Oblivion. An indulgence which we extend to the injuries we have done to others, and the benefits which others have done to us. Ocean. A sailor sees God's wonders in the deep, but as they rather appear his playfellows, than stirrers of his zeal; but nothing but hunger and hard rocks can convert him, and then but his upper deck, for his hold neither fears nor hopes; his wisdom is the coldest part about him, for it ever points to the north, and it lies lowest, which makes his valour every tide overflow it.-Sir Thomas Overbury. ow Age. The seas are quiet when the winds are o'er, As they draw near to their eternal home ; Leaving the old, both worlds at once they view, Opinion. Opinion is mistress of the world.-Italian Proverb. Opportunity. There is a tide in the affairs of men, Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune; Omitted, all the voyage of their life Is bound in shallows and in miseries. O, Opportunity! thy guilt is great! Order. Order is nature's beauty, and the way Shakespere. To order is by rules that art hath found. Order and Regularity. Gwillim. There cannot be more important requisites to successful business than order and regularity. Regularity diminishes labour, and proportionably increases the profits of business. It brings the most multifarious employment readily and easily within the compass of our time, and that without any burthen to the mind. It reduces to a narrow and practical compass avocations of the most extended nature, and enables us at all times to have a perfect and an immediate knowledge of our affairs. Painting. Painting is the adaptation of poetry to the eye; the concentration of natural imagery; the skilful combination, in a limited space, of the idea of infinity, with the perception of objects that are visible at a glance.—Madden. Blest be the art that can immortalize, The art that baffles time's tyrannic claim Parody. Parody is no criticism: one might make a duckpond out of a fountain.-Bulwer. Partings. There is nothing so bitter in life as parting from those we love-with whom we have been associated so long, and whose companionship we have so much enjoyed. Great nature has taught us, by experience, the most sad and sorrowful truth, that mutation is one of her inflexible and unvarying laws. As we looked upon the faces of those who have cheered us with their smiles, and beguiled away with their mirthfulness and affection the heaviness of heart, we never for an instant allowed the dark truth to overcloud the brightness of our souls by thinking we should ever part with them. Still, in the strong hour of seeming security-at a time when least thought of, we are called upon to bid them a fond farewell; we take leave of them as we part with the beauteous spring flowers, hoping again to meet them. It is a great lesson. These sad and withering partings are the soul's chasteners. We value our friends more because we have parted with them, and know too well how to estimate their value; the associations and scenes to which we cling become dearer to us; and when we meet those old familiar faces once again, though time may have long severed us, we meet with greater pleasure-recall at those greetings each happier scene and moment; and wandering back to those hallowed times when the heart was unbowed by the anguish and sorrow of parting, we feel the freshness of those years once more return. Hard indeed it is to part, yet the hope of again meeting those we have felt attachment for should buoy us up. It is wrong to murmur at destiny. True affection never dies; time may allay its warmth, but it can never annihilate the feeling. The pure and refined mind looks upon affection as worth realization, and tries to attain it; it leads him to a pure stream, whose delicious waters refresh his wearied soul. But there is the parting yet to come-the gloom which disappointment casts upon the mind. Those melancholy partings that dry up the fountains of the soul. We must part, but hope should lead us onwardnever despairing.-Thoughts on the Road. Passion. Never suffer your courage to expend itself in fierceness, your resolution in obstinacy, your wisdom in cunning, nor your patience in sullenness and despair. That is not passion's slave, and I will wear him Shakespere. A man can always conquer his passions if he pleases, but he cannot always please to conquer his passions. Who fights with passions and overcomes, that man is armed with the best virtue, passive fortitude.—Webster. The worst of slaves is he whom passion rules.—Brooke. Where, where are all the birds that sang The flowers that all in beauty sprang A hundred years ago? The lips that smiled, Soft eyes upon ?— Where, oh where, are lips and eyes, Who peopled all the city street, A hundred years ago? Who fill'd the church with faces meek, A hundred years ago? The sneering tale Of sister frail, The plot that work'd A brother's hurt? Where, oh where, are plots and sneers, The poor man's hopes, the rich man's fears, Where are the graves where dead men slept A hundred years ago? Who were they the living wept A hundred years ago? By other men That knew not them, Their graves are fill'd; Yet nature then was just as gay; Past-Present—Future. The Past, ah! say, what is the past? The sunshine and the shower: A dubious, unconnected dream, The Present-what is it to man? No sooner here, but gone; To which our thoughts we turn; The Future-idol of my heart, That bears, in every dream, the part The past, the present, fade away, We prize alone the distant ray, For Faith and Hope are there. H. J. Thornton. |