Cultivate simplicity, Coleridge.

Shall I ask the brave soldier who fights by my side In the cause of mankind, if our creeds agree?

Presents, I often say, endear absents.

Riddle of destiny, who can show What thy short visit meant, or know What thy errand here below?

Mother's love grows by giving.

I have sat through an Italian opera, til, for sheer pain, and inexplicable anguish, I have rushed out into the noisiest places of the crowded street, to solace myself with sounds which I was not obliged to follow and get rid of the distracting torment of endless, fruitless, barren attention!

The red-letter days, now become, to all intents and purposes, dead-letter days.