They Talk About Their Pilgrim Blood, Their

A Stray Hair, By Its Continued Irritation, May Give More Annoyance Than A Smart Blow.

All Birds During The Pairing Season Become More Or Less Sentimental, And Murmur Soft Nothings In A Tone Very Unlike The Grinding-organ Repetition And Loudness Of Their Habitual Song. The Crow Is Very Comical As A Lover; And To Hear Him Trying To Soften His Croak To The Proper Saint-preux Standard Has Something The Effect Of A Mississippi Boatman Quoting Tennyson.

Good Heavens, Of What Un Costly Material Is Our Earthly Happiness Composed... If We Only Knew It. What Incomes Have We Not Had From A Flower, And How Unfailing Are The Dividends Of The Seasons.

Literature, Properly So Called, Draws Its Sap From The Deep Soil Of Human Nature's Common And Everlasting Sympathies, The Gathered Leaf-mound Of Countless Generations, And Not From Any Top Dressing Capriciously Scattered Over The Surface.

The Gift Without The Giver Is Rare.