There Is A Majestic Grandeur In Tranquillity.

There Is A Serene And Settled Majesty To Woodland Scenery That Enters Into The Soul And Delights And Elevates It, And Fills It With Noble Inclinations.

The Paternal Hearth, The Rallying-place Of The Affections.

There Are Certain Half-dreaming Moods Of Mind In Which We Naturally Steal Away From Noise And Glare, And Seek Some Quiet Haunt Where We May Indulge Our Reveries And Build Our Air Castles Undisturbed.

A Mother Is The Truest Friend We Have.

The Dullest Observer Must Be Sensible Of The Order And Serenity Prevalent In Those Households Where The Occasional Exercise Of A Beautiful Form Of Worship In The Morning Gives, As It Were, The Keynote To Every Temper For The Day, And Attunes Every Spirit To Harmony.