Books Are Not Seldom Talismans And Spells.

Blind Unbelief Is Sure To Err, And Scan His Work In Vain; God Is His Own Interpreter, And He Will Make It Plain.

The Fall Of Waters And The Song Of Birds, And Hills That Echo To The Distant Berds, Are Luxuries Excelling All The Glare The World Can Boast, And Her Chief Favorites Share.

Spare Feast! A Radish And An Egg.

Misery Still Delights To Trace Its Semblance In Another's Case.

O Winter! Ruler Of The Inverted Year, . . . I Crown Thee King Of Intimate Delights, Fireside Enjoyments, Home-born Happiness, And All The Comforts That The Lowly Roof Of Undisturbed Retirement, And The Hours Of Long Uninterrupted Evening, Know.