Thus, When The Lamp That Lighted The

As Down In The Sunless Retreats Of The Ocean Sweet Flowers Are Springing No Mortal Can See, So Deep In My Soul The Still Prayer Of Devotion, Unheard By The World, Rises Silent To Thee. As Still To The Star Of Its Worship, Though Clouded, The Needle Points Faithfully O'er The Dim Sea, So Dark When I Roam In This Wintry World Shrouded, The Hope Of My Spirit Turns Trembling To Thee.

Time Partially Reconciles Us To Anything. I Gradually Became Content--doggedly Contented, As Wild Animals In Cages.

In Some Respects The Better A Book Is, The Less It Demands From The Binding.

In Every Thing That Relates To Science, I Am A Whole Encyclopaedia Behind The Rest Of The World.

He Might Have Proved A Useful Adjunct, If Not An Ornament To Society.