I Allow No Hot-beds In The Gardens

Tis The Privilege Of Friendship To Talk Nonsense, And To Have Nonsense Respected.

Presents, I Often Say, Endear Absents.

Summer, As My Friend Coleridge Waggishly Writes, Has Set In With Its Usual Severity.

It Is Good To Have Friends At Court.

What A Dead Thing Is A Clock, With Its Ponderous Embowelments Of Lead And Brass, Its Pert Or Solemn Dullness Of Communication, Compared With The Simple Altar-like Structure And Silent Heart-language Of The Old Sundials! It Stood As The Garden God Of Christian Gardens. Why Is It Almost Everywhere Vanished? If Its Business-use Be Superseded By More Elaborate Inventions, Its Moral Uses, Its Beauty, Might Have Pleaded For Its Continuance.