O may I join the choir invisible

Of those immortal dead who live again

In minds made better by their presence; live
In pulses stirred to generosity,

In deeds of daring rectitude, in scorn
For miserable aims that end with self,

In thoughts sublime that pierce the night like stars,

And with their mild persistence urge man's search

To vaster issues.

a. GEORGE ELIOT-O May I Join the Choir Invisible.

I am not aware that payment or even favours, however gracious, bind any man's soul and conscience in questions of highest morality and highest public importance. b. CHAS. KINGSLEY-Health and Education. George Buchanan.

No action, whether foul or fair,
Is ever done, but it leaves somewhere
A record, written by fingers ghostly,
As a blessing or a curse, and mostly

In the greater weakness or greater strength
Of the acts which follow it.
LONGFELLOW--Christus.

C.

So when a great man dies, For years beyond our ken,

The Golden Legend. Pt. II.

The light he leaves behind him lies Upon the paths of men.

Blow, blow, thou winter wind, Thou art not so unkind

As man's ingratitude; Thy tooth is not so keen, Because thou art not seen, Although thy breath be rude.

Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky, That dost not bite so nigh

As benefits forgot: Though thou the waters warp, Thy sting is not so sharp

As friend remember'd not.

As You Like It. Act II. Sc. 7. Song.

Comfort, dear mother; God is much displeas'd

That you take with unthankfulness his doing: In common worldly things 'tis called ungrateful,

With dull unwillingness to repay a debt, Which with a bounteous hand was kindly lent; Much more to be thus opposite with Heaven; For it requires the royal debt it lent you. Richard III. Act II. Sc. 2.

He hath eaten me out of house and home. Henry IV. Pt. II. Act II. Sc. 1.

8.

I hate ingratitude more in a man,
Than lying, vainness, babbling, drunken-

ness,

Or any taint of vice.

t. Twelfth Night. Act III. Sc. 4.

Ingratitude is monstrous; and for the multitude to be ingrateful, were to make a monster of the multitude.

น. Coriolanus. Act II. Sc. 3.

O, hark! what mean those yells and cries? His chain some furious madman breaks; He comes, I see his glaring eyes;

Now, now, my dungeon grate he shakes. Help! Help! He's gone!-O fearful woe, Such screams to hear, such sights to see! My brain, my brain, --I know, I know I am not mad but soon shall be. MATTHEW GREGORY LEWIS ("Monk Lewis ")-The Maniac. Fetter strong madness in a silken thread, Charm ache with air, and agony with words. q. Much Ado About Nothing. Act V.

p.

Sc. 1.