Cats Are A Mysterious Kind Of Folk.

Cats Are A Very Mysterious Kind Of Folk. There Is Always More Passing In Their Minds Than We Are Aware Of.

November's Sky Is Chill And Drear, November's Leaf Is Red And Sear.

Literature Is A Great Staff, But A Very Sorry Crutch.

The Time Which Passes Over Our Heads So Imperceptibly Makes The Same Gradual Change In Habits, Manners And Character, As In Personal Appearance. At The Revolution Of Every Five Years We Find Ourselves Another And Yet The Same;--there Is A Change Of Views, And No Less Of The Light In Which We Regard Them; A Change Of Motives As Well As Of Action.

Her Blue Eyes Sought The West Afar, For Lovers Love The Western Star.