For society, of all places I have ever been, Norwich is the best.

By writing much, one learns to write well.

That charity is bad which takes from independence its proper pride, from mendicity its salutary shame.

Love is indestructible, Its holy flame forever burneth; From heaven it came, to heaven returneth.

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.

Our restlessness in this world seems to indicate that we are intended for a better. We have all of us a longing after happiness; and surely the Creator will gratify all the natural desires he has implanted in us.

There is healing in the bitter cup.