The very marrow of tradition 's shown;

And all that history, much that fiction weaves.
To the Editor of the Every-Day Book.

He might have proved a useful adjunct, if not an orna

ment to society.

Neat, not gaudy.1

Captain Starkey.

Letter to Wordsworth, 1806.

Martin, if dirt was trumps, what hands you would hold!

Lamb's Suppers.

Returning to town in the stage-coach, which was filled with Mr. Gilman's guests, we stopped for a minute or two at Kentish Town. A woman asked the coachman, "Are you full inside?" Upon which Lamb put his head through the window and said, “I am quite full inside; that last piece of pudding at Mr. Gilman's did

the business for me."

Autobiographical Recollections. (Leslie.)

JAMES SMITH. 1775-1839.

No Drury Lane for you to-day.

Rejected Addresses. The Baby's Debut.

I saw them go: one horse was blind,
The tails of both hung down behind,
Their shoes were on their feet.

Lax in their gaiters, laxer in their gait.

Ibid.

The Theatre.

WILLIAM PITT.

A strong nor'-wester's blowing, Bill!
Hark! don't ye hear it roar now?
Lord help 'em, how I pities them
Unhappy folks on shore now!

1 See Shakespeare, page 130.

-1840.

The Sailor's Consolation.

My eyes! what tiles and chimney-pots

About their heads are flying!

The Sailor's Consolation.

WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR. 1775-1864.

Rose Aylmer, whom these wakeful eyes

May weep, but never see,

A night of memories and of sighs

I consecrate to thee.

Wearers of rings and chains!

Pray do not take the pains
To set me right.

In vain my faults ye quote;

I write as others wrote

On Sunium's hight.

Rose Aylmer.

The last Fruit of an old Tree. Epigram cvi.

Shakespeare is not our poet, but the world's,1-
Therefore on him no speech! And brief for thee,
Browning! Since Chaucer was alive and hale,
No man hath walk'd along our roads with steps
So active, so inquiring eye, or tongue

So varied in discourse.

To Robert Browning.

The Siren waits thee, singing song for song.

But I have sinuous shells of pearly hue
Within, and they that lustre have imbibed
In the sun's palace-porch, where when unyoked
His chariot-wheel stands midway in the wave:
Shake one, and it awakens; then apply
Its polisht lips to your attentive ear,

1 Nor sequent centuries could hit

Orbit and sum of Shakespeare's wit.

Ibid.

R. W. EMERSON: May-Day and Other Pieces. Solution

And it remembers its august abodes,

And murmurs as the ocean murmurs there.1
Gehir. Book i. (1798)

Past are three summers since she first beheld
The ocean; all around the child await
Some exclamation of amazement here.
She coldly said, her long-lasht eyes abased,
Is this the mighty ocean? is this all?
That wondrous soul Charoba once possest,
Capacious, then, as earth or heaven could hold,
Soul discontented with capacity,-

Is gone (I fear) forever. Need I say
She was enchanted by the wicked spells
Of Gebir, whom with lust of power inflamed
The western winds have landed on our coast?
I since have watcht her in lone retreat,

Have heard her sigh and soften out the name.2

I strove with none, for none was worth my strife;
Nature I loved; and next to Nature, Art.
I warm'd both hands against the fire of life;
It sinks, and I am ready to depart.

Book it.

Dying Speech of an old Philosopher.

THOMAS CAMPBELL. 1777-1844.

'T is distance lends enchantment to the view, And robes the mountain in its azure hue.

1 See Wordsworth, page 480.

Pleasures of Hope. Part i. Line 7.

Poor shell that Wordsworth so pounded and flattened in his marsh it no longer had the hoarseness of a sea, but of a hospital. - LANDOR: Letter to John Forster.

2 These lines were specially singled out for admiration by Shelley, Hum phrey Davy, Scott, and many remarkable men. — FORSTER: Life of Landor, vol. i. p. 95.

8 See John Webster, page 181.

The mountains too, at a distance, appear airy masses and smooth, but. seen near at hand they are rough. - DIOGENES LAERTIUS: Pyrrho, iz.

But Hope, the charmer, linger'd still behind.

Pleasures of Hope. Parti. Line 40,

O Heaven! he cried, my bleeding country save!
Hope for a season bade the world farewell,
And Freedom shriek'd as Kosciusko fell!1

On Prague's proud arch the fires of ruin glow,
His blood-dyed waters murmuring far below.
And rival all but Shakespeare's name below.
Who hath not own'd, with rapture-smitten frame,
The power of grace, the magic of a name?
Without the smile from partial beauty won,
Oh what were man?
a world without a sun.
The world was sad, the garden was a wild,
And man the hermit sigh'd-till woman smiled.

Line 359.

Line 381.

Line 385.

Line 472.

Part ii. Line 5.

Line 21.

Line 37.

While Memory watches o'er the sad review
Of joys that faded like the morning dew.

Line 45.

There shall he love when genial morn appears,

Like pensive Beauty smiling in her tears.

Line 95.

Line 98..

And muse on Nature with a poet's eye.
That gems the starry girdle of the year.
Melt and dispel, ye spectre-doubts, that roll
Cimmerian darkness o'er the parting soul!

star-eyed Science! hast thou wandered there,
To waft us home the message of despair?
But sad as angels for the good man's sin,
Weep to record, and blush to give it in.2

1 At length, fatigued with life, he bravely fell,
And health with Boerhaave bade the world farewell.

See Sterne, page 379.

Line 194.

Line 263.

Line 325

Line 357.

CHURCH: The Choice (1754).

Cease, every joy, to glimmer on my mind,
But leave, oh leave the light of Hope behind!
What though my winged hours of bliss have been
Like angel visits, few and far between.1

Pleasures of Hope. Part ii. Line 375.

The hunter and the deer a shade. 2

O'Connor's Child. Stanza 5.

Another's sword has laid him low,
Another's and another's;

And

every hand that dealt the blowAh me! it was a brother's!

"T is the sunset of life gives me mystical lore, And coming events cast their shadows before.

Stanza 10.

Lochiel's Warning.

Shall victor exult, or in death be laid low,
With his back to the field and his feet to the foe,
And leaving in battle no blot on his name,
Look proudly to heaven from the death-bed of fame.

And rustic life and poverty

Grow beautiful beneath his touch.

Ibid.

Ode to the Memory of Burns.

Whose lines are mottoes of the heart,
Whose truths electrify the sage.

Ye mariners of England,

That guard our native seas;

Whose flag has braved, a thousand years,

The battle and the breeze!

Ibid.

Ye Mariners of England.

Britannia needs no bulwarks,
No towers along the steep;
Her march is o'er the mountain waves,

Her home is on the deep.

Ibid

1 See Norris, page 281.

2 See Freneau, page 443.

8 See Coleridge, page 504.