Much Must He Toil Who Serves The

More And More Do I Feel, As I Advance In Life, How Little We Really Know Of Each Other. Friendship Seems To Me Like The Touch Of Musical-glasses--it Is Only Contact; But The Glasses Themselves, And Their Contents, Remain Quite Distinct And Unmingled.

The Atmosphere Breathes Rest And Comfort, And The Many Chambers Seem Full Of Welcomes.

Art Is The Child Of Nature In Whom We Trace The Features Of The Mothers Face.

Listen My Children And You Shall Hear, Of The Midnight Ride Of Paul Revere

The Natural Alone Is Permanent. Fantastic Idols May Be Worshipped For A While; But At Length They Are Overturned By The Continual And Silent Progress Of Truth, As The Grim Statues Of Copan Have Been Pushed From Their Pedestals By The Growth Of Forest-trees, Whose Seeds Were Sown By The Wind In The Ruined Walls.