« 上一頁繼續 »
toil, or accident. The passions kill men
A feeling of enjoyment. In his walks,
AGE (OLD)-Calmness of.
How happy is the evening tide of life,
The feeble remnant of our silly days
AGE-Rejoicing with Youth.
When side by side the archers' bows are strung:
AGE (OLD)-Cares of.
Care keeps his watch in every old man's eye.
AGE (OLD)-Characteristics of.
These old fellows
Have their ingratitude in them hereditary :
The eye of age looks meek into my heart! the voice of age echoes mournfully through it! the hoary head and palsied hand of age plead irresistibly for its sympathies ! I venerate old age; and I love not the man who can look
Mere fathers of their garments: whose con
Expire before their fashions.
AGE (OLD)-Gratifications of.
Old age is often querulous. It is one of its defects to be so; but let not this occasional weakness deceive you. You may be assured that naturally it has gratifications of its own, which fully balance those of earlier days, and which, if cultivated, would carry on the stream of happiness to its grave. If life has been rightly employed, it will also have the visioned recollection of its preceding comforts to enhance the pleasures which it is actually enjoying. My own experience in the
Let me not live,
All but new things disdain; whose judgments AGE (OLD)-Irritability of.
Fire from the mind as vigour from the limb. Byron.
I am old now,
And these same crosses spoil me. Shakspeare. AGE (OLD)-Marks of.
Time's chariot-wheels make their carriageroad in the fairest face. La Rochefoucauld. AGE (OLD)-Miseries of. Crook'd-back'd he was, tooth-shaken, and
Went on three feet, and sometime crept on four;
AGE (OLD)—Miseries of.
These eyes, like lamps whose wasting oil is spent,
And pithless arms, like to a wither'd vine That droops his sapless branches to the ground :
Yet are these feet, whose strengthless stay is numb,
Unable to support this lump of clay,-
When once men reach their autumn, sickly joys
So many cares, so many maladies,
Their senses dull, their seeing, hearing going;
AGE (OLD)-Objections to.
There is an order
Of mortals on the earth, who do become
AGE (OLD)-Premonitions of.
In the day when the keepers of the house shall tremble, and the strong men shall bow themselves, and the grinders cease, because they are few, and those that look out of the windows be darkened; and the doors shall be shut in the streets, when the sound of the grinding is low, and he shall rise up at the voice of the bird, and all the daughters of music shall be brought low; also, when they shall be afraid of that which is high, and fears shall be in the way, and the almond-tree shall flourish, and the grasshopper shall be a burden, and desire shall fail: because man goeth to his long home, and the mourners go about the streets. Or ever the silver cord be loosed, or the golden bowl be broken, or the pitcher be broken at the fountain, or the wheel broken at the cistern. Then shall the dust return to the earth as it was; and the spirit shall return unto God who gave it. Solomon.
AGE (OLD)-Progress of.
Even in the downfall of his mellow'd years, When Nature brought him to the door of death. Shakspeare.
When every day that comes, comes to decay A day's work in us. Ibid.
AGE (OLD)-Repose of.
Shake not his hour-glass, when his hasty sand
A little longer, yet a little longer,
There is a solitude which old age feels to be as natural and satisfying as that rest which seems such an irksomeness to youth, but which gradually grows into the best blessing of our lives; and there is another solitude, so full of peace and hope, that it is like Jacob's sleep in the wilderness, at the foot of the ladder of angels. "All things are less dreadful than they seem." And it may be that the extreme loneliness which, viewed afar off, appears to an unmarried woman as one of the saddest of the inevitable results of her lot, shall by that time have lost all its pain, and be regarded but as the quiet, dreamy hour "between the lights;" when the day's work is done, and we lean back, closing our eyes, to think it all over before we finally go to rest, or to look forward in faith and hope, unto the coming morning. Hughes.
AGE (OLD)-Talkativeness of.
