The Sergeant Was Describing A Military Life.

It Is An Exquisite And Beautiful Thing In Our Nature, That, When The Heart Is Touched And Softened By Some Tranquil Happiness Or Affectionate Feeling, The Memory Of The Dead Comes Over It Most Powerfully And Irresistibly. It Would Seem Almost As Though Our Better Thoughts And Sympathies Were Charms, In Virtue Of Which The Soul Is Enabled To Hold Some Vague And Mysterious Intercourse With The Spirits Of Those Whom We Loved In Life. Alas! How Often And How Long May These Patient Angels Hover Around Us, Watching For The Spell Which Is So Soon Forgotten!

Some Women's Faces Are, In Their Brightness, A Prophecy; And Some, In Their Sadness, A History.

The Day Was Made For Laziness, And Lying On One's Back In Green Places, And Staring At The Sky Till Its Brightness Forced One To Shut One's Eyes And Go To Sleep.

So Does A Whole World, With All Its Greatnesses And Littlenesses, Lie In A Twinkling Star. And As Mere Human Knowledge Can Split A Ray Of Light And Analyse The Manner Of Its Composition, So, Sublimer Intelligences May Read In The Feeble Shining Of This Earth Of Ours, Every Thought And Act, Every Vice And Virtue, Of Every Responsible Creature On It.

Papa, Potatoes, Poultry, Prunes And Prism, Are All Very Good Words For The Lips.