Boys and girls, And women, that would groan to see a child Pull off an insect's leg, all read of war, The best amusement for our morning meal.

Talk of the devil, and his horns appear.

Forth from his dark and lonely hiding-place, (Portentous sight!) the owlet Atheism, sailing on obscene wings athwart the noon, drops his blue-fringed lids, and holds them close, and hooting at the glorious sun in Heaven, cries out, ''Where is it?''

As I live and am a man, this is an unexaggerated tale - my dreams become the substances of my life.

What if you slept? And what if, in your sleep, you went to heaven and there plucked a strange and beautiful flower? And what if,when you awoke,you had the flower in your hand? Ah, what then?

The fancy is indeed no other than a mode of memory emancipated from the order of time and space.

Common sense in an uncommon degree is what the world calls wisdom.