Eden Is That Old-fashioned House We Dwell

Drunkards Of Summer Are Quite As Frequent As Drunkards Of Wine.

A Wounded Deer Leaps The Highest.

The Past Is Such A Curious Creature To Look Her In The Face A Transport May Receipt Us Or A Disgrace-.

A Word That Breathes Distinctly Has Not The Power To Die

Twin Loaves Of Bread Have Just Been Born Into The World Under My Auspices. Fine Children, The Image Of Their Mother. And Here, My Dear Friend, Is The Glory.