“But,” quoth his neighbor, “when the sun
  From East to West his course has run,
  How comes it that he shows his face
  Next morning in his former place?”
  “Ho! there’s a pretty question, truly!”
  Replied our wight, with an unruly
  Burst of laughter and delight,
  So much his triumph seemed to please him: 
  “Why, blockhead! he goes back at night,
  And that’s the reason no one sees him!”
The Astronomical Alderman.  H. SMITH.

  Behold him setting in his western skies,
  The shadows lengthening as the vapors rise.
Absalom and Achitophel, Pt.  I J.J.  DRYDEN.

  Now sunk the sun:  the closing hour of day
  Came onward, mantled o’er with sober gray;
  Nature in silence bid the world repose.
The Hermit.  T. PARNELL.

                                   Parting day
  Dies like the dolphin, whom each pang imbues
  With a new color as it gasps away,
  The last still loveliest, till—­’t is gone—­and all is gray.
Childe Harold, Canto IV.  LORD BYRON.

  Come watch with me the shaft of fire that glows
  In yonder West:  the fair, frail palaces,
  The fading Alps and archipelagoes,
  And great cloud-continents of sunset-seas.
Miracles.  T.B.  ALDRICH.

  The setting sun, and music at the close,
  As the last taste of sweets, is sweetest last.
King Richard II., Act ii. Sc. 1.  SHAKESPEARE.

SUSPICION.

  Yet, where an equal poise of hope and fear
  Does arbitrate the event, my nature is
  That I incline to hope rather than fear,
  And gladly banish squint suspicion.
Comus.  MILTON.

  All seems infected that the infected spy,
  As all looks yellow to the jaundiced eye.
Essay on Criticism.  A. POPE.

Suspicion, poisoning his brother’s cup. Catiline.  G. CROLY.

SYMPATHY.

He jests at scars, that never felt a wound. Romeo and Juliet, Act ii. Sc. 1 SHAKESPEARE.

  No one is so accursed by fate,
  No one so utterly desolate. 
    But some heart, though unknown,
    Responds unto his own.
Endymion.  H.W.  LONGFELLOW.

  There is in souls a sympathy with sounds,
  And as the mind is pitched the ear is pleased
  With melting airs of martial, brisk, or grave;
  Some chord in unison with what we hear
  Is touched within us, and the heart replies.
The Task:  Winter Walk at Noon.  W. COWPER.

  Oh! who the exquisite delights can tell,
  The joy which mutual confidence imparts? 
  Or who can paint the charm unspeakable,
  Which links in tender hands two faithful hearts?
Psyche.  MRS. M. TIGHE.

  O! ask not, hope thou not too much
    Of sympathy below: 
  Few are the hearts whence one same touch
    Bids the same fountain flow.
Kindred Hearts.  MRS. F.D.  HEMANS.