I have had, and may have still, a thousand friends, as they are called, in life, who are like one's partners in the waltz of this world -not much remembered when the ball is over.

For the night Shows stars and women in a better light.

Mark! Where his carnage and his conquests cease, He makes a solitude and calls it-peace!

The place is very well and quiet and the children only scream in a low voice.

Where are the forms the sculptor's soul hath seized? In him alone, Can nature show as fair?

From the mingled strength of shade and light A new creation rises to my sight, Such heav'nly figures from his pencil flow, So warm with light his blended colors glow. . . . . The glowing portraits, fresh from life, that bring Home to our hearts the truth from which they spring.

I loved my country, and I hated him.