Books Are The True Metempsychosis,--they Are The

I Never Knew An Early-rising, Hard-working, Prudent Man, Careful Of His Earnings, And Strictly Honest Who Complained Of Bad Luck.

Yea, Though The Breath Of Disappointment Should Chill The Sanguine Heart, Speedily Gloweth It Again, Warmed By The Live Embers Of Hope.

The Test Of Christian Character Should Be That A Man Is A Joy-bearing Agent To The World.

I Know It Is More Agreeable To Walk Upon Carpets Than To Lie Upon Dungeon Floors, I Know It Is Pleasant To Have All The Comforts And Luxuries Of Civilization; But He Who Cares Only For These Things Is Worth No More Than A Butterfly, Contented And Thoughtless, Upon A Morning Flower; And Who Ever Thought Of Rearing A Tombstone To A Last Summer's Butterfly?

Mirth Is The Sweet Wine Of Human Life. It Should Be Offered Sparkling With Zestful Life Unto God.