It ever is the marked propensity of restless and aspiring minds to look into the stretch of dark futurity.

O mysterious Night! thou art not silent; many tongues halt thou.

The plainest case in many words entangling.

This will be triumph! This will be happiness! Yea, that very thing, happiness, which I have been pursuing all my life, and have never yet overtaken.

A willing heart adds feather to the heel.

Ah! happy is the man whose early lot Hath made him master of a furnish'd cot; Who trains the vine that round his window grows, And after setting sun his garden hoes; Whose wattled pails his own enclosure shield, Who toils not daily in another's field.

Half-uttered praise is to the curious mind, as to the eye half-veiled beauty is, more precious than the whole.