Happy it were for us all if we bore prosperity as well and as wisely as we endure adverse fortune.

Few people give themselves time to be friends.

Where Washington hath left His awful memory A light for after times!

From its fountains In the mountains, Its rills and its gills; Through moss and through brake, It runs and it creeps For awhile till it sleeps In its own little Lake. And thence at departing, Awakening and starting, It runs through the reeds And away it proceeds, Through meadow and glade, In sun and in shade, And through the wood-shelter, Among crags in its flurry, Helter-skelter, Hurry-scurry.

Faith in the hereafter is as necessary for the intellectual as the moral character; and to the man of letters, as well as to the Christian, the present forms but the slightest portion of his existence.

The pulpit is a clergyman's parade; the parish is his field of active service.

Three things a wise man will not trust, The wind, the sunshine of an April day, And woman's plighted faith.