the crannied wall,
I pluck you out of the crannies;--
Hold you here, root and all, in my hand,
Little flower--but if I could understand
What you are, root and all, and all in all,
I should know what God and man is."

* * * * *

3. "Who but the locksmith could have made such music? A gleam of sun
shining through the unsashed window and checkering the dark workshop with
a broad patch of light fell full upon him, as though attracted by his
sunny heart."

* * * * *

4. "_Portia_ You see me, Lord Bassanio, where I stand,
Such as I am; though for myself alone,
I would not be ambitious in my wish,
To wish myself much better; yet, for you,
I would be trebled twenty times myself;
A thousand times more fair, ten thousand times more rich;"

* * * * *

5. "Listen to the water-mill;
Through the livelong day,
How the clicking of its wheels
Wears the hours away!
Languidly the autumn wind
Stirs the forest leaves,
From the fields the reapers sing,
Binding up their sheaves;
And a proverb haunts my mind,
As a spell is cast;
'The mill can never grind
With the water that is past.'"

* * * * *

6. "Roaming in thought over the Universe, I saw the little that is good
steadily hastening towards immortality. And the vast all that is called
evil I saw hastening to merge itself, and become lost and dead."

* * * * *

7. "We one day descried some shapeless object drifting at a distance. At
sea, everything that breaks the monotony of the surrounding expanse
attracts attention. It proved to be the mast of a ship that must have been
completely wrecked; for there were the remains of handkerchiefs, by which
some of the crew had fastened themselves to this spar, to prevent their
being washed off by the waves.

"There was no trace by which the name of the ship could be ascertained.
The wreck had evidently drifted about for many months; clusters of
shell-fish had fastened about it, and long sea-weeds flaunted at its
sides. But where, thought I, are the crew? Their struggle has long been
over. They have gone down amidst the roar of the tempest. Their bones lie
whitening among the caverns of the deep. Silence, oblivion, like the
waves, have closed over them, and no one can tell the story of th