How Is It The Great Pieces Of

He Who Sleeps In Continual Noise Is Wakened By Silence.

Lord, For The Erring Thought Not Unto Evil Wrought: Lord, For The Wicked Will Betrayed, And Baffled Still: For The Heart From Itself Kept, Our Thanksgiving Accept. For Ignorant Hopes That Were Broken To Our Blind Prayer: For Pain, Death, Sorrow, Sent Unto Our Chastisement: For All Loss Of Seeming Good, Quicken Our Gratitude.

Why Art Thou But A Nest Of Gloom While The Bobolinks Are Singing?

If Ever The Public Was Betrayed By Its Press, It's Ours.

Is It Worth While To Observe That There Are No Venetian Blinds In Venice?