But Stories Somehow Lengthen When Begun.

The Music, And The Banquet, And The Wine-- The Garlands, The Rose Odors, And The Flowers, The Sparkling Eyes, And Flashing Ornaments-- The White Arms And The Raven Hair--the Braids, And Bracelets; Swan-like Bosoms, And The Necklace, An India In Itself, Yet Dazzling Not.

Shakespeare's Name, You May Depend On It, Stands Absurdly Too High And Will Go Down.

War, War Is Still The Cry,-"war Even To The Knife!"

I Have No Consistency, Except In Politics; And That Probably Arises From My Indifference To The Subject Altogether.

It Is True From Early Habit, One Must Make Love Mechanically As One Swims; I Was Once Very Fond Of Both, But Now As I Never Swim Unless I Tumble Into The Water, I Don't Make Love Till Almost Obliged.