish princes swayed Empire which themselves had made. Like a dream their memory dwells Where the carved marble tells Of the Moslem rule in Spain."

"Honoured be each story Brought from other days, But for them there were no flowers On our world-worn ways. Every land, and every heart, Turn back to their earlier part. Let old songs and stories live While the fanciful they give To the Moslem rule in Spain."

"Too much by small low interests bound. We track our selfish way, Careless if hope to-day still takes Its tone from yesterday. We look upon our daily path, We do not look beyond, Forgetful of the brotherhood In nature's mighty bond."

"The future doth avenge the past— Now, for thy future's sake, Oh, England ! for the guilty past A deep atonement make. The slave is given to thy charge, He hopes from thee alone ; And thou, for every soul so given, Must answer with thine own."

"The winds are stirred with tumult — on the air Sound drum and trumpet, atabal and gong — Strong voices loud uplift a barbarous song. Vast is the gathering — while the priests declare The seven-headed god is passing there. On roll his chariot-wheels, while every roll From prostrate bodies crushes forth a soul : Rejoicing such last agony to bear."

"It is a little azure bird, It has a plaintive cry, It singeth mournful to the eve, When none beside are nigh. …. And for the love it beareth them, The natives hold it true, That whosoever kills this bird, Himself must perish too."

"Of the vacant temple Little now remains, Lowly are the statues, Lowly are the fanes, Filled with worshippers no more. Heavily the creeper Traces its green line Round the fallen altar, Now no more divine— As it was in days of yore, In the days of stately Carthage, The ocean’s earliest queen. …. Empire still has followed The revolving sun; Earth’s great onward progress In the East begun— Ruins, deserts, now are there. Downfall waits on triumph: Is such fate in store For our glorious islands? Will our English shore Lie as desolate and bare As the shores of fallen Carthage, The ocean’s former queen?"

"When I see Homes, of Beauty and of Splendour, I, that am merely rich in being loved, By one whose wealth is in a heart too tender, To let me share his poverty unmoved: Sighing, I marvel, what such chance of fortune, Can add too happiness, or take away; And whether all the cloying gifts, importune, Or bless the wealthy, through the livelong day!"