Difficulty, my brethren, is the nurse of greatness - a harsh nurse, who roughly rocks her foster children into strength and athletic proportion.

I grieve for life's bright promise, just shown and then withdrawn.

Truth gets well if she is run over by a locomotive, while error dies of lockjaw if she scratches her finger.

But 'neath yon crimson tree Lover to listening maid might breathe his flame, Nor mark, within its roseate canopy, Her blush of maiden shame.

The journalist should be on his guard against publishing what is false in taste or exceptionable in morals.

Follow thou thy choice.

The victory of endurance born.