Heaven gives its favourites-early death.

I am always most religious upon a sunshiny day.

Good work and joyous play go hand in hand. When play stops, old age begins. Play keeps you from taking life too seriously.

Who then will explain the explanation?

Pythagoras, Locke, Socrates - but pages might be filled up, as vainly as before, with the sad usage of all sorts of sages, who in his life-time, each was deemed a bore! The loftiest minds outrun their tardy ages.

Egeria! sweet creation of some heart Which found no mortal resting-place so fair As thine ideal breast.

It is singular how soon we lose the impression of what ceases to be constantly before us. A year impairs, a luster obliterates. There is little distinct left without an effort of memory, then indeed the lights are rekindled for a moment - but who can be sure that the Imagination is not the torch-bearer?