In winter we lead a more inward life. Our hearts are warm and cheery, like cottages under drifts.

In my walks I would fain return to my senses.

The most interesting thing which I heard of, in this township of Hull, was an unfailing spring, whose locality was pointed out tome on the side of a distant hill, as I was panting along the shore, though I did not visit it. Perhaps, if I should go through Rome, it would be some spring on the Capitoline Hill I should remember the longest.

The earth I tread on is not a dead inert mass. It is a body, has a spirit; is organic and fluid to the influence of its spirit and to whatever particle of the spirit is in me.

Where the most beautiful wild flowers grow, there mans spirit is fed and poets grow.

It is a surprising and memorable, as well as valuable experience, to be lost in the woods any time.

Art may varnish and gild, but it can do no more.