After A Man Passes 60 , His

Those Who Are Well Assured Of Their Own Standing Are Least Apt To Trespass On That Of Others, Whereas Nothing Is So Offensive As The Aspirings Of Vulgarity Which Thinks To Elevate Itself By Humiliating Its Neighbor.

Sometimes He Spent Hours Together In The Great Libraries Of Paris, Those Catacombs Of Departed Authors, Rummaging Among Their Hoards Of Dusty And Obsolete Works In Quest Of Food For His Unhealthy Appetite. He Was, In A Manner, A Literary Ghoul, Feeding In The Charnel-house Of Decayed Literature.

There Is Something Nobly Simple And Pure In A Taste For The Cultivation Of Forest Trees. It Argues, I Think, A Sweet And Generous Nature To Have His Strong Relish For The Beauties Of Vegetation, And This Friendship For The Hardy And Glorious Sons Of The Forest. He Who Plants A Tree Looks Forward To Future Ages, And Plants For Posterity. Nothing Could Be Less Selfish Than This.

Her Mighty Lakes, Like Oceans Of Liquid Silver; Her Mountains With Their Right Aerial Tints; Her Valleys, Teeming With Wild Fertility; Her Tremendous Cataracts, Thundering In Their Solitudes; Her Boundless Plains, Waving With Spontaneous Verdure; Her Brought Deep Rivers, Rolling In Solemn Silence To The Ocean; Her Trackless Forests, Where Vegetation Puts Forth All Its Magnificence; Her Skies, Kindling Waves In The Magic Of The Summer Clouds And Glorious Sunshine;-no, Never Need An American Look Beyond His Own Country For The Sublime And Beautiful Of Natural Scenery.

There Is Certainly Something In Angling That Tends To Produce A Serenity Of The Mind.