A Father May Turn His Back On

Society Is Like A Lawn, Where Every Roughness Is Smoothed, Every Bramble Eradicated, And Where The Eye Is Delighted By The Smiling Verdure Of A Velvet Surface

The Almighty Dollar, That Great Object Of Universal Devotion.

The Paternal Hearth, The Rallying-place Of The Affections.

There Is A Remembrance Of The Dead To Which We Turn Even From The Charms Of The Living.

He Who Thinks Much Says But Little In Proportion To His Thoughts. He Selects That Language Which Will Convey His Ideas In The Most Explicit And Direct Manner. He Tries To Compress As Much Thought As Possible Into A Few Words. On The Contrary, The Man Who Talks Everlastingly And Promiscuously, Who Seems To Have An Exhaustless Magazine Of Sound, Crowds So Many Words Into His Thoughts That He Always Obscures, And Very Frequently Conceals Them.