portance, really inexpressible, what can this be owing to, but a consciousness of a man's having done something praiseworthy, and expressive of a great soul? Grove, Spectator, No. 588. BENEFICENCE. A TRULY noble benefactor purely aimeth not at any material reward, or advantage to himself (it were trading this, not beneficence), but the good profit and content of him to whom he dispenseth his favour of which being assured, he rests satisfied, and accounts himself royally recompensed. Barrow, Sermons, viii. BENEFICENCE. To bestow wealth on the purposes of beneficence is one of the ways of spending money for which a man is never too old; or if some are so unhappy as to have outlived the relish of this, it is only where they have been at little pains to keep up in their minds those better feelings which prompt and reward good deeds. The pleasure of making happy faces is a sort of fine art, which some people never attain, and others easily lose. Mackenzie, Lounger, No. 72. BENEFICENCE. THERE is no use of money equal to that of beneficence; here the enjoyment grows on reflection, and our money is most truly ours when it ceases to be in our possession. Mackenzie. BENEVOLENCE. THERE is hardly a spirit upon earth so mean and contracted as to centre all regards on its own interest, exclusive of the rest of mankind. Even the selfish man hath some share of love, which he bestows on his family and friends. A nobler mind hath at heart the common interest of the society or country of which he makes a part. And there is still a more diffusive spirit, whose being or intentions reach the whole mass of mankind, and are continued beyond the present age, to a succession of future generations. The advantage arising to him who hath a tincture of this generosity on his soul is, that he is affected with a sublimer joy than can be comprehended by one who is destitute of that noble relish. Berkeley, Guardian, No. 83. BENEVOLENCE. If a man has a right to be proud of anything, it is of a good action, done as it ought to be, without any base interest lurking at the bottom of it. Sterne, Letters. BENEVOLENCE. It was now the middle of May, and the morning was remarkably serene, when Mr. Allworthy walked forth on the terrace, where the dawn opened every minute that lovely prospect we have before described to his eye. And now, having sent forth streams of light, which ascended the blue firmament before him as harbingers preceding his pomp, in the full blaze of his majesty, up rose the sun than which one object alone in this lower creation could be more glorious, and that Mr. Allworthy himself presented-a human being replete with benevolence, meditating in what manner he might render himself most acceptable to his Creator, by doing most good to his fellow-creatures. Fielding, Tom Jones. BIBLE. WHENCE, but from Heaven, could men unskilled in arts, In several ages born, in several parts, Weave such agreeing truths? or how, or why, Should all conspire to cheat us with a lie? Unasked their pains, ungrateful their advice, It speaks no less than God in every line : Dryden, Religio Laici. BIBLE. WHAT a book! Vast and wide as the world, rooted in the abysses of creation, and towering up beyond the blue secrets of heaven. Sunrise and sunset, promise and fulfilment, birth and death, the whole drama of humanity, all are in this book. It is the book of books-Biblion. Heine. BIBLE. THE Bible has depths in which an elephant can swim, as well as shallows in which a lamb can wade. WEEPING BIRCH. St. Augustine. THE weeping birch is at all times pleasing, and a most delightful object in winter. Observe yonder tall stem, rising from the interstices of a craggy rock, covered with a rind white and glossy like silver, and drooping with ten thousand fine twigs so attenuated. as to appear almost capillary. View it when sprinkled with hoar frost, or with snow, and if you have a soul capable of being charmed with natural beauty, you will be sensibly affected at the sight with a sweet complacency. Knox, Essays, cxvii. WEEPING BIRCH. THAT stem, white as silver, and smooth as silk, seen so straight in the green sylvan light, and thus airily overarching the coppice with lambent tresses such as fancy might picture for the mermaid's hair, is said by us, who vainly attribute our own sadness, to belong to a tree that weeps ; though a weight of joy it is, and of exceeding gladness, that thus depresses her pendant beauty till it droops, as we think, like that of a being overcome with grief. John Wilson (Christ. North). WEEPING BIRCH. As we were going along we were stopped at once, at the distance, perhaps, of fifty yards from our favourite birch tree it was yielding to the gust of the wind, with all its tender twigs; the sun shone upon it, and it glanced in the wind like a flying sunshiny shower. It was a tree in shape, with stem and branches, but it was like a spirit of water. Dorothy Wordsworth. WEEPING BIRCH, BENEATH a weeping birch, most beautiful Coleridge, The Picture. BIRD'S NEST. BUT most of all it wins my admiration No glue to join; his little beak was all, And yet how neatly finished! What nice hand, Hurdis, Village Curate. BIRDS' NESTS. THE admirable wisdom of Providence is nowhere more conspicuous than in the nests of birds. It is impossible to contemplate without emotion the Divine goodness, which thus gives industry to the weak and foresight to the thoughtless. No sooner have the trees put forth their leaves, than a thousand little workmen commence their labours. Some bring long pieces of straw into the hole of an old wall, others affix their edifice to the windows of a church; these steal a hair from the mane of a horse; those bear away, with wings trembling beneath its weight, the fragment of wool which a lamb has left entangled in the briars. A thousand palaces at once arise, and every palace is a nest within every nest is soon to be seen a charming metamorphosis; first, a beautiful egg, then a little one covered with down. The little nestling soon feels his wings begin to grow; his mother teaches him to raise himself on his bed of repose. Soon he takes courage enough to approach the edge of the nest, and casts a first look on the works of nature. Terrified and enchanted at the sight, he precipitates himself amidst his brothers and sisters, who have never as yet seen that spectacle; but, recalled a second time from his couch, the young king of the air, who still has the crown of infancy on his head, ventures to contemplate the boundless heavens, the waving summit of the pine-trees, and the vast labyrinth of foliage which lies beneath his feet. And, at the moment that the forests are rejoicing at the sight of their new inmate, an aged bird, who feels himself abandoned by his wings, quietly rests beside a stream: there, resigned and solitary, he tranquilly awaits death, on the banks of the same river where he sang his first loves, and whose trees still bear his nest and his melodious offspring. Chateaubriand, Genius of Christianity. |