s down,
To know what last new folly fills the town;
Lively or sad, life's meanest, mightiest things,
The fate of fighting cocks, or fighting kings.
_Curiosity_. C. SPRAGUE.

For evil news rides fast, while good news baits.
_Samson Agonistes_. MILTON.

If there's a hole in a' your coats,
I rede ye tent it:
A chiel's amang ye takin' notes,
And, faith, he'll prent it.
_On Capt. Grose's Peregrinations Through Scotland_.
R. BURNS.

A would-be satirist, a hired buffoon,
A monthly scribbler of some low lampoon.
Condemned to drudge, the meanest of the mean,
And furbish falsehoods for a magazine.
_English Bards and Scotch Reviewers_. LORD BYRON.

To serve thy generation, this thy fate:
"Written in water," swiftly fades thy name;
But he who loves his kind does, first and late,
A work too great for fame.
_The Journalist_. MRS. M. CLEMMER A. HUDSON.

This folio of four pages, happy work!
Which not e'en critics criticise; that holds
Inquisitive attention while I read,

* * * * *

What is it but a map of busy life,
Its fluctuations and its vast concerns?
'Tis pleasant, through the loop-holes of retreat,
To peep at such a world,--to see the stir
Of the great Babel, and not feel the crowd.

* * * * *

While fancy, like the finger of a clock.
Runs the great circuit, and is still at home.
_Winter Evening: The Task, Bk. IV_. W. COWPER.

Here shall the Press the People's right maintain,
Unawed by influence and unbribed by gain;
Here Patriot Truth her glorious precepts draw,
Pledged to Religion, Liberty, and Law.
_Motto of Salem (Mass.) Register_. J. STORY.

JOY.

What though my winged hours of bliss have been,
Like angel-visits, few and far between.
_Pleasures of Hope, Pt. II_. T. CAMBPELL

How fading are the joys we dote upon!
Like apparitions seen and gone;
But those which soonest take their flight
Are the most exquisite and strong;
Like angels' visits, short and bright,
Mortality's too weak to bear them long.
_The Parting_. J. NORRIS.

And these are joys, like beauty, but skin deep.
_Festus, Sc. A Village Feast_. P.J. BAILEY.

Joys too exquisite to last,
And yet more exquisite when past.
_The Little Cloud_. J. MONTGOMERY.

The joy late coming late departs.
_Some Sweet Day_. L.J. BATES.

There's not a joy the world can give like that