Men Of Cold Passions Have Quick Eyes.

Oh, For The Years I Have Not Lived, But Only Dreamed Of Living.

We Dream In Our Waking Moments, And Walk In Our Sleep.

The Calmer Thought Is Not Always The Right Thought, Just As The Distant View Is Not Always The Truest View

A Writer Of Story Books! What Kind Of Business In Life-what Mode Of Glorifying God, Or Being Serviceable To Mankind In His Day And Generation-may That Be? Why, The Degenerate Fellow Might As Well Have Been A Fiddler!

Before This Ugly Edifice, And Between It And The Wheel-track Of The Street, Was A Grass-plot, Much Overgrown With Burdock, Pig-weed, Apple-pern, And Such Unsightly Vegetation, Which Evidently Found Something Congenial In The Soil That Had So Early Borne The Black Flower Of Civilized Society, A Prison.