55. Your house a _cottage more_ Than _palace_, and will fitting be For all your use, not luxury. Your garden painted o'er With Nature's hand, not Art's, will pleasures yield Horace might envy in his Sabine field. COWLEY. 56. You'll think yourself superbly off, though rather cramp'd in bed, If your garret keep the winter rain from dropping on your head. ALBERT PIKE. 57. A snug thack house; before the door a green, Hens on the midding, ducks in pools are seen. On this side stands a barn, on that a byre, A peat-stack joins, an' forms a rural square. The house is yours,--there shall we see you lean And to your turfy seat invite a frien'. ALLAN RAMSAY--_Gentle Shepherd_. 58. It is a quiet picture of delight, Your humble cottage, hiding from the sun In the thick woods. We see it not till then, When at its porch. Rudely but neatly wrought, Four columns make its entrance; slender shafts, The rough bark yet upon them, as they came From the old forest---- ----Prolific vines Have wreath'd them well, and half obscured the rinds Unpromising that wrap them. Crowding leaves Of glistening green, and clustering bright flowers Of purple, in whose cups throughout the day The humming-bird wantons boldly, wave around And woo the gentle eye and delicate touch. This is the dwelling, and 'twill be to thee Quiet's especial temple. W. G. SIMMS. 59. That dear old home! Something of old ancestral pride it keeps, Though fallen from its early power and vastness! The sunlight seems to thy eyes brighter there Than wheresoever else. FANNY KEMBLE. 60. In a vale with dwellings strown, One is standing all alone; White it rises mid the leaves, Woodbines clamber o'er its eaves, And the honeysuckle falls Pendant on its silent walls. 'Tis a cottage small and fair As a cloud in summer air. PARK BENJAMIN. WHAT IS YOUR DESTINY? You unconcern'd And calm, can meet your coming destiny, In all its charming, or its frightful shapes. DR. WATTS. I have an ear that craves for every thing, That hath the smallest sign or Omen in it. JOANNA BAILLIE. Let me deem that Some unknown influence, some sweet oracle, Communicates between us though unseen, In absence, and attracts us to each other. BYRON. WHAT IS YOUR DESTINY? 1. Ye'll draw a bonny silken purse; Ye'll ca' your coach, ye'll ca' your horse. BURNS.