Oh! sweet and beautiful is Night, when the silver moon is high,

And countless stars, like clustering gems, hang sparkling in the sky,

While the balmy breath of the summer breeze comes whispering down the glen, And one fond voice alone is heard-oh! Night is lovely then!

But when that voice, in feeble moans of sickness and of pain,

But mocks the anxious ear that strives to catch its sounds in vain,—

When silently we watch the bed, by the taper's flickering light,

Where all we love is fading fast-how terrible is Night!!Barham.

I recall

My thoughts, and bid you look upon the night:
As water does a sponge, so the moonlight
Fills the void, hollow, universal air.
What see you?- Unpavilion'd heaven is fair,

NIGHT.

Whether the moon, into her chamber gone, Leaves midnight to the golden stars, or wan Climbs with diminish'd beams the azure steep; Or whether clouds sail o'er the inverse deep, Piloted by the many-wandering blast,

And the rare stars rush through them, dim and fast. Shelley.

All this is beautiful in every land.

NIGHT-Characteristics of.
Now the hungry lion roars,

And the wolf behowls the moon;
Whilst the heavy ploughman snores,
All with weary task fordone.
Now the wasted brands do glow,
Whilst the scritch-owl, scritching loud,
Puts the wretch, that lies in woe,
In remembrance of a shroud.

NIGHT-Darkness of

Shakspeare.

NIGHT.

Night is the time for death;
When all around is peace,
Calmly to yield the weary breath,
From sin and suffering cease;
Think of Heaven's bliss, and give the sign
To parting friends-such death be mine!
James Montgomery.

NIGHT-Scenery of.

Another day is added to the mass Of buried ages. Lo! the beauteous moon, Like a fair shepherdess, now comes abroad, With her full flock of stars, that roam around The azure mead of heaven. And, oh! how charm'd

Beneath her loveliness, Creation looks;
Far-gleaming hills, and light in weaving
streams,

And fragrant boughs with dewy lustre clothed,
And green-hair'd valleys, all in glory dress'd,
Make up the pageantry of night. One glance
Upon old ocean, where the woven beams
Have braided her dark waves. Their roar is
hush'd!

Her billowy wings are folded up to rest;
Till once again the wizard wing shall yell,
And tear them into strife.

A lone owl's hoot-
The waterfall's faint drip-or insect stir
Among the emerald leaves-or infant wind
Rifling the pearly tips of sleeping flowers-
Alone disturb the stillness of the scene.

Spirit of all! as up yon star-hung deep
Of air, the eye and heart together mount,
Man's immortality within him speaks
That thou art all around! thy beauty walks
In airy music o'er the midnight heavens
Thy glory garmenteth the slumbering world.
Robert Montgomery.

NIGHT-Silence of.

The soul to thoughtless indolence inclines,
Concealing every object which might keep
The sense awake, which now is hush'd to rest,
While silence o'er the wide creation reigns.
How gently treads each animal! how still
The darkness! Motion's self almost at rest!
While man retires to his soft couch,
To taste the sweets of needful sleep. Just
such the care

Of the fond mother, hushing every noise,
When, folded in her arms, she gently lulls
The child, fond object of her love, to rest.
Newcomb

o'erpast,

Earth may some purer being's presence bear; Mayhap e'en God may walk among his saints In eminence and brightness like yon moon, Mildly outbeaming all the beads of night Strung o'er night's proud, dark brow. Bailey.

NIGHT-Solitude of.

This sacred shade and solitude, what is it?
Tis the felt presence of the Deity:
Few are the faults we flatter when alone;
Vice sinks in her allurements, is ungilt,
And looks, like other objects, black by night.
Young.

NOBILITY-Elective.

Nobility should be elective, not hereditary. Zimmerman.

NOBILITY-Generosity of.

If a man be endued with a generous mind, this is the best kind of nobility. Plato.

NOBILITY-Real.

We must have kings, we must have nobles; nature is always providing such in every society; only let us have the real instead of the titular. In every society, some are born to rule, and some to advise. The chief is the chief all the world over, only not his cap and plume. It is only this dislike of the pretender which makes men sometimes unjust to the true and finished man. Emerson.

NOBILITY-Rustic.

A noble peasant, Isaac Ashford, died.
Noble he was, contemning all things mean,
His truth unquestion'd, and his soul serene.
In no man's presence Isaac felt afraid;
At no man's question Isaac look'd dismay'd.
Shame knew him not, he dreaded no disgrace,
Truth, simple truth, was written in his face;
Yet while the serious thought his soul approved,
Cheerful he seem'd, and gentleness he loved.
Crabbe.

NOBILITY-Signs of.

How this grace Speaks his own standing! what a mental

power

Scorn to trample upon a worm, or sneak to an emperor. Saadi.

The nobly born are not the only noble,
There is a line more royal, more majestic,
Than is the sceptred line of mighty crowns;
An ancestry so bright with glorious names,
That he who truly feels himself akin to such,
May stand before the throne, noble
Amidst the noblest, kingly amid kings.
He that inherits Honour, Virtue, Truth,
Springs from a lineage next to the divine,
For these were heirs of God; and we, their
heirs,

Prove nearest God, when we stand next to them :

Man heir to these is rich, and wealth may bow

To greatness it can cherish,-
-not create.

Swain.

One silent nook Was there. Even on the edge of that vast mountain, Upheld by knotty roots and fallen rocks, It overlooked in its serenity

NOVEL.

Where flows the murmuring brook, inviting dreams,

Where bordering hazels overhang the streams, Whose rolling current, winding round and round,

With frequent fall makes all the woods resound;

Upon the mossy couch my limbs I cast,
And even at noon the sweets of evening taste.
Gay.

NOON-in Summer.

Upon the bosom of the heaving deep

All the day long the pleasant sunbeams sleep: The lazy streams soft lapsing, deep and slow, Call you to slumber with their voices low; Deep in the water stand the sleepy herds,The woods are silent all-the voiceless birds To the sun's eye droop down the gaudy wing, And hang the drowsy lid, and cease to sing: From the day's furnace breath, sweetly embower'd

The poet lies, deep heat hath overpower'd Even his listening thoughts: but through his slumbers

Still waking creep the bright unbidden numbers:

It is the earth's siesta-even the bee
Flags in his deep and dull monotony.

NOTHING.

Whitmore Jones.

Nothing! thou elder brother ev'n to shade! Thou hadst a being ere the world was made, And, well-fix'd, art alone of ending not afraid Rochester.

Why should I in words attempt to tell
What that is like, which is, and yet is not!
Pollok.

NOTHING-Mystery of.
Mysterious Nothing! how shall I define
Thy shapeless, baseless, placeless emptiness?
Nor form, nor colour, sound, nor size, are thine,
Nor words, nor fingers, can thy voice express
But though we cannot thee to aught compare,
A thousand things to thee may likened be;
And though thou art with nobody, nowhere,
Yet half mankind devote themselves to thee.
How many books thy history contain,

How many heads thy mighty plans pursue,
What lab'ring hands thy portion only gain,
What busy bodies thy doings only do,
To thee, the great, the proud, the giddy bend,
And-like my sonnet-all in nothing end.
Porson.
NOVEL-A.

A novel was a book Three-volumed, and once read, and oft cramm'd full

Of poisonous error, blackening every page;