No Facts Are To Me Sacred; None

The Delicious Faces Of Children, The Beauty Of School-girls, "the Sweet Seriousness Of Sixteen," The Lofty Air Of Well-born, Well-bred Boys, The Passionate Histories In The Looks And Manners Of Youth And Early Manhood, And The Varied Power In All That Well-known Company That Escort Us Through Life,--we Know How These Forms Thrill, Paralyze, Provoke, Inspire, And Enlarge Us.

Earth Laughs In Flowers.

The Pest Of Society Are The Egotist, They Are Dull And Bright, Sacred And Profane, Course And Fine. It Is A Disease That Like The Flu Falls On All Constitutions.

All Men In The Abstract Are Just And Good.

The Shows Of The Day, The Dewy Morning, The Rainbow, Mountains, Orchards In Blossom, Stars, Moonlight, Shadows In Still Water, Andthe Like, If Too Eagerly Hunted, Become Shows Merely, And Mock Us With Their Unreality.