No one ever regarded the First of January with indifference. It is that from which all date their time, and count upon what is left. It is the nativity of our common Adam.

Oh, breathe not his name! let it sleep in the shade, Where cold and unhonour'd his relics are laid

I counsel thee, shut not thy heart, nor thy library.

The cheerful Sabbath bells, wherever heard, Strike pleasant on the sense, most like the voice Of one, who from the far-off hills proclaims Tidings of good to Zion.

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

No work is worse than overwork; the mind preys on itself,--the most unwholesome of food.

Go where glory waits thee! But while fame elates thee, Oh, still remember me!