Every Antique Farm-house And Moss-grown Cottage Is

In Civilized Life, Where The Happiness, And Indeed Almost The Existence, Of Man Depends So Much Upon The Opinion Of His Fellow Men, He Is Constantly Acting A Studied Part.

Sweet Is The Memory Of Distant Friends! Like The Mellow Rays Of The Departing Sun, It Falls Tenderly, Yet Sadly, On The Heart.

Christmas Is Here, Merry Old Christmas, Gift-bearing Christmas, Day Of Grand Memories, King Of The Year!

Nature Seems To Delight In Disappointing The Assuduities Of Art, With Which It Would Rear Dulness To Maturity, And To Glory In The Vigor And Luxuriance Of Her Chance Productions. She Scatters The Seeds Of Genius To The Winds, And Though Some May Perish Among The Stony Places Of The World, And Some May Be Choked By The Thorns And Brambles Of Early Adversity, Yet Others Will Now And Then Strike Root Even In The Clefts Of The Rock, Struggle Bravely Up Into Sunshine, And Spread Over Their Sterile Birthplace All The Beauties Of Vegetation.

There Is Never Jealousy Where There Is Not Strong Regard.