... True Love Is Like Religion, It

Suicide And Antipathy To Fires In A Bedroom Seem To Be Among The National Characteristics. Perhaps The Same Moral Cause May Originate Both.

I Can Pass Days Stretch'd In The Shade Of Those Old Cedar Trees, Watching The Sunshine Like A Blessing Fall,-- The Breeze Like Music Wandering O'er The Boughs, Each Tree A Natural Harp,--each Different Leaf A Different Note, Blent In One Vast Thanksgiving.

We Would Liken Music To Aladdin's Lamp — Worthless In Itself, Not So For The Spirits Which Obey Its Call. We Love It For The Buried Hopes, The Garnered Memories, The Tender Feelings, It Can Summon With A Touch.

Few Save The Poor Feel For The Poor.

So Much To Win, So Much To Lose, No Marvel That I Fear To Choose.