A Poem Round And Perfect As A

In The Entire Circle Of The Year There Are No Days So Delightful As Those Of A Fine October.

There Is A Slow-growing Beauty Which Only Comes To Perfection In Old Age.... I Have Seen Sweeter Smiles On A Lip Of Seventy Than I Ever Saw On A Lip Of Seventeen. There Is The Beauty Of Youth, And There Is Also The Beauty Of Holiness—a Beauty Much More Seldom Met; And More Frequently Found In The Arm-chair By The Fire, With Grandchildren Around Its Knee, Than In The Ball-room Or The Promenade.

Fame Is But An Inscription On A Grave, And Glory The Melancholy Blazon On A Coffin Lid.

A Thought May Be Very Commendable As A Thought, But I Value It Chiefly As A Window Through Which I Can Obtain Insight On The Thinker.

To-day Is Always Different From Yesterday.