Oh For A Tongue To Curse The

Merit, God Knows, Is Very Little Rewarded.

How Sickness Enlarges The Dimension Of A Man’s Self To Himself!

Books Of Quick Interest, That Hurry On For Incidents Are For The Eye To Glide Over Only. It Will Not Do To Read Them Out. I Could Never Listen To Even The Better Kind Of Modern Novels Without Extreme Irksomeness.

Cards Are War, In Disguise Of A Sport.

The Cheerful Sabbath Bells, Wherever Heard, Strike Pleasant On The Sense, Most Like The Voice Of One, Who From The Far-off Hills Proclaims Tidings Of Good To Zion.