etween the Whigs and Tories, unless I shall be forced to
declare myself by the hostilities of either side.
ADDISON.

Out--out are the lights--out all!
And over each quivering form,
The curtain, a funeral pall,
Comes down with the rush of a storm;
And the angels, all pallid and wan,
Uprising, unveiling, affirm
That the play is the tragedy "Man,"
And its hero the Conqueror Worm.--POE.

The essays professedly serious, if I have been able to execute
my own intentions, will be found exactly conformable to the
precepts of Christianity, without any accommodation to the
licentiousness and levity of the present age. I therefore look
back on this part of my work with pleasure, which no praise or
blame of man can diminish or augment. I shall never envy the
honors which wit and learning obtain in any other cause, if I
can be numbered among the writers who have given ardor to
virtue and confidence to truth.--SAMUEL JOHNSON.

What tho' on hamely fare we dine,
Wear hodden gray, and a' that;
Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine--
A man's a man for a' that.
For a' that, and a' that,
Their tinsel show, and a' that;
The honest man, though e'er sae poor,
Is king of men for a' that.--BURNS.

I said to myself that my hero should work his way through
life as I had seen real living men work theirs; that he should
never get a shilling he had not earned; that no sudden turn
should lift him in a moment to wealth and high station; that
whatever small competency he might gain, should be won by the
sweat of his brow; that before he could find so much as an
arbor to sit down in, he should master, at least, half the
ascent of the "Hill of Difficulty"; that he should not even
marry a beautiful girl or a lady of rank. As Adam's son he
should share Adam's doom, and drain, throughout life, a mixed
and moderate cup of enjoyment.--CHARLOTTE BRONTE.

Day set on Norham's castled steep,
And Tweed's fair river, broad and deep,
And Cheviot's mountains lone:
The battled towers, the donjon keep,
The loophole grates, where captives weep,
The flanking walls that round it sweep,
In yellow lustre shone.
The warriors on the turrets high,