1947
It will be observed, that when giving me (Boswell) advice as to my travels, Dr. Johnson did not dwell upon cities, and palaces, and pictures, and shows. He was of Lord Essex's opinion, who advises his kinsman, Roger, Earl of Rutland, "rather to go a hundred miles to speak with one wise man, than five miles to see a fair town."
—Boswell's Johnson.
1948
Deuteronomy xxxiii, 19—"They shall suck of the abundance of the seas, and of the treasures hid in the sand."
Among the hardships experienced by the first settlers in North America, they were sometimes greatly distressed for food, which led the women and the children to the sea side to look for a ship which they expected with provisions, but no ship appeared for many weeks; they saw in the sand, however, vast quantities of shellfish, since called clams, a species of muscle. Hunger impelled them to taste, and at length they fed wholly upon them, and were as cheerful and well as they had been before in England, enjoying the best provision. It is added, that a good man, after they had all dined one day on clams, without bread, returned thanks to God for causing them to "suck of the abundance of the seas, and of treasures hid in the sand." This text, which they had never before observed particularly, was ever after endeared to them.
1949
THE BEECH TREE'S PETITION.
O leave this barren spot to me:
Spare, woodman, spare the beechen tree!
Though bush or floweret never grow
My dark unwarming shade below;
Nor summer bud perfume the dew,
Of rosy blush, or yellow hue!
Nor fruits of autumn, blossom-born,
My green and glossy leaves adorn;
Nor murmuring tribes from me derive
Th' ambrosial amber of the hive;
Yet leave this barren spot to me:
Spare, woodman, spare the beechen tree!
Thrice twenty summers I have seen
The sky grow bright, the forest green;
And many a wintry wind have stood
In bloomless, fruitless solitude,
Since childhood in my pleasant bower
First spent its sweet and sportive hour,
Since youthful lovers in my shade
Their vows of truth and rapture made;
And on my trunk's surviving frame
Carved many a long-forgotten name.
Oh! by the sighs of gentle sound,
First breathed upon this sacred ground;
By all that Love has whisper'd here,
Or Beauty heard with ravished ear;
As Love's own altar honor me:
Spare, woodman, spare the beechen tree!
