TT: _Lady of the Lake,_ Canto ii., St. 22.

=Hell.=

'Tis now the very witching time of night,
When churchyards yawn and hell itself breathes out
Contagion to this world.
894
SHAKS.: _Hamlet,_ Act iii., Sc. 2.

A dungeon horrible, on all sides round,
As one great furnace flamed; yet from those flames
No light; but rather darkness visible
Serv'd only to discover sights of woe,
Regions of sorrow, doleful shades, where peace
And rest can never dwell, hope never comes
That comes to all, but torture without end.
895
MILTON: _Par. Lost,_ Bk. i., Line 61.

Hell
Grew darker at their frown.
896
MILTON: _Par. Lost,_ Bk. ii., Line 719.

To rest, the cushion and soft dean invite,
Who never mentions hell to ears polite.
897
POPE: _Moral Essays,_ Epis. iv., Line 149.

In hope to merit heaven by making earth a hell.
898
BYRON: _Ch. Harold,_ Canto i., St. 20.

Hell is a city much like London--
A populous and a smoky city;
There are all sorts of people undone,
And there is little or no fun done;
Small justice shown, and still less pity.
899
SHELLEY: _Peter Bell the Third,_ Pt. iii.

=Heritage.=

I, the heir of all the ages, in the foremost files of time.
900
TENNYSON: _Loksley Hall,_ Line 178.

Creation's heir, the world, the world is mine!
901
GOLDSMITH: _Traveller,_ Line 50.

=Heroes.=

Heroes are much the same, the point's agreed,
From Macedonia's madman to the Swede.
902
POPE: _Essay on Man,_ Epis. iv., Line 219.

Whoe'er excels in what we prize,
Appears a hero in our eyes.
903
SWIFT: _Cadenus and Vanessa,_ Line 729.

To the hero, when his sword
Has won the battle for the free
Death's voice sounds like a prophet's word;
And in its hollow tones are heard
The thanks of millions yet to be!
904
HALLECK: _Marco Bozzaris._

Heroes as great have died, and yet shall fall.
905
POPE: _Iliad,_ Bk. xv., Line 157.

=Hills.=

The hills,
Rock-ribbed, and ancient as the sun.
906
WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT: _Thanatopsis._

I have looked on the hills of the stormy North,
And the larch has hung his tassels forth.
907
HEMANS: _The Voice of Spring._

=History.=

History, with all her volumes vast,
Hath but one page.
908
BYRON: _Ch. Harold,_ Canto iv.; St. 108.

=Holiday.=

If all the year were playing holidays,
To sport would be as tedious as to work;
But when they seldom come, they wished-for come,
And nothing pleaseth but rare accidents.
909
SHAKS.: _1 Henry IV.,_ Ac