Look when the clouds are blowing
And all the winds are free:
In fury of their going
They fall upon the sea.
But though the blast is frantic,
And though the tempest raves,
The deep immense Atlantic
Is still beneath the waves.
“Wind, Moon and Tides,”—Frederic William Henry Myers.
Frederic William Henry Myers, a distinguished English poet and critic, was born at Duffield, England, February 6, 1843, and died January 17, 1901. He has written: “Science and a Future Life,” “Renewal of Youth and Other Poems,” “Essays, Modern and Classical,” “St. Paul,” “English Men of Letters,” etc. Also a posthumous work called “Human Personality and Its Survival of Bodily Death,” (2 vols.), 1903.
Sir Thomas More advised an author, who had sent him his manuscript to read, “to put it in rhyme.” Which being done, Sir Thomas said, “Yea, marry, now it is somewhat, for now it is rhyme; before it was neither rhyme nor reason.”
—Sir Thomas More.
Sir Thomas More, the great English statesman and miscellaneous writer, was born in London, February 7, 1478, and was executed July 6, 1535. He wrote: “History of Richard III,” “Life of John Picus, Earl of Mirandola,” and “Utopia” (which was his most celebrated work), etc.
Oh, a dainty plant is the ivy green,
That creepeth o’er ruins old!
Of right choice food are his meals, I ween,
In his cell so lone and cold.
Creeping where no life is seen,
A rare old plant is the ivy green.
“Pickwick Papers,” Chap. vi,—Charles Dickens.
Charles Dickens, one of the most famous of English novelists, was born at Landport, in Portsea, February 7, 1812, and died June 9, 1870. His most famous works are: “Oliver Twist,” “Pickwick Papers,” “Sketches by Boz,” “Nicholas Nickleby,” “Old Curiosity Shop,” “A Christmas Carol,” “American Notes,” “The Cricket on the Hearth,” “The Chimes,” “Pictures from Italy,” “Dombey and Son,” “The Battle of Life,” “David Copperfield,” “The Haunted Man,” “Bleak House,” “Little Dorrit,” “A Child’s History of England,” “Great Expectations,” “A Tale of Two Cities,” “Hard Times,” “Our Mutual Friend,” etc.
We can say nothing but what hath been said. Our poets steal from Homer.... Our story-dressers do as much; he that comes last is commonly best.