The Spot Of Ground On Which A

Every Man's Road In Life Is Marked By The Grave Of His Personal Likings.

It Is The Sternest Philosophy, But On The Whole The Truest, That, In The Wide Arena Of The World, Failure And Success Are Not Accidents, As We So Frequently Suppose, But The Strictest Justice.

Happiness Never Lays Its Finger On Its Pulse. If We Attempt To Steal A Glimpse Of Its Features It Disappears.

Trifles Make Up The Happiness Or The Misery Of Mortal Life.

In The Entire Circle Of The Year There Are No Days So Delightful As Those Of A Fine October, When The Trees Are Bare To The Mild Heavens, And The Red Leaves Bestrew The Road, And You Can Feel The Breath Of Winter, Morning And Evening - No Days So Calm, So Tenderly Solemn, And With Such A Reverent Meekness In The Air.