History is but a kind of Newgate calendar, a register of the crimes and miseries that man has inflicted on his fellow-man.

I profess not to know how women's hearts are wooed and won. To me they have always been matters of riddle and admiration.

There is a serene and settled majesty to woodland scenery that enters into the soul and delights and elevates it, and fills it with noble inclinations.

Good temper, like a sunny day, sheds a ray of brightness over everything; it is the sweetener of toil and the soother of disquietude!

It is almost startling to hear this warning of departed time sounding among the tombs, and telling the lapse of the hour, which, like a billow, has rolled us onward towards the grave.

The almighty dollar, that great object of universal devotion.

Nothing impresses the mind with a deeper feeling of loneliness than to tread the silent and deserted scene of former throng and pageant.