They Should Be Ashamed Of Themselves, All

Of All Thieves, Fools Are The Worst; They Rob You Of Time And Temper.

While Man's Desires And Aspirations Stir He Cannot Choose But Err.

All Perishable Is But An Allegory.

National Literature Does Not Mean Much These Days; Now Is The Age Of World Literature, And Every One Must Contribute To Hasten Thearrival Of That Age.

What Is Now The Foliage Moving? Air Is Still, And Hush'd The Breeze, Sultriness, This Fullness Loving, Through The Thicket, From The Trees. Now The Eye At Once Gleams Brightly, See! The Infant Band With Mirth Moves And Dances Nimbly, Lightly, As The Morning Gave It Birth, Flutt'ring Two And Two O'er Earth.