There are like to be short graces where the devil plays host.

And the tear that we shed, though in secret it rolls, Shall long keep his memory green in our souls.

Newspapers always excite curiosity. No one ever puts one down without the feeling of disappointment.

When thus the heart is in a vein Of tender thought, the simplest strain Can touch it with peculiar power.

Be not frightened at the hard words "imposition," "imposture;" give and ask no questions. Cast thy bread upon the waters. Some have, unawares, entertained angels.

From a poor man, poor in Time, I was suddenly lifted up into a vast revenue; I could see no end of my possessions; I wanted some steward, or judicious bailiff, to manage my estates in Time for me.

The harp that once through Tara's halls The soul of music shed, Now hangs as mute on Tara's walls As if that soul were fled. So sleeps the pride of former days, So glory's thrill is o'er; And hearts that once beat high for praise Now feel that pulse no more.