laugh sincere;
The kiss snatched hasty from the sidelong maid,
On purpose guardless, or pretending sleep:
The leap, the slap, the haul; and, shook to notes
Of native music, the respondent dance.
Thus jocund fleets with them the winter night.
_The Seasons: Winter_. J. THOMSON.

As in the eye of Nature he has lived,
So in the eye of Nature let him die!
_The Old Cumberland Beggar_. W. WORDSWORTH.

O for a seat in some poetic nook,
Just hid with trees and sparkling with a brook.
_Politics and Poetics_. L. HUNT.

I care not, Fortune, what you me deny:
You cannot rob me of free Nature's grace.
_The Castle of Indolence, Canto II_. J. THOMSON.

And this our life, exempt from public haunt,
Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks,
Sermons in stones, and good in everything.
_As You Like It, Act ii. Sc. 1_. SHAKESPEARE.

SABBATH.

The cheerful Sabbath bells, wherever heard,
Strike pleasant on the sense, most like the voice
Of one who from the far-off hills proclaims
Tidings of good to Zion.
_The Sabbath Bells_. C. LAMB.

The clinkum-clank o' Sabbath bells
Noo to the hoastin' rookery swells,
Noo faintin' laigh in shady dells,
Sounds far an' near,
An' through the simmer kintry tells
Its tale o' cheer.

An' noo, to that melodious play,
A' deidly awn the quiet sway--
A' ken their solemn holiday,
Bestial an' human,
The singin' lintie on the brae,
The restin' plou'man.
_A Lowden Sabbath Morn_. R.L. STEVENSON.

Bright shadows of true rest! some shoots of bliss:
Heaven once a week:
The next world's gladness prepossest in this;
A day to seek;
Eternity in time.
_Sundays_. H. VAUGHAN.

As palmers went to hail the niched seat
At desert well, where they put off the shoon
And robe of travel, so I, a pilgrim as they,
Tired with my six-days' track, would turn aside
Out of the scorch and glare into the shade
Of Sunday-stillness.
_The Resting Place_. M.J. PRESTON.

But chiefly man the day of rest enjoys.
Hail, Sabbath! Thee I hail, the poor man's day.
_The Sabbath_. J. GRAHAME.

Yes, child of suffering, thou may'st well be sure,
He who ordained the Sabbath loves the poor!
_Urania_.. O.W. HOLMES.

SATIRE.

Prepare for rhyme--I'll publish, right or wrong:
Fools are my theme, let satire be my song.
_English Bards and Scotch Reviewers_. LORD BYRON.

Satire should, like a polished razor k