When twilight dews are falling soft Upon the rosy sea, love, I watch the star whose beam so oft Has lighted me to thee, love.

Oh call it by some better name, For friendship sounds too cold.

For thy sake, tobacco, I would do anything but die.

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

O money, money, how blindly thou hast been worshipped, and how stupidly abused! Thou are health and liberty and strength, and he that has thee may rattle his pockets at the foul fiend!

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.

In the indications of female poverty there can be no disguise. No woman dresses below herself from caprice.