The laws of Pluto's kingdom know small difference between king and cobbler, manager and call-boy; and, if haply your dates of life were conterminant, you are quietly taking your passage, cheek by cheek (O ignoble levelling of Death) with the shade of some recently departed candle-snuffer.

To be thankful for what we grasp exceeding our proportion is to add hypocrisy to injustice.

Mother's love grows by giving.

How I like to be liked, and what I do to be liked!

I give thee all,-I can no more, Though poor the off'ring be; My heart and lute are all the store That I can bring to thee.

We grow gray in our spirit long before we grow gray in our hair.

Science has succeeded to poetry, no less in the little walks of children than with men. Is there no possibility of averting this sore evil?