Like stones of worth, they thinly placed are,
  Or captain jewels in the carcanet.
Sonnet III.  SHAKESPEARE.

Than all Bocara’s vaunted gold,
Than all the gems of Samarcand.
A Persian Song of Hafiz.  SIR W. JONES.

Rich and rare were the gems she wore,
And a bright gold ring on her wand she bore.
Song:  Rich and Rare.  T. MOORE.

                  I see the jewel best enamelled
  Will lose his beauty; and the gold ’bides still,
  That others touch, and often touching will
  Wear gold.
Comedy of Errors, Act ii.  Sc. 1.  SHAKESPEARE.

JOURNALISM.

He comes, the herald of a noisy world,
With spattered boots, strapped waist, and frozen locks;
News from all nations lumbering at his back.
The Task, Bk.  IV.  W. COWPER.

  Trade hardly deems the busy day begun
  Till his keen eye along the sheet has run;
  The blooming daughter throws her needle by,
  And reads her schoolmate’s marriage with a sigh;
  While the grave mother puts her glasses on,
  And gives a tear to some old crony gone. 
  The preacher, too, his Sunday theme lays down,
  To know what last new folly fills the town;
  Lively or sad, life’s meanest, mightiest things,
  The fate of fighting cocks, or fighting kings.
Curiosity.  C. SPRAGUE.

For evil news rides fast, while good news baits. Samson Agonistes.  MILTON.

  If there’s a hole in a’ your coats,
      I rede ye tent it: 
  A chiel’s amang ye takin’ notes,
      And, faith, he’ll prent it.
On Capt.  Grose’s Peregrinations Through Scotland. 
  R. BURNS.

  A would-be satirist, a hired buffoon,
  A monthly scribbler of some low lampoon. 
  Condemned to drudge, the meanest of the mean,
  And furbish falsehoods for a magazine.
English Bards and Scotch Reviewers.  LORD BYRON.

  To serve thy generation, this thy fate: 
  “Written in water,” swiftly fades thy name;
  But he who loves his kind does, first and late,
  A work too great for fame.
The Journalist.  MRS. M. CLEMMER A. HUDSON.

  This folio of four pages, happy work! 
  Which not e’en critics criticise; that holds
  Inquisitive attention while I read,

* * * * *

  What is it but a map of busy life,
  Its fluctuations and its vast concerns? 
  ’Tis pleasant, through the loop-holes of retreat,
  To peep at such a world,—­to see the stir
  Of the great Babel, and not feel the crowd.

* * * * *

  While fancy, like the finger of a clock. 
  Runs the great circuit, and is still at home.
Winter Evening:  The Task, Bk.  IV.  W. COWPER.

  Here shall the Press the People’s right maintain,
  Unawed by influence and unbribed by gain;
  Here Patriot Truth her glorious precepts draw,
  Pledged to Religion, Liberty, and Law.
Motto of Salem (Mass.) Register.  J. STORY.