My master is of churlish disposition,
And little recks to find the way to heaven
By doing deeds of hospitality.
941
SHAKS.: _As You Like It,_ Act ii., Sc. 4.

Every house was an inn, where all were welcomed and feasted.
942
LONGFELLOW: _Evangeline,_ Pt. I., iv., Line 15.

=Host.=

The leader, mingling with the vulgar host,
Is in the common mass of matter lost.
943
POPE: _Odyssey,_ Bk. iv., Line 397.

=Hour.=

Too busy with the crowded hour to fear to live or die.
944
EMERSON: _Quatrains, Nature._

Catch, then, oh catch the transient hour;
Improve each moment as it flies!
Life's a short summer, man a flower;
He dies--alas! how soon he dies!
945
DR. JOHNSON: _Winter, An Ode._

=House.=

For there's nae luck about the house,
There's nae luck at a';
There 's little pleasure in the house
When our gudeman 's awa'.
946
WILLIAM J. MICKLE: _Manner's Wife._

=Humanity.=

But hearing oftentimes
The still, sad music of humanity.
947
WORDSWORTH: _Lines composed a few miles above Tintern Abbey._

O suffering, sad humanity!
O ye afflicted ones, who lie
Steeped to the lips in misery,
Longing, yet afraid to die,
Patient, though sorely tried!
948
LONGFELLOW: _Goblet of Life._

=Humility.=

Give me the lowest place: or if for me
That lowest place too high, make one more low
Where I may sit and see
My God and love Thee so.
949
CHRISTINA G. ROSSETTI: _The Lowest Place._

=Hunger.=

The hungry judges soon the sentence sign,
And wretches hang that jurymen may dine.
950
POPE: _R. of the Lock,_ Canto iii., Line 21.

Cruel as death, and hungry as the grave.
951
THOMSON: _Seasons, Winter,_ Line 393.

=Hunting.=

The healthy huntsman, with a cheerful horn,
Summons the dogs and greets the dappled Morn.
The jocund thunder wakes the enliven'd hounds,
They rouse from sleep, and answer sounds for sounds.
952
GAY: _Rural Sports,_ Canto ii., Line 96.

=Husband.=

As the husband is, the wife is; thou art mated with a clown,
And the grossness of his nature will have weight to drag thee down.
953
TENNYSON: _Locksley Hall,_ St. 24.

Ah, gentle dames! it gars me greet
To think how monie counsels sweet,
How monie lengthened sage advices,
The husband frae the wife despises.
954
BURNS: _Tam O'Shanter._

=Hypocrisy.=

This outward-sainted deputy,--
Whose settled visage and deliberate word
Nips youth i' the head, and follies doth emmew
As falcon doth th