Nothing can be more touching than to behold a soft and tender female, who had been all weakness and dependence, and alive to every trivial roughness while treading the prosperous paths of life, suddenly rising in mental force to be the comforter and supporter of her husband under misfortune, and abiding with unshrinking firmness the bitterest blast of adversity.

The moan of the whip-poor-will from the hillside; the boding cry of the tree-toad, that harbinger of storm; the dreary hooting of the screechowl.

A tart temper never mellows with age, and a sharp tongue is the only edged tool that grows keener with constant use.

The only happy author in this world is he who is below the care of reputation.

The tie which links mother and child is of such pure and immaculate strength as to be never violated.

History fades into fable; fact becomes clouded with doubt and controversy; the inscription molders from the tablet: the statue falls from the pedestal. Columns, arches, pyramids, what are they but heaps of sand; and their epitaphs, but characters written in the dust?

There is something nobly simple and pure in a taste for the cultivation of forest trees.