'T is sweet to think that where'er we rove We are sure to find something blissful and dear; And that when we 're far from the lips we love, We 've but to make love to the lips we are near.

I like you and your book, ingenious Hone! In whose capacious all-embracing leaves The very marrow of tradition 's shown; And all that history, much that fiction weaves.

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

I am determined that my children shall be brought up in their father's religion, if they can find out what it is.

Separate from the pleasure of your company, I don't much care if I never see another mountain in my life.

Alas! how light a cause may move Dissension between hearts that love! Hearts that the world in vain had tried, And sorrow but more closely tied; That stood the storm when waves were rough, Yet in a sunny hour fall off, Like ships that have gone down at sea When heaven was all tranquillity.

He might have proved a useful adjunct, if not an ornament to society.