Truly, A Little Love-making Is A Very

Business Before Pleasure.

Strange Mystery Of Our Nature, That Those In Whom Genius Develops Itself In Imagination, Thus Taking Its Most Ethereal Form, Should Yet Be The Most Dependent On The Opinions Of Others!

There Is No Existence So Content As That Whose Present Is Engrossed By Employment, And Whose Future Is Filled By Some Strong Hope, The Truth Of Which Is Never Proved. Toil And Illusion Are The Only Secrets To Make Life Tolerable.

Childhood, Whose Very Happiness Is Love.

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.