No Hour Arrives So Soon As The

How Beautiful, Buoyant, And Glad Is Morning! The First Sunshine On The Leaves: The First Wind, Laden With The First Breath Of The Flowers—that Deep Sigh With Which They Seem To Waken From Sleep; The First Dew, Untouched Even By The Light Foot Of The Early Hare; The First Chirping Of The Rousing Birds, As If Eager To Begin Song And Flight; All Is Redolent Of The Strength Given By Rest, And The Joy Of Conscious Life.

How Often, In This Cold And Bitter World, Is The Warm Heart Thrown Back Upon Itself! Cold, Careless, Are We Of Another's Grief; We Wrap Ourselves In Sullen Selfishness.

What Is Life? A Gulf Of Troubled Waters, Where The Soul, Like A Vexed Bark, Is Tossed Upon The Waves Of Pain And Pleasure By The Wavering Breath Of Passions.

I Have A Respect For Family Pride. If It Be A Prejudice, It Is A Prejudice In Its Most Picturesque Shape. But I Hold It Is Connected With Some Of The Noblest Feelings In Our Nature.

In Sad Truth, Half Our Forebodings Of Our Neighbors Are But Our Own Wishes, Which We Are Ashamed To Utter In Any Other Form.