The air was fragrant with a thousand trodden aromatic herbs, with fields of lavender, and with the brightest roses blushing in tufts all over the meadows.

A stable, changeless state, 'twere cause indeed to weep.

The press, important as is its office, is but the servant of the human intellect, and its ministry is for good or for evil, according to the character of those who direct it. The press is a mill which grinds all that is put into its hopper. Fill the hopper with poisoned grain, and it will grind it to meal, but there is death in the bread.

A sculptor wields The chisel, and the stricken marble grows To beauty.

To him who in the love of Nature holds Communion with her visible forms, she speaks A various language.

He [William Henry Harrison] did not live long enough to prove his incapacity for the office of President.

Thine eyes are springs in whose serene And silent waters heaven is seen. Their lashes are the herbs that look On their young figures in the brook.