Old age is talkative, and I may learn
To the intelligent and virtuous, old age presents a scene of tranquil enjoyments, of obedient appetite, of well-regulated affections, of maturity in knowledge, and of calm preparation for immortality. In this serene and dignified state, placed as it were on the confines of two worlds, the mind of a good man reviews what is past with the complacency of an approving conscience in the mercy of God, and with devout aspirations towards His eternal and ever-increasing favour. Percival.
AGE (OLD)-Tranquillity for.
One's age should be tranquil, as one's childhood should be playful; hard work, at either extremity of human existence, seems to me out of place: the morning and the evening should be alike cool and peaceful; at mid-day the sun may burn, and men may labour under it. Dr. Arnold.
AGE (OLD)—-Wishes of.
In age to wish for youth is full as vain
There is another fact I would dare to match with all the upholstery confession of the middle ages. Show me the equivalent to a money-loving people putting its hand into its own pocket, not to build proud towers, but to emancipate degraded savages; giving twenty millions, not at the bidding of an imperious monarch or a tyrannical priesthood, but at the spontaneous call of the national conscience, and by the immediate instrumentality of the national will. There is a moral grandeur in this "money grant" that sinks the Pyramids into littleness. As for Christian heroism, what can history chronicle or poetry invent, of Godfrey, Richard, or St. Louis, that does not pale before the simple details of that poor despised Patagonian mission of the other day? I will not content myself with even the names of "Nightingale" and her noble sisters. Rev. E. Young. AGREEABLENESS-Characteristics of. We may say of agreeableness, as distinct from beauty, that it consists in a symmetry of which we know not the rules, and a secret conformity of the features to each other, and to the air and complexion of the person. La Rochefoucauld. AGREEABLENESS of Manners.
The true art of being agreeable, is to appear well pleased with all the company, and rather to seem well entertained with them, than to bring entertainment to them. A man thus disposed, perhaps, may have not much learning, nor any wit; but if he has common sense and something friendly in his behaviour, it conciliates men's minds more than the brightest parts without this disposition. It is true, indeed, that we should not dissemble and flatter in company; but a man may be very agreeable, strictly consistent with truth and sincerity, by a prudent silence where he cannot concur, and a pleasing assent where he can. Now and then you meet with a person so exactly formed to please, that he will gain upon every one that hears or beholds him: this disposition is not merely the gift of nature, but frequently the effect of much knowledge of the world, and a command over the passions. Addison.
AGRICULTURIST.-Life of the.
In a moral point of view, the life of the agriculturist is the most pure and holy of any class of men; pure, because it is the most healthful, and vice can hardly find time to contaminate it; and holy, because it brings the Deity perpetually before his view, giving him thereby the most exalted notions of supreme power, and the most fascinating and endearing view of moral benignity. The agriculturist views the Deity in His works; he contemplates the divine economy in the arrangement of the seasons; and he hails Nature immediately presiding over every object that strikes his eyes; he witnesses many of her great and beauteous operations, and her reproductive faculties; his heart insensibly expands, from his minute acquaintance with multifarious objects, all in themselves original; whilst that degree of retirement in which he is placed from the bustling haunts of mankind, keeps alive in his breast his natural affections, unblunted by an extensive and perpetual intherefore in a more corrupt state of society. tercourse with man in a more enlarged, and ready to risk his life to maintain them. His habits become his principles, and he is
Lord John Russell.
AIR (Vitiated)-Fatal to Life.
