Is It So Small A Thing To

Sanity -- That Is The Great Virtue Of The Ancient Literature; The Want Of That Is The Great Defect Of The Modern, In Spite Of Its Variety And Power.

Man Errs Not That He Deems His Welfare His True Aim, He Errs Because He Dreams The World Does But Exist That Welfare To Bestow.

Oxus, Forgetting The Bright Speed He Had In His High Mountain Cradle In Pamere, A Foiled Circuitous Wanderertill At Last The Longed-for Dash Of Waves Is Heard, And Wide His Luminous Home Of Waters Opens, Bright And Tranquil, From Whose Floor The New-bathed Stars Emerge, And Shine Upon The Aral Sea.

The Power Of The Latin Classic Is In Character , That Of The Greek Is In Beauty . Now Character Is Capable Of Being Taught, Learnt, And Assimilated: Beauty Hardly.

For What Wears Out The Life Of Mortal Men? 'tis That From Change To Change Their Being Rolls; Tis That Repeated Shocks, Again, Again, Exhaust The Energy Of Strongest Souls And Numb The Elastic Powers.