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For I say this is death and the sole death, -
When a man's loss comes to him from his gain,
Darkness from light, from knowledge ignorance,
And lack of love from love made manifest.

d Death in the Deserh
Progress, man's distinctive mark alone,
Not God's, and not the beasts : God is, they are;
Man partly is, and wholly hopes to be.

Toida
The ultimate, angels' law,
Indulging every instinct of the soul
There where law, life, joy, impulse are one thing! Toid

How sad and bad and mad it was!
But then, how it was sweet!

Confessions. iz.
So

may a glory from defect arise. Deaf and Dumb. This could but have happened once, And we missed it, lost it forever.

Youth and art. zrii Fear death? - to feel the fog in my throat,

The mist in my face.

No! let me taste the whole of it, fare like my peers,

The heroes of old;
Bear the brunt, in a minute pay glad life's arrears

Of pain, darkness, and cold. Prospice.
It's wiser being good than bad;

It's safer being meek than fierce;
It's fitter being sane than mad.

My own hope is, a sun will pierce
The thickest cloud earth ever stretched;

That after Last returns the First,
Though a wide compass round be fetched;

That what began best can't end worst,
Nor what God blessed once prove accurst.

Apparent Failure. cii. In the great right of an excessive wrong.

The Ring and the Book. The other Half-Rome. Line 1065

Was never evening yet But seemed far beautifuller than its day.

The Ring and the Book. Pompilia. Line 357,

The curious crime, the fine Felicity and flower of wickedness.

Ibid. The Pope. Line 590 Of what I call God, And fools call Nature.

Line 1073 Why comes temptation, but for man to meet And master and make crouch beneath his foot, And so be pedestaled in triumph ?

Line 1185.
White shall not neutralize the black, nor good
Compensate bad in man, absolve him so:
Life's business being just the terrible choice. Line 1236.

It is the glory and good of Art
That Art remains the one way possible
Of speaking truth, - to mouths like mine, at least.

Ibid. The Book and the Ring. Line 842.
Thy ? rare gold ring of verse (the poet praised)
Linking our England to his Italy.

Line 873. But how carve way i' the life that lies before, If bent on groaning ever for the past ?

Baluustiun's Adrenture. Better have failed in the high aim, as I, Than vulgarly in the low aim succeed, — As, God be thanked! I do not.

The Inn Album. io. Have

your

life distasteful ?
My life did, and does, smack sweet.
Was your youth of pleasure wasteful?

Mine I saved and hold complete.
Do your joys with age diminish?

When mine fail me, I'll complain.
Must in death your daylight tinish ?
My sun sets to rise again.

Al the Mermaid." Stanza 10

you found

1 Mrs. Browning

“ With this same key Shakespeare unlocked his heart”i once more! Did Shakespeare? If so, the less Shakespeare he!

House. I God's justice, tardy though it prove perchance, Rests never on the track until it reach Delinquency.

Cerciaja. .

Chap. Lir.

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CHARLES DICKENS. 1812–1870. A demd, damp, moist, unpleasant body!

Nicholas Nickleby. Chap. Izziv. My life is one demd horrid grind. In a Pickwickian sense.

Pickwick Papers. Chap. i.
Oh, a dainty plant is the ivy green,

That creepeth o'er ruins old!
Of right choice food are his meals, I ween,

In his cell so lone and cold.
Creeping where no life is seen,

A rare old plant is the ivy green.
He's tough, ma'am, - tough is J. B. ; tough and devil.

Dombey and Son. Chap. ri. When found, make a note of.

Chap. T. The bearings of this observation lays in the application on it. Barkis is willin'.

Darid Copperfield. Chap. F. Papa, potatoes, poultry, prunes and prism, all very good words for the lips, - especially prunes and prisen.

Little Dorrit. Book ii. Chup. E. Whatever was required to be done, the Circumlocution Office was beforehand with all the public departments in the art of perceiving how NOT TO DO IT.

Chap. Is In came Mrs. Fezziwig, one vast substantial smile.

Christmas Carol. Stare 2.

ish sly.

Chap. xxiii.

i See Wordsworth, page 485.

2 See Herbert, page 206.

CHRISTOPHER P. CRANCH. 1813–.
Thought is deeper than all speech,

Feeling deeper than all thought;
Souls to souls can never teach

What unto themselves was taught.
We are spirits clad in veils;

Man by man was never seen;
All our deep communing fails

To remove the shadowy screen.

Slanzus

lbia.

F. W. FABER. 1814-1863.
For right is right, since God is God,

And right the day must win;
To doubt would be disloyalty,
To falter would be sin.

The Right must win.
Labour itself is but a sorrowful song,
The protest of the weak against the strong.

The Sorrowful World.

CHARLES MACKAY. 1814-Cleon hath a million acres,

- ne'er a one have I; Cleon dwelleth in a palace, - in a cottage I. Cleon and I.

But the sunshine aye shall light the sky,

As round and round we run;
And the truth shall ever come uppermost,

And justice shall be done. Eternal Justice. Stanza 4.
Aid the dawning, tongue and pen;
Aid it, hopes of honest men !

Clear the Way.
Some love to roam o'er the dark sea's foam,
Where the shrill winds whistle free. Some love to roam.
There's a good time coming, boys !
A good time coming.

The Good Time coming. 1 See Crabbe, page 444.

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I slept, and dreamed that life was Beauty;
I woke, and found that life was Duty.
Was thy dream then a shadowy lie ?
Toil on, poor heart, unceasingly;
And thou shalt find thy dream to be
A truth and noonday light to thee.

Lifea Daly.

PHILIP JAMES BAILEY. 1816-

We live in deeds, not years; in thoughts, not breaths;
In feelings, not in figures on a dial.
We should count time by heart-throbs. He most lives
Who thinks most, feels the noblest, acts the best.
Life's but a means unto an end ; that end
Beginning, mean, and end to all things, God.

Festus. Scene, A Country Torn.
Poets are all who love, who feel great truths,
And tell them; and the truth of truths is love.

Scene, Another and a Better World. America! half-brother of the world! With something good and bad of every land.

Scene, The Surface

ELIZA COOK. 1817-

I love it, I love it, and who shall dare
To chide me for loving that old arm-chair ?

The Old Arm-Chair.
How cruelly sweet are the echoes that start
When memory plays an old tune on the heart! Old Dobbin.

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