One cannot try experiments on human beings as on animals, but accident and disease frequently furnish us with experiments made to our hand. What has been related of the birds is confirmed by an accident which befel two young Frenchwomen. They were in a room heated by a coke stove. One of them was suffocated, and fell senseless on the ground. The other, who was in bed, suffering from typhoid fever, resisted the poisonous influence of the atmosphere, so as to be able to scream till assistance came. They were both rescued, but the healthy girl, who had succumbed to the noxious air, was found to have a paralysis of the left arm, which lasted for more than six months. Here, as in the case of the sparrows, we find the paradoxical result to be, that the poisonous action of a vitiated air is better resisted by the feeble, sickly organism, than by the vigorous, healthy organism. This paradox admits of a physiological explanation. In the vitiated air of a German Kneipe, as in that of the houses of the poor, we find those who have had time to adjust themselves to it, breathing without apparent inconvenience, although each new-comer feels the air to be vitiated; and because they "get accustomed to it," people very naturally suppose that no injurious effect can follow. Here lies the dangerous fallacy. They get accustomed
to it, indeed, and only because they do so are they contented to remain in it; but at what price by what means? By a gradual depression of all the functions of nutrition and secretion. In this depressed condition less oxygen is absorbed, and there is less needed in the atmosphere. A vitiated air will suffice for the respiration of a depressed organism, as it would amply suffice for the respiration of a coldblooded animal. When we enter a vitiated atmosphere, our breathing becomes laborious; the consequence of this is a depression of all the organic functions, and then the breathing is easy again, because we no longer require so much oxygen, and we no longer produce so much carbonic acid. Were it not for this adjustment of the organism to the medium, by a gradual depression of the functions, continued existence in a vitiated atmosphere would be impossible; we see the vigorous bird perish instantaneously in air which would sustain the enfeebled bird for upwards of an hour. Thus does physiology explain the paradox; but at the same time it points out the fallacy of supposing that bad air can be harmless because we "get accustomed" to it. However fortunate a circumstance for those who have to breathe bad air, that the organism is quickly depressed to such a point as to render such air respirable, no one will deny that depressions of this kind are necessarily injurious, especially when frequently experienced.
And there were sights that none had seen before: And hollow, strange, unprecedented sounds, And earnest whisperings ran along the hills, At dead of night and long, deep, endless sighs, Came from the dreary vale; and from the waste Came horrid shrieks, and fierce unearthly groans. Pollok.
And this Doctor, Your sooty, smoky-bearded compeer, he Will close you so much gold in a bolt's head, And on a turn, convey in the stead another, With sublimed mercury, that shall burst i' the heat, And all fly out in fumo. Ben Jonson. ALIENATION-Evils of.
Nothing presents a more mournful aspect than a family divided by anger and animosity. Unhappily, however, this is not a very rare occurrence. We even behold at times brothers themselves so indifferent towards each other, so wanting in affection, or even in a state of such hostility among themselves, that they appear as if they had been cherished by the same fond heart, and fed at the breast of the
same fond mother, only to be for ever divided by their tastes and manner of thinking. We also often observe sisters maintain, in their relations with each other, so much ill-will, animosity, and resentment, and living in such secret but continual irritation of mind towards each other, that even the very stranger, when forced to be a witness of this melancholy state of feeling in the family, cannot but be shocked and pained. Indeed it is but too common to behold individuals, united by ties of blood, live together upon a much less intimate footing than with strangers, and show themselves much less serviceable, and much less obliging the one to the other, than they are, when occasion requires, to persons whom they know not. Zschokke.
ALLEGIANCE-Tempted too far.
Allegories, when well chosen, are like so many tracks of light in a discourse, that make everything about them clear and beautiful. Addison.
Dark in colour, robed with everlasting mourning, for ever tottering like a great fortress shaken by war, fearful as much in their weakness as in their strength, and yet gathered after every fall into darker frowns and unbumiliated threatening; for ever incapable of comfort or healing from herb or flower, nourishing no root in their crevices, touched by no hue of life on buttress or ledge, but to the utmost desolate; knowing no shaking of leaves in the wind nor of grass beside the stream-no other motion but their own mortal shivering, the dreadful crumbling of atom from atom in their corrupting stones; knowing no sound of living voice or living tread, cheered neither by the kid's bleat nor the marmot's cry; haunted only by uninterrupted echoes from afar off, wandering hither and thither among their walls, unable to escape, and by the hiss of angry torrents, and sometimes the shriek of a bird that flits near the face of them, and sweeps frightened back from under their shadow into the gulf of air. And sometimes, when the echo has fainted, and the wind has carried the sound of the torrent away, and the bird has vanished, and the mouldering stones are still for a little time— a brown moth, opening and shutting its wings upon a grain of dust, may be the only thing