There Is A Majestic Grandeur In Tranquillity.

Every Desire Bears Its Death In Its Very Gratification. Curiosity Languishes Under Repeated Stimulants, And Novelties Cease To Excite And Surprise, Until At Length We Cannot Wonder Even At A Miracle.

From Its Peaceful Bosom Spring None But Fond Regrets And Tender Recollections.

Every Antique Farm-house And Moss-grown Cottage Is A Picture.

A Mother Is The Truest Friend We Have, When Trials Heavy And Sudden Fall Upon Us; When Adversity Takes The Place Of Prosperity; When Friends Desert Us; When Trouble Thickens Around Us, Still Will She Cling To Us, And Endeavor By Her Kind Precepts And Counsels To Dissipate The Clouds Of Darkness, And Cause Peace To Return To Our Hearts.

Men Are Always Doomed To Be Duped, Not So Much By The Arts Of The Other As By Their Own Imagination. They Are Always Wooing Goddesses, And Marrying Mere Mortals.