GRAVE-DIGGER-The.

The houses that he makes, last till doomsday. Shakspeare. GRAVITY-Dislike of.

For, to speak the truth, Yorick had an invincible dislike and opposition in his nature to gravity; not to gravity as such; for where ravity was wanted, he would be the most Crave or serious of mortal men for days and weeks together; but he was an enemy to the affectation of it, and declared open war against it, only as it appears a cloak for ignorance, or for folly; and then, whenever it fell into his way, however sheltered and protected, he seldom gave it much quarter.

GRAVITY-Laws of

Sterne.

GREATNESS-Goodness attendant on. Nothing can make a man truly great but being truly good, and partaking of God's holiness. Matthew Henry.

GREATNESS-Habits of.

He only is great who has the habits of great

GREATNESS.

ness; who, after performing what none in ten thousand could accomplish, passes on like Samson, and "tells neither father nor mother of it." Lavater.

GREATNESS-Human.

We cannot look, however imperfectly, upon a great man, without gaining something by him. He is the living light-fountain, which it is good and pleasant to be near; the light which enlightens, which has enlightened, the darkness of the world; and this, not as a kindled lamp only, but rather as a natural luminary. shining by the gift of Heaven; a flowing lightfountain, as I say, of native original insight, of manhood and heroic nobleness, in whose radiance all souls feel that it is well with them. Carlyle.

GREATNESS and MEANNESS-Distinction between.

What I must do is all that concerns me, and not what the people think. This rule, equally arduous in actual and in intellectual life, may serve for the whole distinction between great ness and meanness. It is the harder, because you will always find those who think they know what is your duty, better than you know it. It is easy in the world to live after the i world's opinion; it is easy in solitude to live after your own; but the great man is he who, in the midst of the crowd, keeps with perfect sweetness the independence of solitude.

Congreve.

1 The sun that with one look surveys the globe, Sees not a wretch like me; and could the world Take a right measure of my state within, Mankind must either pity me or scorn me.

Of greatness, to be wretched and unpitied.

GREATNESS-a Torment.

Greatness, thou gaudy torment of our souls, The wise man's fetter, and the rage of fools.

Dryden.

I saw her
Cast on the ground: in mourning weeds she lies;
Her torn and loosen'd tresses shade her round,
Through which her face, all pale as she were
dead,

Gleams like a sickly moon: too great her grief
For words or tears; but ever and anon,
After a dreadful, still, insidious calm,
Collecting all her breath, long, long suppress'd,
She sobs her soul out in a lengthen'd groan,
So sad, it breaks the heart of all that hear.
Young.

Her stiff'ning grief,

Who saw her children slaughter'd all at once, Is dull to mine. Dryden.

ful dream of happiness by some stern reality, and know that from henceforth it may never be indulged again-when an all-powerful, though all-merciful hand has passed over the beautiful vision we so fondly cherished, and its dazzling colours have faded beneath the touch, and we see that the form is the same, but the lustre can never be recalled. We may have thought that our minds are ready for the change, we may have pictured it to ourselves, and sorrowed for the inevitable hour, and even prayed for strength to bear it, but the experience of one real grief will teach us what no preparation will impart. It will show us our own weakness, and the vastness of that mercy which stooped to share a nature endowed with such capacities for suffering. It will force us to look upon the unknown future with a chastened and a thoughtful eye; and whilst it bids us bear thankfully in our hearts the remembrance of our early joy, as the type granted us by God of the blessings reserved for us in heaven, it will tell us that from henceforth the warfare of human life must be ours; and that, till the grave has closed upon our heads, we may hope but for few intervals of rest. Sewell.

GRIEF-not to be Fostered.

Time heals all griefs, even the bitterest, and it is well that it should be so. A long-indulged sorrow for the dead, or for any other hopeless loss, would deaden our sympathies for those still left, and thus make a sinful apathy steal over the soul, absorbing all its powers, and causing the many blessings of life to be felt as curses. As the bosom of earth blooms again and again, having buried out of sight the dead leaves of autumn, and loosed the frosty bands of winter; so does the heart, (in spite of all that melancholy poets write,) feel many renewed springs and summers. It is a beautiful and a blessed world we live in, and whilst that life lasts, to lose the enjoyment of it is a sin. Chambers.

GRIEF-Inconsolable.

I pray thee, cease thy counsel, Which falls into mine ears as profitless As water in a sieve: give not me counsel, Nor let no comforter delight mine ear, But such a one, whose wrongs do suit with mine.

Bring me a father, that so loved his child, Whose joy of her is overwhelmed like mine; And bid him speak of patience,

GRIEF-the Pensiveness of Joy.
Grief, madam! 'Tis the pensiveness of joy,
Too deep for language,-too serene for mirth,

Makes me seem sad.

Every grief we feel, Shortens the destined number; every pulse Beats a short moment of the pain away. And the last stroke will come. degrees.

By swift

mine,

And let it answer every strain for strain
As thus for thus, and such a grief for such
In every lincament, branch, shape, and form.
If such a one will smile, and stroke his beard,
Cry-sorrow, wag! and hem when he should

Every one can master a grief but he that has it. Shakspeare.

GRIEF-of a Bereaved Mother.

Const. Father cardinal, I have heard you say, That we shall see, and know our friends in heaven:

If that be true, I shall see my boy again;
For, since the birth of Cain, the first male child,
To him that did but yesterday suspire,
There was not such a gracious creature born.
But now will canker sorrow eat my bud,
And chase the native beauty from his cheek,
And he will look as hollow as a ghost;
As dim and meagre as an ague's fit!
And so he'll die; and, rising so again,
When I shall meet him in the court of Heaven,
I shall not know him; therefore never, never
Must I behold my pretty Arthur more.

Pand. You hold too heinous a respect of

grief.

Const. He talks to me, that never had a son. K. Phi. You are as fond of grief as of your child.

Const. Grief fills the room up of my absent child,

Lies in his bed, walks up and down with me;