In the earliest ages science was poetry, as in the later poetry has become science.

Men have their intellectual ancestry, and the likeness of some one of them is forever unexpectedly flashing out in the features of a descendant, it may be after a gap of several centuries. In the parliament of the present every man represents a constituency of the past.

That best academy, a mother's knee.

Who is it needs such flawless shafts as fate? What archer of his arrows is so choice, or hits the white so surely?

His heart kep' goin' pity-pat, But hern went pity-Zekle.

As life runs on, the road grows strange with faces new - and near the end. The milestones into headstones change, Neath every one a friend.

May is a pious fraud of the almanac.