Good Taste Is His Religion, His Morality,

I Do Love Violets; They Tell The History Of Woman's Love.

Social Life Is Filled With Doubts And Vain Aspirings; Solitude, When The Imagination Is Dethroned, Is Turned To Weariness And Ennui.

The Fearless Make Their Own Way.

Charity Is A Calm, Severe Duty; It Must Be Intellectual, To Be Advantageous. It Is A Strange Mistake That It Should Ever Be Considered A Merit; Its Fulfillment Is Only What We Owe To Each Other, And Is A Debt Never Paid To Its Full Extent.

The Wind Has A Language, I Would I Could Learn! Sometimes 'tis Soothing, And Sometimes 'tis Stern, Sometimes It Comes Like A Low Sweet Song, And All Things Grow Calm, As The Sound Floats Along, And The Forest Is Lull'd By The Dreamy Strain, And Slumber Sinks Down On The Wandering Main, And Its Crystal Arms Are Folded In Rest, And The Tall Ship Sleeps On Its Heaving Breast.