A Coquette Is A Young Lady Of

I Feel A Kind Of Reverence For The First Books Of Young Authors. There Is So Much Aspiration In Them, So Much Audacious Hope And Trembling Fear, So Much Of The Heart's History, That All Errors And Shortcomings Are For A While Lost Sight Of In The Amiable Self Assertion Of Youth.

Youth Comes But Once In A Lifetime.

O Thou Child Of Many Prayers! Life Hath Quicksands, Life Hath Snares! Care And Age Come Unawares!

What Is Time? The Shadow On The Dial, The Striking Of The Clock, The Running Of The Sand, Day And Night, Summer And Winter, Months, Years, Centuries-these Are But Arbitrary And Outward Signs, The Measure Of Time, Not Time Itself. Time Is The Life Of The Soul.

Two Ways The Rivers Leap Down To Different Seas, And As They Roll Grow Deep And Still, And Their Majestic Presence Becomes A Benefaction To The Towns They Visit, Wandering Silently Among Them, Like Patriarchs Old Among Their Shining Tents.