If An Author Would Have Us Feel

Child Of Mortality, Whence Comest Thou? Why Is Thy Countenance Sad, And Why Are Thine Eyes Red With Weeping?

There Is A Land, Where The Roses Are Without Thorns, Where The Flowers Are Not Mixed With Brambles. In That Land, There Is Eternal Spring, And Light Without Any Cloud. The Tree Of Life Groweth In The Midst Thereof; Rivers Of Pleasures Are There, And Flowers That Never Fade. Myriads Of Happy Spirits Are There, And Surround The Throne Of God With A Perpetual Hymn. The Angels With Their Golden Harps Sing Praises Continually, And The Cherubim Fly On Wings Of Fire! This Country Is Heaven.

Children Have Almost An Intuitive Discernment Between The Maxims You Bring Forward For Their Use, And Those By Which You Direct Your Own Conduct.

You, That Have Toiled During Youth, To Set Your Son Upon Higher Ground, And To Enable Him To Begin Where You Left Off, Do Not Expect That Son To Be What You Were, - Diligent, Modest, Active, Simple In His Tastes, Fertile In Resources. You Have Put Him Under Quite A Different Master. Poverty Educated You; Wealth Will Educate Him. You Cannot Suppose The Result Will Be The Same.

The First Pale Blossom Of The Unripened Year.