This solitary Tree! a living thing Produced too slowly ever to decay; Of form and aspect too magnificent To be destroyed.

Spires whose "silent finger points to heaven."

Every gift of noble origin Is breathed upon by Hope's perpetual breath.

The mind of man is a thousand times more beautiful than the earth on which he dwells.

Write to me frequently & the longest letters possible; never mind whether you have facts or no to communicate; fill your paper with the breathings of your heart.

The child is father of the man: And I could wish my days to be Bound each to each by natural piety.

Fear is a cloak which old men huddle about their love, as if to keep it warm.