Oh, what a glory doth this world put on, for him who with a fervent heart goes forth under the bright and glorious sky, and looks on duties well performed, and days well spent.

To say the least, a town life makes one more tolerant and liberal in one's judgment of others.

Through woods and mountain passes The winds, like anthems, roll.

The atmosphere breathes rest and comfort, and the many chambers seem full of welcomes.

The history of the past is a mere puppet-show. A little man comes out and blows a little trumpet, and goes in again. You look for something new, and lo! another little man comes out, and blows another little trumpet, and goes in again. And it is all over.

In the long run men hit only what they aim at.

What is time? The shadow on the dial, the striking of the clock, the running of the sand, day and night, summer and winter, months, years, centuries-these are but arbitrary and outward signs, the measure of Time, not Time itself. Time is the Life of the Soul.