Wondrous strong are the spells of fiction.

As turning the logs will make a dull fire burn, so change of studies a dull brain.

Let us be merciful as well as just.

This is the place. Stand still, my steed,- Let me review the scene, And summon from the shadowy past The forms that once have been.

Noble souls, through dust and heat, rise from disaster and defeat the stronger.

Day, like a weary pilgrim, had reached the western gate of heaven, and Evening stooped down to unloose the latchets of his sandal shoon.

Ne speaketh not; and yet there lies a conversation in his eyes.