A Mother's Yearning Feels The Presence Of

Poor Dog! I've A Strange Feeling About The Dumb Things As If They Wanted To Speak, And It Was A Trouble To 'em Because They Couldn't. I Can't Help Being Sorry For The Dogs Always, Though Perhaps There's No Need. But They May Well Have More In Them Than They Know How To Make Us Understand, For We Can't Say Half What We Feel, With All Our Words.

Brothers Are So Unpleasant.

Memory, When Duly Impregnated With Ascertained Facts, Is Sometimes Surprisingly Fertile.

We Have No Right To Come Forward And Urge Wider Changes For Good, Until We Have Tried To Alter The Evils Which Lie Under Our Own Hands.

Melodies Die Out, Like The Pipe Of Pan, With The Ears That Love Them And Listen For Them.