Did You Ever Observe That Immoderate Laughter

There Seems A Life In Hair, Though It Be Dead.

Poetry Is The Breath Of Beauty.

Part Of Our Good Consists In The Endeavor To Do Sorrows Away, And In The Power To Sustain Them When The Endeavor Fails,--to Bear Them Nobly, And Thus Help Others To Bear Them As Well.

It Is A Delicious Moment, Certainly, That Of Being Well Nestled In Bed, And Feeling That You Shall Drop Gently To Sleep. The Good Is To Come, Not Past; The Limbs Have Just Been Tired Enough To Render The Remaining In One Posture Delightful; The Labour Of The Day Is Gone

Mankind Are Creatures Of Books, As Well As Of Other Circumstances; And Such They Eternally Remain,--proofs, That The Race Is A Noble And Believing Race, And Capable Of Whatever Books Can Stimulate.