Home Should Be An Oratorio Of The

Amid The Discords Of This Life, It Is Blessed To Think Of Heaven, Where God Draws After Him An Everlasting Train Of Music; For All Thoughts Are Harmonious And All Feelings Vocal, And So There Is Round About His Feet Eternal Melody.

Little Lies Are Very Dangerous, Because There Are So Many Of Them, And Because Each One Of Them Scours Upon The Character As Diamond-pointed.

The Cynic Is One Who Never Sees A Good Quality In A Man, And Never Fails To See A Bad One. He Is The Human Owl, Vigilant In Darkness And Blind To Light, Mousing For Vermin, And Never Seeing Noble Game.

Rain! Whose Soft Architectural Hands Have Power To Cut Stones, And Chisel To Shapes Of Grandeur The Very Mountains.

The Natural Term Of An Apple-pie Is But Twelve Hours. It Reaches Its Highest State About One Hour After It Comes From The Oven, And Just Before Its Natural Heat Has Quite Departed. But Every Hour Afterward Is A Declension. And After It Is One Day Old, It Is Thence-forward But The Ghastly Corpse Of Apple-pie.