There is a harmony in autumn, and a luster in its sky, which through the summer is not heard or seen, as if it could not be, as if it had not been!

O weep for Adonis - He is dead." "Peace. He is not dead he doth not sleep - he hath wakened from the dream of life

Near that a dusty paint-box, some odd hooks, A half-burnt match, an ivory block, three books, Where conic sections, spherics, logarithms, To great Laplace, from Saunderson and Sims, Lie heaped in their harmonious disarray Of figures,-disentangle them who may.

The cloud shadows of midnight possess their own repose.

What do you think? Young women of rank eat - you will never guess what - garlick!

A Christian, a Deist, a Turk, and a Jew, have equal rights: they are men and brethren.

The young moon has fed Her exhausted horn With the sunset's fire.