would be no longer liberty,
because others would have the same powers.--_Montesquieu._

If the true spark of religious and civil liberty be kindled, it will
burn. Human agency cannot extinguish it. Like the earth's central fire,
it may be smothered for a time; the ocean may overwhelm it; mountains
may press it down; but its inherent and unconquerable force will heave
both the ocean and the land, and at some time or another, in some place
or another, the volcano will break out and flame to heaven.--_Daniel
Webster._

Interwoven is the love of liberty with every ligament of the
heart.--_Washington._

~Library.~--A large library is apt to distract rather than to instruct the
learner; it is much better to be confined to a few authors than to
wander at random over many.--_Seneca._

He has his Rome, his Florence, his whole glowing Italy, within the four
walls of his library. He has in his books the ruins of an antique world,
and the glories of a modern one.--_Longfellow._

What a place to be in is an old library! It seems as though all the
souls of all the writers that have bequeathed their labors to these
Bodleians were reposing here, as in some dormitory, or middle state. I
do not want to handle, to profane the leaves, their winding-sheets. I
could as soon dislodge a shade. I seem to inhale learning, walking amid
their foliage; and the odor of their old moth-scented coverings is
fragrant as the first bloom of those sciential apples which grew amid
the happy orchard.--_Lamb._

~Life.~--Life is a quaint puzzle. Bits the most incongruous join into each
other, and the scheme thus gradually becomes symmetrical and clear;
when, lo! as the infant clasps his hands, and cries, "See, see! the
puzzle is made out," all the pieces are swept back into the box--black
box with the gilded nails!--_Bulwer-Lytton._

We never live, but we ever hope to live.--_Pascal._

Life is like a beautiful and winding lane, on either side bright
flowers, and beautiful butterflies, and tempting fruits, which we
scarcely pause to admire and to taste, so eager are we to hasten to an
opening which we imagine will be more beautiful still. But by degrees as
we advance, the trees grow bleak; the flowers and butterflies fail, the
fruits disappear, and we find we have arrived--to reach a desert
waste.--_G. A. Sala._

How small a portion of our life it is that we really enjoy! In youth we
are looking forward to things that are to come; in old age we are