... The Power Who Gave A Power,

There Is Some Danger Lest There Be No Real Religion In The Heart Which Craves Too Much Daily Sympathy.

Spirits That Have Once Been Sincerely United And Tended Together A Sacred Flame, Never Become Entirely Stranger To One Another's Life.

The Critic Is Beneath The Maker, But Is His Needed Friend. The Critic Is Not A Base Caviler, But The Younger Brother Of Genius. Next To Invention Is The Power Of Interpreting Invention; Next To Beauty The Power Of Appreciating Beauty. And Of Making Others Appreciate It.

I Fear I Have Not One Good Word To Say This Fair Morning, Though The Sun Shines So Encouragingly On The Distant Hills And Gentle River And The Trees Are In Their Festive Hues. I Am Not Festive, Though Contented. When Obliged To Give Myself To The Prose Of Life, As I Am On This Occasion Of Being Established In A New Home I Like To Do The Thing, Wholly And Quite, - To Weave My Web For The Day Solely From The Grey Yarn.

Reverence The Highest, Have Patience With The Lowest. Let This Day's Performance Of The Meanest Duty Be Thy Religion. Are The Stars Too Distant, Pick Up The Pebble That Lies At Thy Feet, And From It Learn The All.